#I caught my reflection in the glass on a bus once so never again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

of honey and cinnamon | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

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

⇢ word count: 14k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, where are you going?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, are you going home?"

"Yes... are you?"

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

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

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

"You already asked that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, sorry. I didn't-"

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

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

Just this once, you thought.

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

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

"Am not." You muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Quietly? This process is anything but quiet."

"Then try your very hardest."

"I'll try. Emphasis on try."

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

"What's a time signature?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sucks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose you hate everything I love.”

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

“What are you looking for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“___? Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. It's okay.”

“But-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Done!”

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

“Done with what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m always with you, darling.”

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

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

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

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

“You know, love. You know.”

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

Day Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this?” He said groggily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about you? Where would you go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re an idiot, Jungkook.”

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

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

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

Someone you would inevitably begin to fall in love with.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

And all he needed to say was:

“I love you too.”

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

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dinosaurtsukki · 3 years

Text

[ too scared to say ]

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader

word count: 1.6k words

contains: slight angst, tsukishima with insecure!s/o cause he’s usually the insecure one in fics, another wedding-themed fic

a/n: had this idea for a while and i’m glad i’ve finally written it. it’s usually tsukki’s who’s insecure and guarded in xreader fics so i wanted to try it out with the reader being insecure this time

i love you.

you're caught off-guard when you hear the words from tsukishima's mouth. you never thought you'd ever hear him actually say them. as much you wished for it to happen, especially after you spent three years of high school doodling his name in the margins of your notebook, it feels too good to be true.

tsukishima looks sincere about it though. you're both seated on the couch in your apartment and even though it's pouring outside and the electricity had died, you can still make out his face in the dim lighting. you can tell it took him a great deal of effort to say that: his eyes are focused on the cushion on his lap as he picks at a stray thread, the sound of his breathing is more audible now as he inhales deeply.

this is the time where you say it back but the words catch themselves in your throat. after all, weren't you the one who got yourself into trouble for being too naive all the time? after leaving high school and all hopes of tsukishima ever liking you back behind, you tried your hand at relationships. you thought every single one of them would be your last, only to find that you had deluded yourself yet again.

meeting tsukishima again, years after high school, felt like a weird universal coincidence that you didn't know if you should thank for yet. even more so when he admitted to his feelings for you back then.

"so, what do we do about it now?" you asked.

"i'd... like to give this a shot," tsukishima said, rubbing the back of his head. you were reluctant, but agreed anyway.

you've said 'i love you' before, more than a few times. and yet, you couldn't say it now.

"aren't you... jumping to conclusions a bit?" you asked, nervously letting out a laugh.

"what do you mean?" tsukishima frowns slightly.

"just, saying that you might not be sure about that yet so... slow down a bit before saying things like that," you shrugged.

"what? you think i don't know my own feelings?" tsukishima scoffs. there's a look of hurt on his face and you can't exactly blame him for it.

"i'm sorry, tsukki," you apologize, resting your hand in the middle of the couch between you except he doesn't reach for it.

"it's fine," he shakes his head, focusing now on the wall in front of him. "i know you're not really the person you once were and, i don't mind that at all cause neither am i. sometimes, it really feels like you have a wall up."

you find yourself flinching slightly at that last part. maybe this is the part when things go south, like they always do. except, you feel sad that it had to happen with tsukishima too.

but he doesn't act like how you expect him to. "if you need time, it's fine with me," is all he says. tsukishima doesn't sound exasperated, nor frustrated at all. but he does stand up and head for the door.

'you can stay,' you think, 'please stay.'

but all you can bring yourself to say is: "take an umbrella. it's pouring outside."

...

that was about a week ago and tsukishima has barely heard from you then. he didn't know what else to do aside from give you space, and also silently regret things. maybe he was too hasty in saying that he loved you.

but, that was what he truly felt, and it wasn't easy for him to say but he did it anyway. 'you're not always losing anything when you open yourself up to someone,' akiteru had told him. and now, tsukishima was riding a bus on the way to his older brother's wedding.

he had just hung his tux on the curtain rod above the window and settled into his seat though when he caught a familiar flash of blue. of course, tsukishima would recognize your favorite dress and sat up in his seat to see you walking down the center aisle. he watched as you looked around for a seat before landing on the last empty one in the bus, which happened to be right next to tsukishima's.

"hey."

"hey," tsukishima swallowed as you approached.

"is this seat taken?" you asked.

"no, go ahead," tsukishima shook his head, his eyes distracted by the familiar dry-cleaners bag that you held in your hands. "let me help you with that," he offered, taking the hanger from your hands and hanging it up beside his tux.

“saeko nee-san invited me to the wedding,” you explained as soon as you sat down beside tsukishima. “congratulations to your brother, by the way.”

“thanks. we all, kind of saw it coming,” tsukishima chuckled. now that you were here, he realized just how much he missed you.

“i’m sorry for not calling or anything, by the way,” you apologized. “i can’t say that this is all new to me but, it’s just... well... i’ve been in other relationships before and sometimes, it feels like things repeat themselves too much.”

tsukishima nodded, remembering the night when you two met again after so many years. he was working the counter at the bar and noticed you sitting there, obviously dressed up for a date, obviously stood up in that said date too. you were very much different from the young girl who used to invite him and yamaguchi to watch the latest romance movie theaters, the one who sang songs at the top of your lungs in your bedroom, loud enough for those downstairs to here. but that didn’t mean he liked you any less.

“hey,” he laid a hand on top of yours. “why don’t we just enjoy today? you still love going to weddings, right?”

you smiled gratefully and chuckled. “yeah, that hasn’t changed.”

...

you fully expected to run into tsukishima at his own brother’s wedding and had thought twice about going before talking sense into yourself. and now, you were glad to have gone.

the wedding was absolutely charming and more than a few of your old high school friends came. you and tsukishima were seated with yamaguchi and yachi at the same table and chatted about old times and what the volleyball duo was up to. saeko looked stunning in her dress and akiteru cried more than a few times during the ceremony. tsukishima looked proud of his brother, and more than a little tired of his new brother-in-law.

“they look really good together,” you sighed, smiling at akiteru and saeko who were breakdancing in the middle of the dance floor, the latter doing much better than the former.

“yeah,” tsukishima chuckled. “they barely met each other in high school but i could tell nii-chan was star-struck when they met at the shiratorizawa match.”

“and now look at them,” you giggled. “kind of the opposite of us, in a way.”

“yeah, because you were definitely head over heels for me,” tsukishima snickered. you smacked his arm with the back of your hand.

“and you were too dense to realize it,” you countered.

“not exactly. just thought it was too good to be true,” tsukishima smiled wryly.

“we should have been accidentally locked into a room together to force us to admit our feelings.”

“you and your romance movie cliches.”

you chuckled at that. “just saying. would have made things way easier for everyone.” you sighed again and remembered the confession letter you had penned to tsukishima before deciding to stash it away in your desk. then, you turned to tsukishima who was watching his brother and sister-in-law dance.

maybe you were going to enjoy yourself tonight.

“hey, tsukishima?”

“yeah?”

“wanna dance with me?”

...

with the dancing and frequent visits to the wine bar, you ended up enjoying the wedding immensely. but as much as you didn’t want to, it was finally time to go home. you and tsukishima didn’t even bother changing out of your formal clothes before catching the last bus back home. your hair had escaped from its pins and you were definite that there was mascara smudged under your eye. tsukishima’s tie hung loosely around his neck and he had already unbuttoned the upper part of his shirt.

all of the dancing tired him out way more than you, but it was a pleasant surprise for him to comply with your request. you also had the wine to thank for tsukishima deciding to break dance for about a minute when his older brother asked him to.

as soon as he was seated, tsukishima was out like a light with his head leaned back against the seat and his mouth slightly hanging open. looking at him, you realized that he was someone you didn’t want to let go. dating him was scarier because of that and you didn’t want tsukishima to be one of those people you were eventually going to say goodbye to.

but how could he be that person if you don’t ask him to stay in the first place?

once again, you remembered the confession letter that you had wrote to him all those years ago. there was a tremble in your hand when you wrote down the last line of that letter, so much that it screwed up the writing and you decided not to send the letter anyway. you glanced at tsukishima’s misty reflection in the fogged up glass of the bus before using your finger to write down that line.

i love you

the words looked like they were suspended in the air and fragile enough to be blown away by the wind. with a swipe of your hand, you could easily erase the message.

and that’s when tsukishima wakes up.

his sleepy eyes travel from you to the message written on the window and his eyes widen when he realizes what you’ve written down. with a smile, he leans over, and writes a word right under your message.

i love you too

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

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puckyess · 3 years

Text

You won’t regret it | Pat Moynihan

Words: 8k

“Ten” your friend, Kat says with a smirk on her face.

You vaguely register that her remark is directed at you. “What?”

“That’s the tenth time you’ve locked eyes with Moyni” she says, now nodding over to where he was still watching your group, more specifically, you.

There was a smile on his face and he was still talking to the couple of guys around him, but his eyes never left you. Every time you glanced in his direction that night they had always been on you. But neither of you made a move toward each other. You just continued to share curious looks from opposite ends of the room.

“That is so not true”, you say lamely, turning your attention back to your friend.

Of course she calls you out, claiming that the first time was when you guys had first walked in the door, the second when you were in the kitchen with Mike, then out on the balcony, when Tyce came up and hugged you. She trailed off but she had made her point clear.

You roll your eyes, “Fine, I'll go say hi, but that's it” you tell her. The grin on her face was enough to say she was appeased by your answer, even if it was reluctant.

Taking in a steadying breath and an equally big gulp of your drink, you turn around only to find the boy you were looking for no longer there. A frown settled in your features, a tap on the shoulder has you spinning the other way.

“Hi, I’m Pat” he says, holding his hand out to you.

You look down at his hand with an eyebrow quarked and a hint of a smirk plays at the corner of your mouth. But you extend your own hand nonetheless and it earns a bright smile from him. His hand is warm and as cliche as it sounds, your hand fits perfectly in his. He shakes it up and down and the whole scene makes you giggle.

“You’re laughing at me, what’s so funny” he asks, still not letting go of your hand.

His smile lets you know he’s just teasing and you already feel so comfortable with him. “I’ve just never shaken someone’s hand in the middle of a party” you say motioning to where your hands are still connected.

It’s hard to tell with the glow of the multicolored lights but you swear you see him blush as he releases your hand with a little squeeze. He plays it well, “Well now you have, I’m honored to be your first” he says. and now it’s your turn to blush.

Normally this is where you’d go to look away but something about the way he says it, with a hint of insinuation, a challenge to see if you’ll comment that has you maintaining eye contact as you take a sip of your drink. Who was this guy and how did he manage to have your stomach in knots and make you feel at ease all at the same time?

He asks for your name then and it takes you a second to realize that you haven’t known this man for more than 10 minutes because it feels like you’re already good friends.

“Y/N” you tell him, extending your hand to him with a smirk. He picks up on you mirroring his action from moments ago and tips his head back in an easy laugh that you join him in. You wouldn’t mind hearing that sound more often.

Just as your hands connect once again, one of his teammates barrels over and throws an arm around his shoulders. “Moyni! There you are! We’ve been looking for you” he calls over the noise of the room and based on the eye roll from Pat and the shit eating grin on his buddy’s face, you would guess that his friends knew exactly where he was.

“I’ve been gone for what, all of 5 minutes? Can you guys not handle being alone that long?”

The boy holds his arms up in defense, “Hey don't shoot the messenger, Tyce sent me. You guys are up next”. Pat glances back to where his teammate is waiting at the pong table with a smirk and gives you an apologetic smile.

“It was nice meeting you, Y/N. I’ll see you around” he calls as he’s pulled away. The wink he shoots you over his shoulder replays in your mind as you lay in bed that night.

The next few days pass by pretty uneventful, until Wednesday that is. You’re eating dinner with your roommate, Kat when your phone lights up on the table. You have this thing with your friends where if you’re out to dinner, phone’s stay in the middle of the table so that you can all enjoy the present with each other.

You ignore it, listening to Kat tell you about the plans for that weekend. When it lights up again, you give it a look but your will power holds steady and you continue to listen to your friend. When it lights up a third time though Kat pauses and gives you a look. “Who is that?”

Her guess is as good as yours though. The person who normally would be blowing up your phone is sitting across from you. “I don't know” you say honestly.

She rolls her eyes, making a move for your phone and her face lights up when she reads through the notifications. She hums, “It seems a certain Mr. Moynihan has taken an interest in you”

At the sound of his name your hand shoots out to snatch the phone from her, quickly scanning the screen.

3m ago Twitter: @pmoynihan19 has followed you

2m ago Instagram: @patrickmoynihan_ has requested to follow you

2m ago Instagram: @patrickmoynihan_ wants to send you a message

“The boy works fast” your friend chirps, a smug smile on her face.

You somehow manage to hear her over the sound of your heart beating in your ears. “It’s been four days, I'd hardly call that fast” you say as you swipe up to unlock your phone.

“What’re you doing?” Kat asks, narrowing her eyes.

The alarm in her voice makes your thumb hover over the twitter app. “I’m following him back?”

She grabs your phone again and you know it’s no use to try and get it back so you sit back in your seat with your arms crossed, waiting for her explanation.

“You can't follow him back right away, are you crazy?”

You raise an eyebrow at her, “and why not? You said it yourself, he’s clearly interested. And if I remember correctly, you were the one who was excited for me 30 seconds ago”.

“Well that was before I knew this was the first time he was making contact with you since the party! You said it yourself, four days is hardly fast. Make him wait a day or two before you follow him back” she says, throwing your words back at you.

You think about what she said and while you hated to play games, you did have to say she had a pretty good track record with these kinds of things. Or at least more experience in this area than you did.

“You know I'm right,” she quips, knowing you’re mulling over her words.

“Fine,” you say finally, “I'll wait one day. But that’s it”.

“You’ll thank me later” she smirks over her wine glass.

“You don't even like Chipotle” you muttered to yourself as you pulled into their parking lot. You were one of the few people who was not a Chipotle fiend but for some reason you had been craving it all day long. And after the day you had been having you made the logical decision to not cook tonight.

Unfortunately, your boss had kept you a little longer after work and you hadn’t been able to beat the dinner rush like you had hoped you would. You let out a sigh, taking your place in line alongside the slew of college kids looking for their fix. With the line moving unbelievably slow, you pull out your phone and answer a few texts and then aimlessly catch up on social media.

“Burrito or Bowl?” the worker asks you and you tuck your phone away, reciting your order.

When it comes time to pay you go to hand him your card but he shakes his head, “You’re all set” he says, sliding your bowl across the counter. “Moyni already paid for you”.

You look down at the shiny silver lid and there’s a simple message scrawled on the lid “hi Y/N :) - Pat”.

Your card is still in the air and your jaw is practically on the floor. “How…”

“He’s over there,” he says motioning over to a table. Your eyes follow and soon you’re walking over toward a table full of hockey players.

When he spots you his face lights up and he removes himself from the group. “I shouldn’t have bought your Chipotle” he tells you and your smile falls. Was this some kind of joke?

“What?”

“I'm mad at you ya know” he continues, but he wears a smile that says otherwise.

He gives you a little nudge with his arm, hands in his pockets. “I followed your socials, why didn’t you follow me back? Did you see my message too?” he asks, completely calling you out.

You can hear some of the guys snickering and you can't tell if it’s for your benefit or his, but it makes you extremely aware of your current situation. Curse your friend for getting you into this, if you had just followed him back last night this wouldn't be happening.

Lie and deny chants the little devil sitting on your shoulder. “I haven't been on social media lately” you offer lamely.

“That’s a lie, you were just on instagram” he states, his smile growing wider. He was clearly enjoying watching you squirm.

Your face starts to flush, getting caught in your own lie. “How do you know?”

He reaches up and taps the side of his glasses with his finger, which you have to say make him look even more attractive if that was possible.

You tip your head back and groan. You were still wearing your bluelight glasses from work. You wore them so often these days that you forgot you were wearing them at all. “You can see the reflection huh?”

His smile is softer now as he nods. “I could see you scrolling from a mile away and still not following me back” he tsks.

“I was advised not to,” you tell him honestly, throwing your friend under the bus.

“By who? It was Kat wasn't it? I'm going to have to have a word with her'' he teases.

“You and me both” you mumble.

He laughs and you’re relieved that he’s not mad or annoyed at your foolishness.

“I was hoping the Chipotle might persuade you,” he jokes.

“Thank you for this” you say, motioning to the bowl in your hand, “I really needed this today”.

A hint of color dusts his cheeks and then they lift into yet another warm smile as he says, “of course. I’ll let you go eat it while it’s still warm”.

You send one last thank you his way and then reluctantly walk away.

“Remember to follow me back, Y/N! You won't regret it!” he calls after you as you walk out the door.

Your friend was going to hear it for this one.

Pat’s words echo in your ears as you get ready for bed that night. “You wont’ regret it”. A cute, friendly, easy going hockey player; he had “regret” written all over him. But there was also something else there, something that made you feel excited and comfortable to be yourself. And that’s what had you throwing caution to the wind when you hit the follow button on twitter and then again on instagram.

You chewed on your lip as you opened his DM and chuckled at his message. It was simple, yet effective.

Hi, I’m Pat

🤝

You type out an equally short response.

Y/N

🤝

The bubbles pop up immediately.

It took you long enough

You shook your head as you read it, the boy was honest you had to give him that. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t throw a little sarcasm in there, chirping his incredibly fast response was a good start.

I could say the same to you

The bubbles pop up again and then disappear and you hope that he catches your sarcasm and doesn't just think you’re being rude.

I could reply slower if that’s really what you want…

You hate that you can hear him saying it, were you really falling this fast?

Not at all.

Yes, yes you were.

You lean against the counter with your mug, letting the warm steam fan your face. “Alright, why are you looking at me like that?” you ask Kat finally.

“Well I was going to say someone’s in an awfully good mood today, but I take it back. You do realize today is Friday right?”

You ignore her comment, but answer her question. “I do, I called off today”.

“And why is that?” she asks. She gets a weird smile on her face like she knows something you don’t and you don’t like it.

You narrow your eyes on her suspiciously. “What’s going on? Do you have something you need to tell me?”

She jumps off the couch, excited all of a sudden. “Do YOU have something you need to tell ME?”

“What? No! Seriously what’s up?”

She practically explodes then. “Were you with Moyni last night?”

You flush at the mere thought of that. No you weren’t with him in the sense that she meant, but had you spent the wee hours of the night talking to him? Maybe.

She catches it and screeches. “I knew it! I told Tyce this morning and he didn’t believe me-”

You cut her off in the middle of her excited rant, “Wait, you what?”

She takes a breath then and backtracks, still pacing around the apartment. “I was facetiming Tyce this morning and Moyni walked in all smiley asking for something and T chirped him asking how he was in such a good mood when he was up so late last night and asked who he was talking to. And boy did he blush like you just did”, she was down right gleeful telling the story.

“Anyway, Moyni tried to deny it, but Tyce was like ‘no dude I could hear you talking through the wall so who was it’. And he wouldn't say. And that’s when I was like wait, I didn’t hear you leave for work today and you never miss so you had to have had a long night and so I told Tyce I bet she was over there last night and now you’re all bright eyed and bushy tailed, like glowing actually and that only comes from one thing…”

By the time she finished her storytelling you were feeding off her energy. “Ok that is so NOT what happened” you laugh at the disappointed look on her face, “But. He DID ask me to come to his game tonight”. You try to act casual but the minute she lets out a squeal, you do too. You can’t believe you had become one of those girls, but you were just so damn happy.

“What?! When?! How?! Ok, rewind, spill!” She finally settles herself on the couch, somewhat patiently waiting for you to dish out the details of last night.

Between the lack of sleep and the adrenaline coursing through your veins all night, your nerves were shot. Pat and Tyce had managed to get yours and Kat’s seats not only next to each other, but with the best of views of both the ice and them. Watching warmups was fun, seeing the guys interact and show off a bit for your own personal entertainment.

The game delivered too. The goofiness, relaxed form the guys had taken during warmups was gone as their competitive sides came out and they battled for the win. Having someone to cheer for on the ice and your best friend by your side made it that much better. You even caught Pat glance up into your section once or twice and you could see that smile even through his cage.

In all it was the perfect night but this side, well you’ve never done this side of it before. You’ve never been on the side that waits for a player after the game. You’ve never been part of that group.

You stood next to Kat as she easily mingled with some of the girls and players that had formed a group near you. You only really knew Tyce and Parker and neither of them were part of the circle.

Groups had never really been your thing, you were more of a listener than someone who could handle the spotlight. You were often talked over or couldn’t really get your words out the way you wanted to so you kept quiet. In your usual friend group it was fine, you still felt part of the group, but tonight not so much.

Everyone around you seemed to know each other and had no problem interacting. You watch as the conversation bounces from person to person until you almost zone out.

That all changes when Pat makes his way into the group. He seems to be looking for someone, maybe even you but your small frame is hidden behind the wall of guys. You catch the warm smile he throws at you across the group of people engaged in conversation and asks if you saw his goal, a moment that you did in fact see and you respond without hesitation.

It’s like he flips a switch in you. You’re no longer uncomfortable on the outskirts with his attention on you. It’s as if there’s not a whole conversation going on around you with the way he talks to you, singling you out in the best way.

He nods his head to the side, motioning for you to follow him. “This is better, it’s quieter and you looked like you could use a break” he jokes once you’ve moved away from the noise of the group.

You grimace at whatever must’ve given you away. “I looked that bad huh?” you tease him.

He doesn't comment, just shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, I love being around everyone and the energy is great but I also know that sometimes after a whole night of being wound up it can be nice to step away for a bit”

His response surprises you, you weren’t expecting something so honest and sentimental. “Thank you for that. It was a pretty crazy night. Fun, but crazy!”

At that he grins. “The boys were pretty chippy tonight yeah? There’s a little extra bite there when we play BC”.

“I could tell, you were really running your mouth out there”

He laughs, “I was doing no such thing”

“So all that pushing and shoving happened for no reason? You were such an instigator, not saying it’s a bad thing but you should own up”

“Yeah Moyni, own up” Tyce says siddling up next to him.

Pat just shakes his head. “Butt out Tycer you don't even know what we’re talking about”.

“Well of course I don't, how could I when you two wandered off to have your own little conversation” he points out with a smirk.

Pat catches you rolling your eyes at him and starts to laugh. “Relax, Y/N here was just telling me what a loud mouth I have and now she knows I get it from my roommate” he says, throwing an arm around you and pulling you into him, “Isn’t that right Y/N?”

You were very aware of the weight of his arm on your shoulders as well as the heat of his still warm body with yours turned into him. It didn't help the warmth that was spreading across your face nor did the sly smiles from both of your roommates.

“Those weren't my exact words, Pat” you said poking his side.

The movement of him reacting to your little jab has him pulling you further into him to where you have to put a hand on his chest to keep from completely falling into him. You can feel his heart beating surprisingly fast and you look up at him.

He gives you a soft smile and the whole moment is ruined by Tyce making gagging sounds and Kat hitting him. “Ow! What was that for?” he asks obliviously.

She rolls her eyes. “You are such an ass sometimes, Tyce. Let the kids have their moment, come on”. She turns to you and Pat, “You’ll have to excuse my child of a boyfriend” she says glaring at Tyce and pulling him away from you two.

Pat laughs it off, “Well then… What do you say to doing this all over tomorrow for game 2?”

“Hmmm. I think I can swing that”

“You won’t regret it,” he says, giving you a squeeze.

Somehow Pat managed to weasel his way into different parts of your life. What started as showing up to his games turned into hanging out after, going out to party on Saturday turned into nights in, homework sessions turned into brunch dates. You hung out whenever your schedules allowed but less that, there was no contact in between. It left you feeling confused until you were with him again and then you forgot all about it.

“Are you home yet?”

“No, Pat, for the tenth time; I’m on my way home from the gym. You’re a country away from me right now, why do you care when I’m home? Aren’t you supposed to be playing hockey or something?” you tease him, wedging the phone between your shoulder and the side of your face.

“I thought you went to the gym right after work on Wednesdays? It’s like 7 o'clock there now isn't it?” he asks confused.

You chuckle into the phone as you get out of the car and grab your bag. “Should I be worried you know my schedule?”

“You always make me wait after practice to get food with you after your workout on Wednesdays, thank you very much. That’s how I know your schedule. You’re also just a very predictable human” he chirps you right back.

“Stop rolling your eyes at me” he says almost as if on cue.

“Like I said, a country away and you’re still a pain in my ass, Pat” and just like he could see you rolling your eyes at him, he can see your smile too.

“I actually do have to go to practice, there’s something waiting for you when you get home!” he rushes and then hangs up without even giving you the chance to say goodbye.

You sigh as you unlock your door. You really did miss him and you really needed to get a grip. He had been gone less than a week and you were already moping...moping over someone who wasn’t even yours to mope over.

“You want to tell me how you manage to have someone so wrapped around your finger from thousands of miles away?” Kat’s voice makes you jump as she walks into the kitchen with you.

“What?” you ask her confused.

There’s a grin on her face as she nods to the island where there’s a Chick-fil-a bag and a card waiting for you.

“Ohmygod, he didn’t”

“Ohhh, but he did! Now open it, you’re lucky I haven’t read it already”. She’s almost more excited than you are.

You were trying to not get worked up over what the little note could possibly say, but it was hard not to when he had clearly been excited about it all day- and made a point to ask you about it multiple times that day.

“Hi, Y/N, you’re halfway there! Have some nugs for me and remember...treat yo self! I’ll see you soon. - Yours, Pat”

You’re smiling like an idiot as you read the words, his words over and over.

“What does it say? You know what, just give it to me” she says, snatching the small piece of paper from you.

“Awhhhh what does it mean? Halfway to what?”

You couldn’t get rid of the grin on your face if you tried. “Halfway through the week. Pat and I always get dinner after his practice and my workout on Wednesdays to celebrate.”

“Well shit, where’s my Moyni? I’m going to have to train Tyce better. What about the ‘treat yo self’? Is that an inside joke too?”

You shake your head remembering the first time it came up. “He asked me where I wanted to go and for once I was actually able to make a decision and I chose Chic-fil-a because I was craving it. He gave me a hard time about choosing fried chicken right after I had worked out and I waved a nugget in his face before popping it in my mouth and saying I earned it and was going to treat myself. It’s dumb…” you trail off.

“It’s not dumb if it makes you smile like that. I’m just mad he didn’t send any for me”.

“How did he get it here if you didn’t pick it up?”

“He sent Tyce over with the bag and card before you got here” she answers.

“It sounds like it’s Tyce you should be mad at” you point out.

She agrees and runs off to her room to reprimand him.

You sit down with your bag and note and take a selfie to send him. I’m one happy girl. The only thing missing is you.

After you send it, you wonder if maybe it’s too much and then you remember that he arranged for his teammate to deliver you chicken nuggets and a handwritten note simply because it was your Wednesday tradition and you feel like it was just right.

Pat’s giddy mood carries into practice and overflows once he gets back to the locker room and checks his phone for any indication that you had gotten his surprise. He had told Tyce to drop it off and was going to kill him if he didn’t follow through.

When your smiling face holding up both the red and white bag and the little note fills his screen, he can’t help but match your grin.

I’m one happy girl. The only thing missing is you.

- The nuggets are my replacement! At least they can’t chirp you for ruining your workout (;

Haha I would take a few chirps to have you sitting across from me.

- We both know you wouldn’t be able to handle that 😅

Ummm false. But thank you! Tyce is a good messenger

- You didn’t think just because I was in a different country I’d forget about our Wednesday tradition, now did you?

Never.

“What’s got you smiling at your phone like that, Moyni? Could it be your….girlfriend?” Trevor shouts extra loud, making sure the locker room hears him, earning some chuckles and shouts from the guys.

Pat doesn’t embarrass easily, he just rolls his eyes at his teammate. “Don’t have a girlfriend, Z”

The couple guys around him laugh at his denial and Trevor steps in front of him, stomping his foot with his hands on his hips. “Give me the phone, Moyni”

Pat stops untying his skates and looks up to see a very sassy Trevor Zegras waiting on his demand. “Hand it over, Mister Moynihan”.

Pat shakes his head, but hands over his phone. He knew Trevor was immature enough to not let up and honestly he wasn’t ashamed of anything that was said.

Surprisingly he doesn’t broadcast the messages to the locker room like Pat was sure he would. Instead, it was a lot of mumbling as he read through what had his buddy all keyed up.

“Mhmm”

“Yup”

“I see”

Finally he handed the phone back to Pat and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, buddy. I’m afraid you are one sick puppy”.

Trevor was known for saying things that just didn’t make sense and this definitely made the list. “Dude what? That’s what you got from my messages? Were you looking at the right thing?”

“Yup. One love sick puppy” is all he quips before walking away

You had been on pins and needles all day and you knew exactly why- the World Juniors final roster was supposed to be announced anytime now.

You knew in your heart that Pat would make the team but it would make you both feel a helluva lot better if you could see it in writing, this year especially. Not only had he not made it last year but you swore every other day you saw someone was getting sent home because of the virus. It didn’t make dealing with the waiting process any easier.

In the few texts and facetimes Pat had been able to squeeze in since camp started, you both carried positive energy but you could tell he was holding back. He would light up when he talked about the guys and odd little activities they were required to participate in like superlative voting and bob ross painting nights. You knew he was having a blast being back with his old buddies, especially after all of the quarantine and protocols they had to go through.

There was something else there though whenever you brought up how he was doing personally. Pat was a positive guy, the glue guy of the locker room. He liked to keep things lighthearted and loved to make everyone around him smile. So when his own smile doesn't quite reach his eyes you know something is up.

“You’re holding out on me, Pat. What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up, I just missed you”.

“I know what you’re trying to do here, but telling me you miss me is not going to distract me from the fact that you keep dancing around my question,” you try to give him a little grin but the way he’s acting makes you worry.

“Do you know when the roster comes out?”

He lets out a sigh and rolls over from his back to his stomach, hugging the pillow and propping the camera up again. His hair is adorably messed up and his glasses make him look incredibly soft and boyfriend like. You almost forget you even asked him anything as you memorize him through the screen until his voice cracks through the silence.

“I don’t know if I want to know when it comes out” he admits.

His answer confuses you. “Why would you not want to know?”

“Because then this all could come to an end and I don't want it to end”.

Your eyebrows furrow and you frown at him. “What do you mean, Pat? All of what and why is it ending?”

“This”, he says motioning with his arm, as if that’s supposed to help you. “Camp, the guys, this team. I don’t want it to be over”.

Your expression softens when you finally realize what he was talking about and it breaks your heart.

“Pat”.

“What if I don’t make it again this year, Y/N?” he asks quietly, almost as if he’s afraid if he says it too loud it might come true.

“Come on, Pat, you know that’s not going to happen. You’re going to make the team.” You don’t know how you can convince him to not doubt himself because if you were being honest, you had thought he was a lock to make it last year, before you even knew him, and he had been cut.

As if hearing your thoughts he says, “yeah, but I thought I would make it last year too and that backfired and there’s even better players here this year”

“Where is the confident guy that stuck his hand out in the middle of a party to introduce himself? The guy that has a smile or a smirk on his face 100% of the time? I miss him. You’re allowed to have doubts and worries, but not on this. I won’t have it. You are going to make this team Patrick Moynihan, I believe in you bub”.

He’s silent for a moment too long and you think maybe you stepped over a line somewhere, but then that smile that you love so much makes an appearance.

“Wow, you’re going soft on me, Y/N”

You roll your eyes, but your grin matches his, “As much as I said I wanted to see that smirk of yours…”

At that he lets out a chuckle and your Pat is back. “Really though, thank you. You make a pretty good glue guy with that pep talk.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Now get to bed, Mister. You’ve got a big day tomorrow”.

Apparently your speech had worked because he says, “Call me tomorrow, you wont regret it”

Exactly 12 hours later you’re impatiently doing just that. “Come on, Pat, answer your damn phone”.

“Did you need something?” and even almost 3,000 miles away you can see the way the right side of his pulls up into a smirk that drives you crazy.

“Do you have something to tell me?” you drawl out, despite the burst of energy you had.

He hums in response. “Nope. Can’t think of anything”.

“Pat you made the team!” you practically scream into the phone, too excited to play his games. You chant it as you jump around your room, probably pissing off your downstairs neighbors to no end but you didn’t even care.

He laughs at how excited you are and you can hear how much lighter it sounds from last night.

It’s like he reads your mind because he says, “you’re going to royally piss off your neighbors if you keep jumping around like that”

“I don’t care, you made the damn team, Pat! I’m so happy for you, so proud of you. I hate that I can’t actually be there with you”. And it was true. You hadn’t noticed how strong your...whatever it was with Pat had grown, how close you two had become until he was gone. You hadn't even been apart from him for 2 weeks yet and yet you’re pretty sure you missed him the second you sent him off on his way to Michigan. And now that he made the team, you wouldn't see him for at least another month.

“I know, I wish you were here with me too. You’d love it here.”

You’re surprised at his admission, you had expected him to chirp you for being soft again but his comment was anything but and you have to pull yourself together because you absolutely cannot let him see you tear up or he would definitely deliver on that chirp.

“Well as much as I want to see you, I better not see you until next year”

He scrunches up his nose at that. “It sounds so long when you say it like that”. It almost sounds like he’s whining and for once you actually love the sound of it.

“You better bring me a souvenir too. I like gold in case you were wondering”.

“I’m sure you do”

“I can always ask Zegras” you tease.

“You’re lucky you’re a country away from me, Y/N” he threatens and you swear his voice is three levels deeper but you try to not let him see the way it’s affecting you.

“And what is it exactly that you’d do, Pat”

“You’ll see. You might want to take it back though, you’ll regret it if you don’t”. His words are a contrast to the ones he left you with last night, a promise and a threat all rolled into one.

Missing Pat made the anticipation for World Juniors that much better. The content that USA was pushing was something you looked forward to seeing everyday. You loved getting a glimpse into the guys Pat had history with and could see why he had formed such a bond with them.

The newest little piece of the team media was an interview from Landon Slaggert. With him being Pat’s roommate for the duration of their tournament, you had gotten to know him pretty well. He would usually pop into Pat’s facetimes and give him a hard time for a few minutes before giving him the room.

The interview was pretty standard, asking a little bit about his draft experience, the hurdles of the college season, college in general, but then it turned interesting.

“So what’s one thing you learned about your roommate, Patrick Moynihan, that you didn't know before having spent so much time with him in this setting?”

Slaggert gets a big grin on his face and now your interest is piqued.

“Well I knew him pretty well before since we were teammates in the NTDP program, uh but I probably figured out that he’s more of a girlfriend guy than he is a single guy. He likes having a girlfriend, so that’s one thing I learned about him”.

To say you were not expecting to hear that response was an understatement. Your jaw fell on the floor and your heart followed. Girlfriend guy? Who the hell was his girlfriend. You didn’t know whether to feel pissed or sad, but settled on hurt.

You shook your head at yourself and willed the tears welling in your eyes to go away. You should’ve known that after months of being with him and never actually being with him that he was never yours. This information shouldn’t even affect you, much less hurt you and yet it did.

The worst part was he hadn’t even told you about her. You thought you would at least give yourself credit as being an important person in his life, someone that you at least had shared almost everything with. And he hadn’t bothered to share this huge part of him with you. The more you thought about it, the more worked up you got.

It’s like he could sense he was in trouble because your phone lights up with his face. You’re in no state to talk to him, so you hit ignore. He was persistent you had to give him that as he gave it five more tries followed by a slew of text messages that ranged from “why are you ignoring me” to ok “im getting pissed”.

Hah. He was getting pissed, what did he have to be upset about. He finally gives it a rest even though part of you wishes he hadn't.

The words “you won't regret it” taunted you. You knew better and played with fire anyway.

“Damnit Pat'' you curse him as he stumbles and loses the puck. It seemed that every time the puck was anywhere near his stick tonight he’d turn it over. He wasn’t himself out there. He was trying to overcompensate in all the wrong places and it was noticeable.

With no fans in the stands you could hear him getting an earful when he hopped back over the boards. “Next shift Pat, next shift” you mumbled like he could hear you.

The period couldn’t end soon enough after back to back unanswered goals from Germany. You watched as the boys made a beeline for the locker room, one in particular making your heart squeeze as he hung his head.

As mixed up as you were about your emotions for him, he was still one of your closest friends and you knew he was blaming himself for the mistakes that had led to chances and goals. He was normally the guy to lift everyone up and keep them focused on the prize. You knew better than anyone how his energy affected a room. It was hard to see him like this, you only hoped he would find it in himself to get through the last period.

With your heart in your throat, you willed the third period to be better for him. It could have been worse but it still wasn't pretty. He was only in the box once but he didn't see the ice too much after that. You didn’t really blame the coach on that one with Pat playing more as a liability tonight than someone who could help them win the game. Regardless, you saw the way his shoulders slumped on the bench despite doing his best to congratulate his teammates.

Luckily USA ended up pulling out the win. As selfish as it was, you felt like you had something to do with the way Pat played tonight and you knew you needed to fix things with him. It was unfair for you to ignore someone who had no idea there were unsaid expectations.

When the phone rings more than the usual three it takes him to answer, you begin to worry.

“So now you want to talk to me? Save yourself the lecture, Y/N I'm not in the mood.”

You knew you deserved it, but it was the first time he was anything but nice to you and it made you flinch.

He sighs. “M’sorry, I’m just not having the best time lately” he apologies.

You can hear how tired he is and you would bet that he's running his hand through his hair and over his face.

“Does it have anything to do with the game?”

His end of the phone is silent. You knew he didn’t necessarily prefer to talk about losses even though they claimed his brain.

“I didn't think you’d watch the game”

“Well you must not know me then. I’d never miss one of your games”

“Even when you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad, Pat. Not at you anyway.”

“Well you could’ve fooled me. Who are you mad at then if it’s not me? Because you’ve been completely ignoring me and I don’t even know why. I don’t know how I’ve managed to piss you off 3000 miles away”

“I’m not mad at you, Pat! You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m mad at myself.”

His mood instantly shifts when he hears that. He’s always been such a good listener and shoulder for you to lean on.

“Why is that? What’s going on honey? Hang up the phone and Facetime me. I need to see you.”

Hearing the pet name makes your heart ache even more than it already does and makes you equally as confused. You have to pull the phone away from your ear just so that he doesn't hear your sharp intake of breath as you grasp for any kind of solid ground, your head spinning. Your phone begins to vibrate against your chest like it’s trying to soothe your heart.

“Hey, Y/N, look at me. Are you okay?”

For the first time since meeting him at that party months ago, you can't bring yourself to look at him.

Even without seeing his face you know his lips are turned down into a frown and his eyes are full of concern. The loaded question hangs in the air, waiting to tip the balance of your life and this relationship. How could you be okay when the person you felt the most for had someone else, someone he hadn't even bothered to tell you about.

“When were you going to tell me you had a girlfriend?” you ask him, trying to muster a smile for his benefit but there’s so much hurt in your voice and sadness in your eyes that there’s no use.

You expect him to play it off, act like he was going to tell you all along. What you don’t expect is for him to turn red and start scratching the back of his neck. And suddenly you have a very bad feeling. If he was acting like this, it must be more serious than you thought.

“What? What girlfriend would you be referring to now?”

He’s acting goofy and it’s not adding up. Your eyes narrow in on him through the screen. What was he up to?

“The girlfriend that was mentioned by your roommate in an interview? Are you seriously going to keep lying? It’s bad enough that you didn’t tell me about her in the first place”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, come again?” He still had that stupid look on his face like he was in on some big secret and it was really starting to aggravate you.

“The interview of Landon that USA posted. They asked him if he learned anything new about his roommate and the first thing he came up with was how you’re some big girlfriend guy, Pat. So cut the crap, who is she?” you deadpan.

He scoots closer to the camera, still with that smug look and says “He did what now?”

Apparently you had to spell it out for him. “Do you have a girlfriend or not, Pat? Why are you dancing around the question?”

“No, I don’t have a girlfriend. Yet.” he tells you, rocking back in his chair.

Now you were more confused than ever. “What?”

“Unless you want to change that?” he pauses, waiting for you to connect the dots. “You see, I’ve been waiting and waiting on this girl to finally give me a chance but I couldn’t tell if she was interested in me. Until now, when she’s 3000 miles away from me and is pissed over a comment Slaggs made in an interview about a girlfriend that I don’t even have.”

You knew he was saying words and all the right ones too, but you just couldn’t comprehend what he was actually saying. So you echo the only word your brain seemed to know, “What?”

“It’s you, Y/N! You’re the girl.” he laughs.

“But….since when? When did you know?”

“Since the night I shook your hand at that party. All the guys knew I had the biggest thing for you, they’ve been giving me a hard time for not making a move.”

“That was the first night we officially met” You said finally putting it all together, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t know how you felt and we were good friends, I didn’t want to mess that up” he shrugs like it’s no big deal.

You sit back in your own seat now and take in all that he’s revealed in the last few minutes. This much you could understand because it’s exactly why you hadn’t said anything yourself.

“So Slaggs outed your secret huh” you tease him and he’s relieved to see a smile finally grace your face.

“I really didn't know about the interview, but I guess I’m going to have to thank him for that later”

You raise your eyebrow at him and even in another country he can see the troublemaker gleam to your eyes. “Thank him? You think this ends well for you, bud?”

He looks way too smug for your liking, “Of course it does, I’ve finally got the girl of my dreams and I’m on my way to a gold medal”

“And what makes you so sure that I’m yours”

“Just say yes, Y/N. You won’t regret it”.

#pat moynihan #trevor zegras #providence college

161 notes · View notes

theoldgaylion · 3 years

Note

For the doriax prompts 👀 "seeking each others hands while sleeping" or "dancing together".

Whichever sounds more fun :))

Read it on ao3

"That was kind of Mr. Gilmore to invite us, don't you think?" Fearne asked in her usual hushed tone as she finished braiding Opal's long silky hair, who was sitting on a velvety dormeuse adorned with golden details and attentively following her movements.

"Especially after the troubles we caused him." Orym gloomily mused as he leant against the wall next to where the faun and the girl stood, one hand reflexively resting on his hip as if ready to act on whatever upcoming threat, despite not carrying any kind of weapons on his person.

Sitting, too, but in a little, uncomfortable armchair, though as luxurious as the dormeuse, in the farthest corner of the room, was Dorian. As he was trying to not have a panic attack and thus ruin everybody's feisty mood, he barely registered his friends chatting in the background. He was overwhelmed, the rooms and the main hall outside brimmed with people, from enriched nobles to foreign merchants to powerful wizards, and that feeling of inadequacy struck him as fiercely as ever. Although the possibilities were close to none, he was also afraid to come across his relatives, whether distant or not. He didn't want to meet them, he didn't want his friends to meet them, not when he left that life behind his back.

His mind was spiraling as he stared at a blank spot outside the wide window on the opposite wall, nervously twisting his fingers.

"Free food and alcohol are always appreciated." Dariax commented somewhere near his right, he could see him in his peripheral vision as he stubbornly tried to keep his unruly tuft behind his ear with poor results, standing in front of a wall length mirror, his tongue sticking out between his lips and his brow furrowed in concentration.

"We really owe him a gift, though." the halfling sighed and Fearne giggled amusedly as she wrapped a beautiful, bright pink ribbon around the end of Opal's braid.

"Maybe next time we're on an adventure, we can bring something back for him." she suggested, her face lighting up as a soft smile curled up her lips.

"That's a good idea. But!" and the girl stood up from the dormeuse before declaring, hands on her hips and chest puffing out, "But now we must party and enjoy free alcohol and food, as our winged boy here suggested.".

"Yes!" the dwarf exclaimed and winked at her through the mirror, before returning to his previous task.

"Hey, do you need a hand with that?" Opal asked him as she walked over to his side. "I have some wax that'd do the work." she wiggled her eyebrows as she fished out a vial out of her high-heeled opalescent boots.

Dariax gasped as he eyed the vial, then nodded. "You're a lifesaver." he thanked her before Opal uncorked the vial and let him get some wax to do his hair properly.

The genasi jumped a little in his seat when Fearne craned her neck to look him in the eyes, then heaved out a relieved breath. He didn't even hear her approach, so lost in his thoughts as he was.

"Sorry, I didn't want to scare you, Dorian, but I was wondering…" she tapped her lower lip with a finger as she studied him. "Would you like a ponytail, perhaps? You'd look great in it." she smiled down at him as she unwrapped another ribbon from her own hair.

Dorian blinked in confusion, caught by surprise, before his gaze bounced back and forth between Fearne and the ribbon she was now holding.

"W-why not?" the genasi accepted in a weak tone as he shrugged his shoulders.

Fearne just chuckled at that, then waited for him to scoot forward with the armchair before positioning herself behind him. First, she began brushing and carding his hair with her fingers, letting some loose strands down to frame his sharp features. Afterwards, she carefully gathered lock by lock in her hands before lifting them up at the top of Dorian's head.

"You and Opal have the most beautiful hair, so soft." she admitted, her voice cheerful as she proceeded to secure the ponytail with the ribbon, and Dorian skeptically glanced at her, or tried to at that weird angle. Not that he didn't trust her friend's opinion, but it really never occurred to him before.

Fearne's milky white organza gown rustled softly as she clopped right in front of Dorian. "One last detail." she explained when Dorian frowned at her, not understanding why the faun was vigorously rubbing her palms, a sly grin playing on her lips as sparks of fire flickered at the friction.

Dorian was getting anxious, but that feeling was short lived, leaving room for wonder as soon as realization clicked in. Fearne's hands moved to the sides of his face, then curled the loose strands with her heated fingers and Dorian noticed that it wasn't hot at all. Magic was truly something.

Once she was finished, the faun clapped her hands, satisfied with her work. "You look amazing, my friend." she assured him, her smile softening.

"Wow." a raspy whisper caught Dorian's attention before he could reply to that and he darted his eyes in the direction of it, to his right. Dariax was watching him mouth agape and cheeks flushed, and Dorian wasn't even sure the dwarf was aware he was doing that in all honesty.

Dorian turned incredibly frustrated under that scrutiny and fidgeted in his seat as a suffocating heat spread across chest and down his belly.

"Go look for yourself." Fearne prompted him to stand up with a gentle pat on his shoulder.

Dorian slowly rose up on shaky legs and moved to stand before the wall length mirror. Okay, maybe he should've trusted his friends more, because he looked fine as fuck. He never considered himself a vain person, but, as he stared at his own reflection now, he must've admitted that that outfit highlighted his best body traits, starting with the dark blue high-waisted lace pants he was wearing, not much see-through per se but open to the sides in two slits and with incorporated shorts that ran down to his mid thighs. On his upper body, the loose peach gold chiffon top that wrapped at his middle in a silver waistband with some rhinestones and left his chest exposed, the massive flowy sleeves clung at his sides and made him look so dreamy. At his feet, his beloved winged boots.

Opal helped him with his makeup earlier but he had the chance to evaluate her work just then. She used a silver eyeliner on his eyelids, the ends as sharp as her knives, while she dusted some moonshine highlighter on his cheekbones, the tip of his nose, his pecs and under his eyebrows, following their natural curve.

After a long time spent admiring himself, he felt very observed and turned his head towards Fearne, who was still looking at him, her hands clasped together against her cheek as she smiled merrily like a mother proud of her son.

"Thank you, Fearne. It looks amazing." he told her in an earnest tone.

The faun chuckled delightedly in response, before stifling a snort as her eyes glanced away from him and Dorian quirked one eyebrow at that. Then, he heard frantic fumbling and a loud snap. He spun around and found the dwarf still there, yet turned a little to his side as if he was trying to hide something, his mouth was pressed in a thin line now while tips of his ears were as red as his face as he busied himself with the laces of his vest. Dorian didn't know what to do with that notion.

Once they were all ready, the group finally exited the room, walked down the hallway and crossed the threshold of the dance hall, just to immediately get lost among the swirling of robes and skirts and cloaks, the colorful reflections of the flames that shimmered down from big crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the chattering of voices that mixed with the soft music playing in the air, the tables full of delicacies.

That combination of visuals, sounds and smells rendered the five speechless.

"Okay, this may be a little too for us." Dariax murmured to the group after a pregnant pause, his lips pursed to the side hidden behind his hand. And the genasi couldn't agree more.

"We've been lucky that Mr. Gilmore warned us and let us go on a shopping trip before coming here." Orym pointed out as his keen eyes studied the surroundings, feeling even smaller than he was already.

"Yeah, but, I feel underdressed all the same." Opal whined in a pout, crossing her arms on her chest. "And I'm wearing a fuckin dress." she added as she ran her hands down on her big puffy tulle skirt.

“Where's the wine?" the faun asked out of the blue as she looked around, her ears eagerly perking up, and the group laughed.

"Hey, look, there's Fy'ra!" Opal exclaimed as she pointed with her index finger at her, who was already in the company of Shaun Gilmore himself and a man who presumably was his husband by the way he was circling his waist with one arm.

Orym scolded her about her manners, or lack of, but his words hardly affected her since she was trotting to Fy'ra, Fearne following suit.

He sighed hopelessly, before joining them together with Dorian and Dariax.

They all greeted and complimented each other for their attires, everyone but Orym immediately falling for Gilmore's charme once again and his husband laughed whole-heartedly at their behavior, saying that he fully understood them.

As much as he really wanted to blend in and forget about his previous worries, Dorian felt anxious and uncomfortable, also regretting his choice of outfit for the night since it would've certainly drawn attention to himself, but now it was too late, he would've dealt with it.

His current mood must've been as clear as the empty glass Gilmore was holding in his hand because he noticed Dariax sliding closer to him at some point while the rest of his friends were chatting amicably, and tilting his head up to look at him.

"You okay there, bud?" he asked him in a lower tone, his warm hues regarding him with concern.

Dorian wanted to lie, although it would've been useless. The dwarf could be... slow on the uptake sometimes, that was true, but he always understood when his friends were troubled and that was one of the things he liked the most about him, he was kind and thoughtful and cared dearly for the people he held close to his heart.

So, the genasi shook his head and bit the inner part of his cheek.

Dariax’s mouth twisted in a sad grimace upon his non-committal reply. "Alrighty, let's go grab some food, yeah?" he proposed, nudging him playfully on the thigh while showing a toothy smile.

Dorian quickly warned Orym before walking away with the dwarf to find something to eat among the many, almost too many set tables.

Dorian's uneasiness gradually dissipated thanks to the dwarf's presence. Since that moment he stayed with him the whole time, trying to draw a smile out of him and the genasi really appreciated his efforts.

The two were now standing at a table with any type of meat Dorian could imagine, Dariax was trying his hard to catch a chicken leg with a fork but it kept rolling and rolling and squishing away as oily and dripping with sauce as it was, so he gave up in the end and grabbed it by the bone. Dorian wanted to be grossed out by that, but honestly after what they've been through in the last months that was the least disgusting thing the dwarf had done involving food, or anything else really.

The genasi had to admit that Dariax really stood out in those clothes. As if he was just seeing him for the first time that night, he ranked him up and down with his gaze, taking advantage of his current distraction. The dwarf had chose a white blouse with puffed sleeves and flounce collar, his broad shoulders emphasized by.. now that he took a better look at it, Dorian noticed that it wasn't a vest, more like a corset garment that made him waist look slimmer, the velvety burgundy texture complementing his auburn hair while the golden embroideries on the hems made him look princely, somehow. On his lower half, he wore black tight trousers with a detachable wrap pleated skirt on its left side, at his feet a simple pair of dark brown leather boots.

Dariax was so… dashing.

"Want some?" the dwarf's voice brought him back to the present and Dorian felt himself blush guiltily upon being caught staring so openly. Or maybe Dariax didn't notice him at all, too focused on eating his well-earned chicken leg. The genasi really hoped it was the latter.

"Uhm, no. Actually, I'm not that hungry." he admitted in a sigh and saw Dariax's joyful mood shift a bit. Even though the dwarf was helping him a lot, anxiety was still swirling in his stomach, clutching at it, making him feel nauseous.

"But if you don't eat, you can't drink." Dariax reasoned, his half smirk slotting back on his face, and those words earned him an amused snort from Dorian. As if that ever stopped the dwarf, or anyone in their group, from getting smashed, yet Dorian knew what he was trying to do and was grateful for his patience and consistency.

"I know, but I don't think I can drink either, sorry." the genasi admitted, another sigh falling from his lips, and Dariax gazed up at him, slowly lowering the chicken leg.

Clearing his throat, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then his free hand reached out for Dorian's and that gesture made his heart skip a bit, or a few.

"I don't know what you're going through, but I think we should enjoy ourselves tonight, we deserve some funny time, don't we?" the dwarf squeezed his hand oh-so-gently as his eyes bored into his as he spoke. "You should enjoy yourself, relax, unwind, relieve some stress." another squeeze of hand and Dorian's heart quivered in his chest. "Nothing's gonna happen, and in any case, I'm here for you. You got a healer in heels next to you." he winked at him as he tapped one boot's heel against the other.

Dorian's whole face was flushed deep purple by the end of his speech and, albeit his frantic heartbeat echoing in his head, he nodded and smiled down at him. The dwarf's hand was so warm around his and his mind quickly drifted back to all those time they slept together on his bed roll, so close yet so far, as Dorian wanted to touch him and hold him and-

Dorian shook his head vehemently and swallowed around a lump in his throat.

At that distance, Dorian noticed that there was eyeshadow on Dariax's eyelids, smudged, of the color of charcoal, in strict contrast to the amber of his hues, making them shine even brighter under the lights of the chandeliers. In the inner part of the eye, a glint of gold that recalled his corset, while a bronze highlighter gleamed on his cheeks. Opal must've done his makeup, too.

The genasi found himself staring at Dariax a lot that night, clearly unable to stop himself as if magnetically drawn to him.

"And honestly, you're really missing out because this stuff is delicious. I don't know when another banquet like this will happen to us in the near future." Dariax added a few moments later, emphasizing his words by swinging the chicken leg he was still holding.

Dorian heaved out a breathy chuckle, rolling his eyes at the ceiling, more for the sake of tearing his gaze away from him than being actually annoyed by what he just told him. "Alright, you got me. No more convincing." he gave up in the end as he picked a clean plate and a fork, before wandering around the table with his look.

"That's my man!" Dariax grinned victoriously, then joined him in the food hunt.

As simple as it was, that praise made Dorian’s chest fill with warmth and affection.

"Thank you, buddy. You're amazing." the genasi said after a while, his voice soft now, and shot a glance at his side to catch Dariax's cheeks turning as red as his corset as he murmured something under his breath that Dorian couldn't quite catch. In that moment, he realized it was the second time that he inadvertently made the dwarf blush and he stopped in his movements as that thought crossed his mind. What did that mean?

Anyway, the two kept circling around the table while chatting and, since Dorian's stomach finally loosened up, he was able to eat something, too. When the genasi lifted his head in a heartfelt fit of laughter after that Dariax told one of his dumb jokes about the turkey wearing socks, his attention was caught by Opal who stood some feet away at another table, watching them with a cocky grin and an arched eyebrow.

His laughter quickly ended up in an awkward coughing as he blushed from his neck to the tips of his ears and the fact that Dariax hurriedly came to his help didn't help his situation. At all.

Two glasses of wine later that embarrassing accident, glasses that Dorian gulped down like a drowning man in the desert, eventually they split up because Dariax decided it was the right time to go and grab some stronger alcohol that wasn't just wine; in the meantime, Dorian found interest in the instruments the band was playing. Despite his eagerness, the dwarf didn't leave him until Dorian assured him he was feeling better so he could go without worrying about him.

When Dorian noticed that it was taking the dwarf a little too long to get their drinks, he searched for him with his eyes, just to find him standing between two individuals, who possibly were courting him if he didn't mistaken the way they both leaned close to him, offering him drinks as they smiled flirty down at him.

He felt a strange pang of.. jealousy awfully twisting his guts as his jaw tensed at that sight.

"Are you going to ask him or not?" Opal's face suddenly appeared in front of his eyes.

Blanking out for a solid second, Dorian almost choked on his own tongue. "W-what?!" he cried in a shrill voice and immediately slapped a hand on his mouth.

The girl sighed deeply as she slowly shook her head in disappointment.

"To dance." Fearne replied from his other side on Opal's behalf and Dorian felt suddenly very cornered. "I bet he's dying to. Waiting for you to make a move. Can't you tell?" she tipped her head in a quizzical way as she eyed him.

The genasi's gaze frantically darted back and forth between the two. "I-I don't think that-" he then started babbling out, anxiety coming back at full force, but Opal cut him short with a huffy tsch.

"Please, you two have been circling around this for months, honestly. Now it's your chance to go get it." the girl pointed out as she nudged him with her hip and Dorian's heart started hammering erratically against his ribcage. What were they talking about just now?!

"Get what?!" he croaked out in a squeal and the faun's laugh only made him more miserable than he already felt.

Opal loudly gasped at that question as if she couldn't believe what she just heard. "Dorian, how oblivious can you be?!" she looked like she was that close to rip her own hair off her head for desperation or to choke him with her bare hands in an act of mercy and the genasi thought that he really didn't want to find out.

Thankfully, Fearne intervened once again. As she grabbed Opal's hand to soothe her outburst of anger, she smiled her benevolent smile at Dorian. "Dariax's been over the heels for you for like.. well, pretty much since we met I think?" she confessed in a pensive frown, then had to stifle an amused giggle when Dorian's mouth slacked open.

His head was spinning dizzily as his heart jumped up in his throat, his hands were shaking as he brought one of them to scratch at his neck in a foolish attempt to calm his nerves. He was pretty much freaking out at that point, he'd never actually noticed anything that-

Wait.

Oh gods.

"I'm a fucking idiot!" he yelled as he smacked both his hands on his forehead, and the two girls tried to not make fun of him, just to fail miserably.

"Now that you're caught up, do yourself a favor and <i>go</i>." and with Opal's words ringing in his ears, he was being pushed by Fearne and the girl herself toward the dwarf, still at the same table.

And suddenly, he was in the middle of the dance hall, his knees wobbling as his heart was trying so desperately to break free from his chest. He wanted to hide. He felt.. irremediably stupid. How could he be so blind?!

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. In retrospect, above all the things that had happened between them in the past months, Dorian realized that the dwarf had been looking at him the whole night with such a look in his eyes, something deeper concealed behind his usual fondness that he reserved for his friends.

He was getting itchy. If he wanted to act, he needed to do it now.

Mustering every ounce of courage he had in his body, the genasi walked the last steps that separated him from Dariax at last.

He cleared his throat way too loudly to be spontaneous, interrupting whatever was happening between the dwarf and those two strangers. He didn't even spare them a single glance as he stared at Dariax, who was visibly surprised by his antics.

Dorian straightened up, before bowing a little with his upper body, his left arm folded behind, as he outstretched his other, unsteady hand towards him.

"Dariax, m-may I have this dance?" the genasi asked in a solemn voice that cracked a little at the end, feeling heat rising up on his cheeks the longer he hoped for an answer. He gulped as a bead of sweat glided down his temple, his heart beating so fast right now that Dorian felt like it could stop at any moment.

And Dariax was looking at him like he held the entire world in his hands and the genasi felt himself burn from the inside out under that intensity, his hazel hues gone wide and round in complete shock, his thick eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

There was a moment of terrible, utter silence. Then, the dwarf let go of his drink, which fell and spilled on the floor, and that noise made a few heads turn in their direction while the two individuals jumped back from him. But Dorian couldn't care less as Dariax's trembling hand clutched tight around his as a happy, dazzling smile bloomed on his lips.

"Of course." he replied in a whisper, hesitant yet fast, like he'd been waiting for that question all night but couldn't believe he just got asked.

Fingers intertwined, they sauntered over the center of the dance hall to stand in front of each other like the rest of the people didn't exist.

Dorian's yearning turned out to be pretty much useless since Dariax shared his feelings and he could plainly see it now, written all over the dwarf's face as he hadn't stopped beaming up at him since he accepted his invite.

The genasi had never danced with someone that much shorter than him, or had much experience with balls in general, but they would've managed nonetheless.

They were holding hands, both their arms stretched outward in the liminal space between them as they looked into each other's eyes, full of emotions. Dorian thought he was going to faint here and there from how tense he felt, he was anxious for a totally different reason now.

Then, their feet started moving on their own and the music grew louder and louder, their bodies following the rhythm as they met halfway, their hands locking in the right positions as much as their heights would allow.

"I didn't know you could dance." Dorian said, genuinely delighted by that discovery, as they turned and spinned, completely lost in the music, in each other.

Dariax chuckled, his cheeks flushing again upon that compliment and the genasi had to stop himself from acting on the thoughts that image elicited in his mind. "Me neither." the dwarf admitted as he shrugged his shoulders.

Dorian snorted amusedly, before tightening his grasp on Dariax.

They kept waltzing, staring at each other, smiling brightly, moving freely. They kept waltzing, fingertips brushing on clothes, hands grasping, wanting for more. They kept waltzing, their looks promising.

And Dorian never felt so happy in his life.

#critfic #doriax #lionwrites #critical role #exandria unlimited #dorian storm #dariax zaveon #exu dorian #exu dariax #my writing #THIS TOOK AGES WTF #hope it’s worth the wait

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mansions-maiden · 3 years

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Helloww, I'm here for 3rd request xD

Don't know you like it or not but hw abt MC is sweet, ladylike, polite, never complained, and lovely girl but someday...when comte hold a banquet and yeps mc has low tolerance alcohol and got drunk so herself became 180° 😂😂😂

She started laughing like maniac, shouting and scold the residents like asian mom 😂.

For example : (arthur) DO YOU KNOW WE CALL A HUMAN TYPE LIKE YOU A THOT ?! FROM NOW I'LL CALL YOU ARTHOT

(isaac) OII YOU MINI APPLE BOI, HOW CAN YOU INVENTED CALCULUS?! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH PRESSURE YOU GIVE TO FUTURE STUDENTS ? I CAN'T EVEN ENJOYED MY SCHOOL LIFE !! YOU MUST KNOW HOW MUCH I WANTED TO KILL YOU WHEN I WAS IN HIGHSCHOOLER !!

Etc 😂😂 you can make what kind of screaming+scolding she will throw at them 😂😂😂 The residents ? OH I WANT TO SEE THEIR STUPID SHOCKED FACES AHAHAHA. Take your time writing it xD and thank you so much before my darlingzzz 😘😘😘❤️❤️

This is gonna be a fun one to write! Sorry this took so much time to write! I have been busy with school works. But I’ve been writing it slowly. here you go! The words in the brackets (..) indicate that she missed saying these words. I had to write the words in a weird way to show that the words were being slurred by mc.

I tried writing it to your ask .Hope you like it!

Everyone was still wearing surprised Pikachu faces as they were staring at sleeping MC. For never had they expected to see the completely hidden side of her.

Previously, that evening~

MC is sweet and perfect lady, as described in the ask. But little did the vampires know what they would be witnessing that night.

The lord of the mansion decided to throw another banquet that night for the second time in the month being the hedonistic man he is. And all the residents were invited, including MC.

All of them reached the venue that evening and in the banquet halls, many fancy dishes were there, waiting to be eaten by people. There were finest of the wines brought from the far away land and the exotic dishes that were never seen before.

All of the mansion residents gathered in a room(kinda VIP room). All have helped themselves with a drink or two and were chatting away. MC stood against the walls of the room, swirling her champagne glass as she spoke to Sebastian.

All of them continued talking to each other.

After some more time:

MC was still speaking when she began giggling to herself continuously.

All the residents: “???????⁇?”

MC:” if only people knew how crazy these idiots are!! bwahahaha!”

Napoleon: “Who are you talking about MC?”

MC: “ Who am I ... talkin bout? I talk about the grreeat ‘men’ in history.." mc continued giggling as her words began to slur.

Arthur: "And why exactly are we 'idiots'? "

MC: "who in the world knew that all of these men would have crazy sides no one ever knows!" She began laughing again.

All of them looked at each other and then at MC. They noticed her flushed cheeks and understood the situation.

“MC, you are quite drunk. You should stop drinking now..”

“ N-no no no no.. I’m not drunk at all.. see,I only drank 1,2,... 4 glasses of champagne! I want to talk! “

MC: “comte! do you know..? arthot went into the town again yesterday even after you shun himm.. But he didn’t let me tell you...! teach him a lesson comte!” MC told as she pretended that she was holding a gun against Arthotur’s head.

“What in the world is mademoiselle doing?” Jean asked with a confused stare as Sebastian replied, “In our time period, we show guns with our hands in that way.. it’s a type of pretend play..”.

“And..wait what? From when did my name change to Arthot?? Did she misspell it??” Arthur asked looking at her.

“ Lemme think.. nope.. You’re ..definitely Art..Thot! yup! That’s it!”

“Arthur.. come to my room later. I should ‘gently’ remind you the rules of the mansion. “ Arthur gulped audibly as comte stared at him with ‘nothing-is-wrong’ smile.

“Arthur, Dazai-san!! Can (you) come here once??” She suddenly asked them with puppy eyes as they came forward. She tried to reach their faces but couldn’t. She pouted a little and climbed onto the couch behind her.

“OWW!! “ Both of them cried in pain as MC twisted each of Arthur’s and Dazai’s ears. “ how.. how dare youu...! How dare you tease.. Is..Isaac?! the only baby of this mansion! Poor boy! He’s traumatized because of you!”

Isaac having the time of his life: “That’s right mc! How dare they tease a bab- wait! Who do you think you’re calling BABY!??! “ Isaac frowned at his yet another new nick name.

Her feet began wobbling and she fell from the couch onto Mozart. “Aww man!! I fell off the couch!!! Bu..but.. this pillow is soo smoooth and silkyy.. yayy! A nice pillow for me..! “ She said as she snuggled her face into her’pillow’, aka Mozart’s chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?! Get her off me! mmph!! “ Mozart began yelling but felt a hand clamped over his mouth. “Shh.. doon’t shout.. and you should.. smile like this. Say CHEEEESE! “ MC said, forcing his lips into a smile with her hands.

MC kept giggling even when Napoleon and Leonardo helped Mozart and sat her on the couch.

(I'm sorry I know that her giggling is too much but I don't know how drunk person acts exactly ^^;)

Leonardo: "How much did she even drink? Why didn't you stop her Sebas?"

Sebastian: "I'm sorry master Leonardo.. I didn't expect her to drink these many. I thought she had high alcohol tolerance.."

Leonardo (stretching hand towards mc): "Cara mia, you had enough fun, c'mon you need to rest up in the mansion.

MC shook her head vigorously . "Noooo! I don't want to rest! I want to talk to all of you~! Why don't you go to sleep ...? Da Vinci~. You've got your bed AKA them... (Pointing finger towards floor and wall) . I'll sing a lullaby to youu.. "

She began humming the tone of the lullaby as she dragged Leonardo with her.

" Rock-a-bye, baby, in the tree top

When the wind blows the cradle will rock

When the bough breaks the cradle will fall

Down will come baby, cradle and all"

"Go to bed renaissance man! And ! Your cigarillos are confiscated by me! Hmph! " She took the cigarillos from his pockets and threw them into the dustbin.

"MC! You sing so good! It's as if the angel herself has sung the lullaby.. what song is it?" Vincent asked with an excited and curious gaze.

" the lullaby..? T'is from my own time.. god! I miss my old days in college! " Everybody heard small sniffles in the room then.

They felt helpless seeing her cry. “What’s the matter cherie? Why are you crying? Is something hurting you? “ comte asked approaching her.

“*sniffle* everything is *hic* alright comte *sniffle, hic*. I just remembered *sniffle* my own time and my friends.. I miss them *sniffle* a lot..” Tears began rolling down her soft cheeks. Everyone looked at each other..

“ A-and.. *sniffle* I also remember the days I used to cry and struggle due to math in college. Especially calculus.. And I’ve heard that Isaac was the one wh- *sniffle* who invented it.. Isn’t it Isaac?” She asked Isaac through the glassy eyes.

Isaac: “Y-yeah... it was me..” He lowered his eyes as if he had done a mistake.

MC grabs Isaac’s lapels weakly and shouted, “Why? Why did you invent calculus?! I remember.. I remember the days I used to stay awakee... until late night, scratching my head and struggling to... to solve them!! I... hatee.. you !!” She suddenly released him and pushed him back, making him wobble a little.

Theo: “what the heck hondje?! how much drunk are you!? your mood swings are faster than Arthur’s snarky comments! “

MC: “ Hey Theo! Don’t you dare call me Hondje.. You’re the hondje... Who doesn’t allow anyone to come near your darling brother like a guard dog!”

Theo was very taken back at the sudden backfiring of the nickname.

MC: “Coming to Vincent and Jean! you both are so adorable. You’re the epitome of purity. I love you both so much. muah!” She sent a flying kiss to both and both the men’s cheeks flushed a little.

Napoleon: “Do you have something to say about me MC?” He asked her with curiosity and a little amusement dancing in his eyes.

MC: “ Well, All I can say ..is.. DON’T GO AROUND KISSING PEOPLE! I can’t.. beliieeve that ‘nightmare of Europe’ went around kissing people.. poor soldiers must have been traumatized..! “

“ I can’t believe the nerve of you all to send me to Napoleon’s room early in the morningg! *gasp* Wait !!This means that all of you have been kissed by him.. didn’t you? Hahahaaa!!” she continued laughing clutching her stomach hard.

“Do you know?! There’s a stalker in the mansion who stalks you all 24/7. And he notes it down in his ‘oh no! they didn’t ‘ notebook! It’s none other than our Seba- mmph! “ her voice suddenly came out muffled as Sebas quickly clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Wait-who is that stalker??” Dazai asked in confusion.

“It’s no one Dazai san. She’s just blabbering.” Sebas quickly replied in a stoic expression.

“Wow.. she speaks truth when she’s drunk Will..” Vincent told Shakespeare. “ She is.. After all, a drunk mind speaks a sober heart..” Shakespeare told him.

“Cherie, you must really go back to mansion now. Come, I shall escort you back home..” Comte said worriedly as he approached her.

“ NO! no comte ~ . See, I-I’m perfectly fine~. And you should stop being a mother comte. For the god’s sake, you’re a man! See, look at your reflection! You’re a handsome man! not a beautiful woman! Ditch all these.. motherly duties and enjoy yourself.~! “ She exclaimed as she turned him towards the mirror.

“And you all~! stop being such a child and stressing out poor comte! Okay?! repeat after mee! from this day forth, I shall look after myself and never stress out mama comte!”

“Do you even like us luv?” Arthur asked her with a knowing smile.

“Well, yes.. of course! Even though you all are handful.. I love you all a lot! I love you all this..much (spreading her hands on both sides)..I want to.. stay here..for..ever..”

Suddenly, she felt the world spinning and lost consciousness. But Sebastian caught her by the waist in the nick of time.

The room suddenly fell silent as the blabbering of a drunk resident stopped.

“Well well- tonight’s play was rather very interesting.. But the curtains have fallen in a very unexpected way..” Shakespeare said laughing and breaking the silence.

Sebastian gently laid her on the couch as she slept soundly. “never expected to see this side of cara.. not that I dislike it though..” Leonardo said as he laughed breezily.

“It felt so entertaining to see her talking her like this.. Though it’s not gentlemanly, I would love to invite her to drinks and make her drunk.. I want to hear those words and keep them to myself..” comte said looking at her.

“Let’s take her home and call it a day.. And let’s keep it a secret among ouselves...” Napoleon added. Everyone nodded in agreement and started towards mansion, still laughing at her words. That’s how they came to know the completely hidden side of mc that eventful night.

-------------------- THE END --------------------

i also wanted to ask you guys if my plots up until now were different or if it feels like I’m writing cliché things..how does it feel?

#Ikemenvampire #ikevamp #ikevamp hc #ikemen vampire xreader #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp comte #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp theo #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp jean #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp leo

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violet-knox · 3 years

Text

The Family Secret

Chapter 2: The Knight Bus

Pairing: Young!Snape x Reader

Summary: You start your journey to escape Spinner’s End with Severus and try summoning the knight bus for the first time.

Word count: 2890

Chapter 1

Your thoughts spiralled as he cuddled into your side, sleeping away the events that kept you up. Resting in this house was the last thing you wanted to do right now, but Severus looked so tired, so beat from whatever happened in that kitchen last night, you’d decided to stay another hour and let him sleep before you made your escape. You’d tried to fall asleep, tried to forget for just a moment, but his partial weight atop you, his heavy breaths brushing your skin reminded you of all the pain he went through because of you and it broke your heart.

You hadn’t asked him what happened and you didn’t care to know. All you wanted was for him to be safe and you were thankful that at the very least you’d managed to stay with him tonight. You couldn’t let anything else happen to him and you weren’t going to. You were going to protect him and save him from this house, no matter the cost. You couldn’t go on knowing the abuse he suffered through, the agony he’d suppressed all these years. Just the thought of leaving him here in this house tore at you, worried the next time you saw him, he’d look worse than he did now, or Merlin forbid you never see him again. The thought boiled your blood, and you couldn’t stand staying another second on this tainted street.

Slipping from under him, you carefully removed yourself from his bed as not to wake him. You pulled the cover back over him and watched him sleep a moment as you gently brushed his hair away from his face. Fetching your wand, you silently cast lumos and looked around his tiny room. He didn’t own much, but at least that meant it would be easy to pack. Making your way to his closet, you carefully opened it and found his Hogwarts trunk shoved inside it. Looking back at Severus, you very gently grabbed hold of the trunk, its weight heavier than you expected and carried it out of the closet.

Opening it, you went back to the closet and folded up a few clothing items he seemed to prefer to wear and tossed them in the trunk. You would have found it odd that he hadn’t unpacked the rest of his things when he got home from Hogwarts, but you understood now that this wasn’t his home. Hogwarts is where he felt safe, where he belonged, where he was happy and this house, this street was nothing more than a prison to him.

“(Y/N)?” Severus’ coarse whisper caught your attention and before you could even process the fact he was awake, you’d jumped up and quickly made your way over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed with a hand cupping his cheek.

“Hello,” you whispered back, smiling as he blinked his sleep away. “It’s time to go. I’ve packed most of your things.”

Severus nuzzled into your touch a moment, words unable to describe how happy he was you’d stayed with him after what happened last night. He was enchanted by you, falling further in love with you if that were even possible. You cared for him enough to stand by his side, to help him and he couldn’t wait to leave this house with you, never looking back.

Sitting up, he rested against the wall behind him, his hands searching to grip yours. He held your free hand between his tightly, never wanting to let go as he found your eyes, tilting his head into your palm. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It was nothing,” you smiled and, to Severus’ disappointment, pulled away. “We should get going.”

He knew you were right, that there was no time to spare staring into each other’s eyes, but he was scared. Once your journey began, there would be no taking it back. He didn’t want to know what would happen if he got caught trying to sneak out, trying to escape and with you no less; the stranger he’d let into his father's home, the reason he’d been punished, humiliated. But bringing you here was all worth it if not to have you comforting him these last few hours. He would have given anything to have any form of care when he was younger, seeking it in a friend with Lily, in the notes he took in his mother’s old Advanced Potion Making book, in the books he’d thrifted over the years, piling up in every corner of his room. Anything to help him forget the reality he lived in, to provide him any sort of relief.

“How are we going to get to your house?” He asked as he pushed himself off the bed, his legs suddenly feeling like they were made of glass.

“I read that any witch or wizard can summon the Knight Bus by simply raising their wand,” you said, kneeling to clasp his trunk shut. Severus nodded having read the same thing and hoped you were right about how to summon it. If what he’d read in the books were true, his parents wouldn’t be able to follow them once they got on the bus, at least, not without magic.

Severus made his way over to the door and slowly opened it, peering out to catch any sign of his parents before he quickly grabbed hold of one side of the trunk as you gripped the other. With you walking first, you made your way down the stairs, careful not to make a sound, your heartbeats the only sound filling the house. Relief washed over you both as you reached the bottom step, slowly walking to the closed door that led to the sitting room.

With one hand holding the trunk, you gripped the doorknob and turned it, but the moment you tried pushing it open, the door creaked so loud you would have thought the hinges were about to fall off. Severus had never once heard that door make such a sound, almost as if the house was protesting his escape, like it wanted him trapped here forever, unable to leave. But he wouldn’t have it. The house may stand here on the edge of Spinner’s End for all of eternity, but he wasn’t going to suffer the same fate. Nodding his head, he encouraged you to open the door and as if ripping off a bandage, you quickly pushed on the doorknob. The door flung open and before you could worry about anyone hearing you, the door’s screams were silenced as its movements came to a halt.

Moving quickly, you walked to the front door and took out your wand, casting a silent alohomora to unclasp the locks on the door, letting Severus led you to the main road. You would have asked Severus why there were so many locks, but the answer seemed rather obvious after everything you learned last night. Poor wasn’t the right word to describe Spinner’s End as its reputation would say. No, last night showed you Severus’ fears for what you’d learn lay on the surface of something much grander. This street wasn’t simply filled with families of a low income, they were broken families, hope lost to them all, reflected in the houses lined up next to each other. The paint on the outside chipped, the foundation of the houses barely holding together, the windows always covered but never cleaned. The spirits of those on Spinner’s End were broken, faith and aspiration lost to all but one.

Each step he took freed a chain around him meant to keep him tethered to Spinner’s End. He was free. He’d done what no one on this street could do and left. There was no turning back and he wouldn’t dream of it. If he’d gone to live on a park bench, he’d still be happy, but the fact that you were with him, freeing him from his prison was all the more gratifying and for the first time, he was looking forward to spending the summer in Cokeworth.

“This is far enough,” you said, motioning for him to set the trunk down. The streets were almost pitch black, a singular flashing streetlight trying it’s best to illuminate the road. Severus cast a silent knox and put away his wand, walking around the trunk to you as you held your wand in the air, feeling rather silly expecting something to happen when you hadn’t cast a spell. A few seconds passed and you looked at Severus, wondering if you’d done something wrong.

“Maybe it takes a moment?” Severus suggested as you lowered your wand. Nodding, you took his hand and waited until you began to feel rather frustrated. Raising your wand again, you held it up a few moments longer before letting it fall back to your side. “Maybe I should try?”

You agreed and let him take out his wand to raise, your own providing light as you both waited in anticipation. Still nothing happened and you were almost inclined to start walking when a gust of wind passed you by, almost throwing you off your feet.

“Alright, alright! Yah didn’t have ta keep calling!” you looked back where the road was black and found a purple bus staring back at you, the door open with a man as skinny as a Bowtruckle clearing his throat, putting on a pair of reading glasses and pulled out a card, holding it such that you could no longer see his face. Glancing back at Severus, you found a look of shock reflected in his face, both of you rather taken back by the sudden appearance of the bus. But it worked. The bus had arrived and you were almost free.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard.” The man read from the card like it was of no importance. “Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Kipling Crawford, and I will be your conductor this evening.”

He put away his card, stuffing it into the old drags he wore over his shoulders and stared back at you. Severus arched his brow at the man, unimpressed with his speech. He knew not to expect much from the Knight Bus after reading about it, but this was definitely not what he’d imagined when he pictured summoning it.

“Well don’t just stand there! Come on now!” The man gestured for you both to make your way in and to him, you supposed, you both looked rather silly standing there with all your puzzled looks when this extravagant appearance and introduction was normal to the man. Putting away your wand, you pick up one side of the trunk and walked onto the bus, Severus climbing in after you.

“Woss your names?” asked Kipling.

“Does that matter?” Severus snarled at him, having enough of his demanding demeanour. The man had a job to do and Severus was running out of patience, tired from last night, wanting to get out of this neighbourhood as fast as possible.

“Ya don’t have to take a tone with me,” Kipling looked unimpressed with Severus and continued to speak mostly to you. “We only need yur name to call ya when it’s yur turn.”

“(Y/L/N).” You quickly gave him your name so as to not cause any more trouble, hoping to get through this with as little tension as possible. You and Severus had already had a rough enough night, there was no need to worsen it by starting an argument with the man who worked on the vehicle that was supposed to be your safe haven. “How much?”

“Eleven sickles,” said Kipling in a tone you assumed was him trying to be more professional and less friendly. “For thirteen ya get a hot chocolate and for fifteen ya get a hot water bottle and toothbrush.”

The tickets were more expensive than you’d assumed, swearing you’d read it was cheaper than that and you wondered for a moment if the man rose the price out of spite for the tone Severus gave him. Taking a quick glance to the side, you noticed a few stains on the floor, empty cups with chocolate residue tossed in a few corners. Clearly, they hadn’t thought through the concept of a hot drink on a moving vehicle and though hot cocoa would have been great for you both tonight, it was clearly not a good choice to make. Despite the price, you were happy to leave Spinner’s End so you reached into your pocket and handed the man a Galleon and five sickles for two tickets. Kipling took the money from you and handed you back two tickets.

“Where ya headed?”

Taking the tickets, you gave him your address and looked to your left, taking a proper look at the inside of the bus, amazed to find candles burning in brackets beside the beds, each surrounded by curtains. The same coloured curtains hung over the windows, some open some closed and there were a few passengers sleeping or sitting on their bed, waiting to continue the trip.

“Ya get those two,” Kipling pointed at the two beds in the far corner of the bus before turning around to seat himself back with the driver. You walked forward and made your way to the back of the bus, your assignment likely as far away from the conductor as possible thanks to the attitude Severus had taken with him. But it was no matter, you were both exhausted anyways and didn’t need anyone trying to make small talk. It was probably best you be as secluded as possible.

Setting down the trunk, Severus collapsed on the bed in the corner as you kicked the trunk under the bed. The bus immediately started moving, leaving Spinner’s End just as fast as it had arrived. Unable to keep your balance, you fell backwards, almost toppling over one of the candles that seemed much more secure to its brackets than it looked. The trunk you’d just moved under the bed however was free to move, and as the bus swerved all over the road, you found yourself covering your face and gasping as the trunk came sliding at full speed right to you. Moments passed and you didn’t feel it collide, the bus continuing its maddening movements with no care for the passengers within it. Slowly opening your eyes, you found the trunk frozen in its place in front of you, floating a few feet off the ground before it moved back to its place under the bed. Severus had his wand pointed at it, sitting on the bed as he looked at you in worry.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, jumping to your feet and throwing yourself on the bed next to him. Severus put his wand away and fell back on the bed, turning to face you.

“This bus is not what I imagined,” he whispered to you in a rather rough voice. You furrowed your brows at how he sounded, like rocks were stuck in his throat. Even now, laying next time to him, you could tell he was having a bit of trouble breathing and you began to wonder if all that noise you’d heard in the kitchen last night had done more damage than you thought.

“Are you alright Sev?” You whispered back to him, resting your hand on his cheek, your thumb caressing his pale skin. Your eyes looked him over, stopping at his nose where you saw a small bruise forming on its side. Gently, you let your fingers brush over it, Severus closing his eyes as he nodded, smiling at your touch.

“Get some rest, we still have a ways to go,” you told him, worried his father had broken his nose and corrupted his airway. At least the hard part was over. You could both relax a bit and try to heal before you settled into your home on the other side of town.

Severus made himself comfortable, cuddling into your side as you wrapped your arms around him and pulled out your wand, hovering it over him. You did your best to cast the few healing spells you knew and hoped it would be enough to help him, but his breathing remained coarse throughout the ride home, your worry for him growing with your frustration. You couldn’t bear hearing him struggle like this, each breath heavier than the last, tearing at your mind as you tried to do what you could for him.

Sleep found Severus rather quickly as he drifted off, leaving behind his worries for a peaceful summer and resentment towards what was supposed to be his home. For the first time in a long time, he found himself dreaming rather vividly, the gentle strokes off your fingers through his hair easing him into sleep as he dreamt of a happy future with you, one filled with opportunities and growth. He could do anything he wanted now. There was nothing tying him back, nothing holding him to that house, holding him to the obligation of his father’s burdens or his mother’s desperation. He was finally free and freedom felt so much more amazing than he could have ever imagined.

Next Chapter

@sleepysnapesnake @wanderingtrails @darkthought15 @bush-viper-cutie @fluffymadamina @dracos-mudblood @mitchiesdungeon @severuslovebot @ravenhopeflyte54

#Severus Snape #Severus x reader #Severus Snape x reader #Snape x reader #young Severus Snape #young Snape x reader #my fanfic #my writing #pro Snape #snapedom #snapebang20

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tiny-cacti-magnet · 3 years

Text

God of Loss

Part Two: Press Our Bones Together — Snippet One

<<<—Prev | Next—>>>

Summary: Tommy had no fucking clue how his friends had managed to scrap together enough money for a small funeral service.

—

Or: The AU of New Deceit’s an Old Design where Karl doesn’t show up right away, and Tommy mourns his brother’s death.

Warnings: Major Character Death, Heavy Angst, Grief/Mourning.

Note: This is an extended deleted scene from New Deceit’s an Old Design continuing after chapter four. You all asked for this.

Tommy had no fucking clue how his friends had managed to scrap together enough money for a small funeral service. He assumed Quackity had something to do with it. Said president stood in the back of the small church as the pastor said a short prayer. Tommy didn’t know what the point of that was. Wilbur had never been religious.

He sat in the front pew, with Ranboo on one side and Tubbo on the other. He hardly listened as the man gave the prayer, barely managing to keep his eyes from watering as they stared at the dark oak coffin to his left. Its silver trimmings reflected the rays of sun that filtered through the high windows near the ceiling.

Niki got up from the row behind him, Puffy close to her side. The couple gathered around the closed coffin, and Niki gently rested her hand on its edge, tears dripping from her eyes as she whispered something that Tommy couldn’t make out.

Tommy stayed in his seat as Niki walked over to stand in front of him. “Hi, Tommy,” she said softly, then sniffed and wiped her nose with the edge of the sleeve of her dress. “How are you feeling?”

He shook his head as a single tear escaped his left eye, and he quickly wiped it away. “Shit,” he mumbled, and Ranboo draped a lanky arm over his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I just…” she started off, then lost her voice halfway through the sentence. “Just wanted to say that if you need anything… I’m always here.”

Tommy nodded, then reached up as she bent down for a hug. “Thanks, Niki,” he whispered into her shoulder, breathing in the flowery scent of her perfume.

They left shortly after, leaving Tommy to a mostly empty church. Tubbo and Ranboo sat by his sides; Quackity stood in the back, seemingly waiting for everyone else to leave before making himself known. And an older lady sat on the opposite side, holding a forest green book tightly in her hands.

Tommy vaguely wondered if she had gotten lost. Or if she was one of those weirdos that crashed quiet funerals just to fill out the audience.

He inhaled deeply, nose filling with the smell of incense and melted wax from thrift store candles. Tommy cleared his throat and looked between his two friends. “Can I… can I have a moment? Alone?”

Tubbo reluctantly nodded and got up, Ranboo quickly trailing after him. “You’ll come out when you’re ready?”

“Mhm.”

As soon as they stepped out the front door, Quackity came up the aisle to his side, taking a seat where Tubbo had once been.

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” he apologized quietly, fingers picking at the hems of his sharp black suit. “I’m so sorry.”

Tommy sniffed and shrugged weakly. “Not your fault, innit,” he croaked. “You tried.”

Quackity frowned. “But it wasn’t enough.”

No, it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, then stood up, making his way over to the casket to say a goodbye that Tommy didn’t hear.

Tommy stared at a spot on the floor after Quackity left, trying and failing to hold back the tears from spilling over again. He wiped his eyes on the sleeves of his suit jacket, borrowed from Tubbo, and pulled his knees to his chest, shoes on the bench.

He sat there until the tears finally stopped, what could have been hours or minutes later, alone in an empty church.

He looked up when the bench creaked, someone taking a seat beside him. The old lady who was either lost and confused, or just plain weird.

“Do I know you?” he asked, resting his cheek on one knee.

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t, no. I just came to give you this.” She held out the book he had seen earlier.

He turned it over and looked at the cover, eyebrows furrowing as he read the title. A geography book?

“I used to be a geography teacher,” she explained. “Your brother and I rode the bus together, and I’ve been lending him my collection for a while now. But I thought you should keep this one.”

Tommy opened the book, eyes scanning over the detailed maps that covered its well-worn pages. “I—thank you,” he whispered.

She nodded. “Of course,” she said quietly. “He thought the world of you, you know.”

Tommy nodded, closing the book as tears threatened to fall again. “I know,” he choked out. “I know.”

The old woman left, leaving the church with the irregular sound of patterned taps as her heels clicked down the aisle to the back.

Tommy got out of his seat then, taking four steps to his left to the casket. He laid a hand on the cold shiny wood, tracing his fingers over the detailing along the edges, carved flowers and leaves.

Cold.

It shouldn’t be cold.

He took a deep breath and stilled his body’s shudders. “I love you,” he whispered, eyes locked on the box. “Please just—I’m sorry I couldn’t—”

The words trailed off as the lump in his throat became too much to speak around. Tommy inhaled a long breath, holding the air in his lungs, and stood there for another minute before crossing his arms over his eyes and laying his head down on top of the casket.

“I’m so sorry, Wil,” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

For a thousand different things, for apologies that were too little and too late, for an unreturned goodbye, for not getting the stabilizer in time. He cried the words on repeat until he wore himself out, guilt eating away at his chest.

‘I love you too’, he hadn’t said, too caught up in his own stubbornness to give his brother a proper goodbye.

He sniffed and cleared his throat, trying desperately to get his voice to work properly again. When he felt like he could talk without breaking apart again, he stood up straight and uncrossed his arms, leaving his palms flat on the smooth surface of the wood.

Tommy looked around the church, at faded but intricate stained-glass windows close to the ceiling, at four rows of empty pews, at a small fountain on the other side, and at the image of a god that he didn’t believe in.

“I love you,” he breathed again, “so fucking much. And it’s—it’s not fair. It’s not fair that you—left. It’s not fair.” His voice cracked, and Tommy took a shuddering breath to right it. “We got dealt a shit hand, didn’t we?” he laughed weakly. “I just—I want you to know something, and it’s fucking important, so you better remember it. I know your memory’s kind of shit.”

He let out a long sigh, tapping his fingertips against the wood. “I’m gonna be okay,” he said. “Not for a long fucking time, and maybe not entirely. But mostly, I think. And that’s good enough, right? I’ll take what I can get. And I’m still gonna do shit. I’m still gonna live. I know you wouldn’t want me to just—I dunno—stop doing that. I still have people, and I still have stuff to do. Big man shit, you know how it is.”

Tommy whipped his head up as a crow cawed outside, then turned back to Wilbur. “One day, I’m gonna be really fucking happy again, Wil. I want you to know that because that’s what you’d want to know, right? You’d want to know I’m gonna be okay. But anyways, when that one day is here, you’re gonna be right there with me,” he said quietly, eyes quickly filling with new tears. “You’re never gonna stop being with me because I love you. And I don’t care if you’re dead, or if you’ve been dead for years, I’m never going to stop.”

He wiped the tears off his cheeks with his hands. “Do you understand?”

Tommy waited for a response that didn’t come, then softly whispered, “Good.”

#dsmp fic #dsmp ndaod #dsmp fanfic #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp #dsmp ndaod god of loss #tommyinnit angst #tommy innit #major character death #angst #this is the one to sob on #if you'd like to donate to the tear jar #it's always open

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Note

4: numb, for Kauri?

(going through some old prompts just... collecting cobwebs in my inbox)

CW: Drunk whumpee, trauma references, trauma memories, past abduction, past noncon, past abuse, very brief emeto reference, nausea reference, BRIEF pet whump reference, this is Kauri at his most fucked-up but it ends nicely I promise, content warning for some serious fucking yearning

The walk back in the dark is a little... wobblier than usual, but Kauri doesn’t care. He stepped off the bus and stumbled when his ankle turned as he hit the sidewalk, rolling forward and finding himself in a bush, a bit of landscaping carefully kept up by some guy who drives a truck around cleaning up the bus stops.

Kauri giggles, then pushes his hands over his mouth to quiet himself, fails, giggles some more. His hair gets caught in a little bit of branch and he winces as he yanks it free and loses a curl.

The bush gets to keep that one. Maybe the guy who trims the bushes will find it tomorrow and fall madly in love with him, like Cinderella’s glass slipper. Kauri starts laughing at the idea of the guy in his big neon orange-and-yellow reflective vest and his stupid button-up shirt with the city seal embroidered on it holding up a curl of black hair to this person or that, looking for its match.

“Hey, man,” A woman says, crouching in front of him. She’s older than he is, maybe by ten years, maybe less. Kauri can’t tell and she’s lit only by the harsh pale streetlight, adding definition to beginning wrinkles around her mouth. Or he’s making that up. Her face is kind of blurred anyway, spinning a little like everything else. She’s wearing hospital scrubs under a coat, her hair pulled into a no-nonsense bun at the nape of her neck. She reminds him of Nat’s neighbor lady, only a bunch younger. “You gonna make it home?”

Home. What the fuck is a home? Home is where they lock the doors, home is where you get the shit kicked out of you for trying to leave. Home is where he holds you down on the bed until you cry because it hurts, and it’s always going to hurt unless you want me, Kor-Bore, you know that-

Kauri’s giggles hiccup into something like a sob.

The bus is still idling along the curb next to the stop, and the bus driver knows Kauri - sees him two or three times a week in variations on drunk or high or scared or elated. She leans down and calls out, “You gonna be okay, Kauri?”

Maybe one day he won’t. Maybe one day someone will murder him in a dark alley instead of hooking up or shove him into the trunk of a car or-

into a white van with no windows and the needle’s in his skin and his sister is screaming and there’s a hand over his mouth wearing black leather gloves and a man smiles at him and there are other men and zipties on his wrists and they tell him sucks to be you, gorgeous, but you couldn’t hide a face like that and then his head drops as whatever they gave him hits and Liam’s head drops onto the plastic mat that lines the van’s floor, his eyes close, and he’s gone-

Kauri lays there staring up at the spinning stars with his had pounding at the memory, but not enough to make it stop. When he’s really drunk, sometimes he can roll with the pain, let it wash through him and change nothing, mean nothing, do nothing at all.

He feels the way the earth rotates around the sun, every motion of the giant planet but it’s not big - it’s tiny, really, the Earth and all its purple mountains majesty, and Kauri is tinier, and whatever life lives in his head, somewhere underneath the layers of pain and fear, never mattered at all.

“‘m fine,” He slurs, trying to focus on one single star. Just one.

Please, just one star.

“No, you’re not,” The woman says with a soft sigh. She glances back at the bus driver. “I’ll figure something out, Virginia,” She says, and waves one hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“G’night, Sadie,” The bus driver calls out over the low rumble of the big engines, then adds, “Get home safe, Kauri.”

Kauri closes his eyes. Why does everyone always want there to be a home?

“Where’m I taking you, then, Mr. Whiskey Breath?”

“T-Tequila,” Kauri corrects her, then gives a pale shadow of his effortless, airy smile. She takes him by the arm and pulls him to his feet and he overcorrects as he stumbles again, smacking into her side. She stays standing, if only just, and holds him more firmly. “’S... tequila. Good, good stuff, too, good...” His head drops against her shoulder, and he giggles again.

“Oh, honey,” She murmurs. They stand for a second while she thinks this through, and Kauri sees himself through her eyes - gorgeous and hammered, barely able to stand on his own, a piece of shit who can’t take care of himself or won’t or chooses not to, anyway.

He tries to feel something, like maybe shame, but nothing happens.

He’s too numb for that.

“D’you have a phone?” Sadie asks after a pause.

“Mmmmnyes,” Kauri responds, suddenly aware he hasn’t lifted his head off her shoulder yet. “I do have a phone. ‘s a very nice phone, too.”

“No doubt. Is there anyone we can call for you? I don’t-... I don’t think you’ll make it far on your own, um, Kauri? Did you say your name is Kauri?”

Kauri tilts his head back to look at her, and the world suddenly crashes hard to one side. His knees buckle and she quickly throws an arm around his waist to keep him up. He starts giggling again, shaking his head, mumbling what he hopes are apologies until he manages to locate his cell phone and pull it out of his back pocket. “M’name’s whatever you want it to be,” He says with his most charming, beautiful smile.

Sadie quirks an eyebrow as Kauri struggles to unlock his phone, then takes it once he manages, tapping over to his contacts list and scrolling. “Who do I call?” She asks, looking at the photos Kauri uses to identify everyone instead of names. “Who can I call to come get you?”

A wash of sadness so strong it feels like being hit by a wave made from bricks hits him and tears prick at his eyes, burning hot behind his eyelids. He feels a sudden wild urge to say Owen Grant, call Owen Grant, just take me back where I belong, this is too hard and I don’t want to do it anymore, being a person is just too hard but fights it off and instead, shaky and uncertain, he offers, “Th’ photo of th’ guy in th’ blue, blue shirt. That’s... thassss... Jake.”

“And he’ll come get you?” Sadie’s thumb hovers over the image, a picture Jake took of himself and sent to Kauri once, smiling over his iced coffee studying at school. “This guy will come get you, this Jake?”

Kauri whispers, “I hope so.”

Sadie looks at him, tilting her head. “Did you guys have a fight or something? Is that why you’re out here like blackout drunk?”

“No,” Kauri mumbles. “Fight... I fight with m’self.”

Sadie gives a soft sigh and a nod. “Well, I’ve been there done that. Okay.” She taps the photo of Jake, gives a low whistle and mumbles a soft damn, that guy’s hot, I see why you’re out here being schmoopy about him, and before Kauri can correct her that it doesn’t work that way, she’s got the phone up to her ear and Kauri can hear it softly ringing.

Jake must pick up because the ringing stops and Sadie says, “No, this isn’t-... I’m Sadie Williams, I’m on his phone. We’re at the bus stop on Penntuck Drive, do you know where-... oh, okay. Yeah, I live a couple blocks from here and this, uh, Kauri is way too drunk to go anywhere.”

“Am not,” Kauri protests, and his stomach suddenly flips and he swallows, eyes slightly widening. Oh no.

Sadie sighs and says wryly, “Trust me. Too drunk to get home on his own. Can you-... oh, okay. Cool. We’ll be here.” She hangs up the phone. “Okay, your buddy’s coming to get you. Let’s just sit on the bench in the bus stop, all right?”

Kauri nods, not trusting himself to speak, and lets Sadie maneuver him, fighting ripples of nausea that follow every movement, to sit down on the cold metal bench inside the shelter at the bus stop. As soon as she lets go, Kauri flops onto his side on the bench, letting the metal chill the sudden heat he feels, the sweat breaking out all over his body.

“There we go. Just stay here for a while.” Sadie pats him on the shoulder and he wishes she would pet his head, suddenly, tell him he’s a good boy, good pet, and he turns his face to the bench to hide the tears that finally escape and drip down to pool there. Sadie stands and leans against the side of the shelter, scrolling through her own phone. Kauri twists to look at her and, after his dazed vision stops spinning and settles enough to focus, he thinks... she’s tired.

She’s tired, because it’s two o’clock in the fucking morning, and she probably just got off of work and rode the bus home in her scrubs still under her coat, and watched a drunk boy fall laughing into a bush, and decided to stay with him and make sure he didn’t get found there in the morning by a cop or the bus driver who does the early morning shift, Andrew something, and...

“‘m okay,” Kauri says, and she doesn’t look up, but one eyebrow slowly quirks upward. “You could... go home. He’s comin’. I’m okay.”

“Oh, you are the exact opposite of that,” She says without looking at him. “Whatever’s got you fucking yourself up, I’m not gonna be the one who walks away from you. I’ve seen too many people like you wind up in the ER.”

Is it his imagination, or do her eyes briefly drop to the thick leather bracelet Kauri always wears around his left wrist to cover up his barcode?

“You don’t know me,” He protests.

“I know enough,” She says, flatly, and he stops trying to argue. He knows that voice - Nat uses that voice when she’s getting you to do things, a voice that brooks no appeal. Kauri calls it her mom-voice, even though she doesn’t have kids and never will. It makes him think of TV moms, and maybe of his own, who must have existed, and is maybe still missing her dead son, whoever the fuck he was.

Kauri winces at the headache that pings around his skull and curls up on the bench on his left side. There’s silence, for a while, and then the sound of a car engine coming closer, the bright flash of headlights against Kauri’s closed eyes.

Jake’s new beat-up four-door - well, new to him, but it’s a Subaru that has seen better decades, not just better days - pulls up alongside the curb, idling as he opens the door and unfolds himself. Sadie, Kauri sees from the bench, tenses slightly at the sight of him, and Kauri wonders if she’s got her phone ready to dial for help.

He wouldn’t blame her - if you don’t know Jake and just see all that height and muscle alone with you in the middle of the night, you could see the threat, in that. If you didn’t know that Jake’s the guy who beats up your attacker, not the attacker himself.

Jake seems well aware of her tension and puts up both hands. “I’m Jake. You’re Sadie? You called for Kauri?”

Some of Sadie’s tension dissipates. “That’s me. Mind if I get a little distance while you pick him up?”

“Yeah, no problem. Go ahead.” Jake waits for Sadie to step away, and Kauri watches her hand move to her purse. He never thinks about stuff like that - she probably has pepper spray or a gun in there, and here is Kauri blackout drunk half-passed out on a bus bench, here is Kauri who passes out on park benches and underneath that big black box that doesn’t do anything over by downtown, Kauri who sleeps in alleys and grassy lawns and anywhere he thinks he’ll get a couple hours, here and there.

She’s careful - and Kauri is lucky.

“So fuckin’ lucky,” Kauri mumbles, then coughs out a bitter laugh, and Jake sighs as he moves over to him, sliding big arms gently between Kauri’s body and the bench. The world spins again as Jake picks him up and Kauri’s arms go around his neck, suddenly terrified he’ll fall and not hit the ground but fall up, up and up and up, and end up somewhere high above the clouds.

“D-don’t, don’-... let me-”

“I got you, Kaur,” Jake says, and his voice is low and it rumbles against Kauri in his chest and he relaxes, a little, but his hands tighten behind Jake’s neck. “Thanks for waiting with him,” He says to Sadie, moving Kauri to the passenger side of the car and leaning over to help him slide him in. Kauri flops to one side, eyes sliding closed.

“No problem. I’m going to head home. Take care of him.”

Jake gives a huff of laughter as he closes the door for Kauri. “I always do,” Kauri hears him say, a little muffled. There’s a pause and then Jake sits back down in the driver’s seat, leaning across to buckle Kauri’s seat belt for him as he half-sits, half-lays limp against the seat.

“We’re going to get you home and you’re gonna drink some water,” Jake says firmly, slipping a hand behind Kauri’s head to help him reorient himself. Kauri shivers at the simple pleasure of the affectionate touch, eyes sliding closed, and turns his head, just barely pressing a kiss to Jake’s wrist.

Jake doesn’t pull away - Kauri will lose his balance if he does - but he goes still. “Hey. No, Kauri. The answer is still no.”

Kauri sniffs, nuzzles at his arm, and then pulls away, turning away from Jake to clumsily curl up against the car’s door, as far as he can get. “I know. But-... I just-...”

“I know. But we can’t, ever, not like this.”

Kauri tries to feel something other than the spin of the earth, his stomach flipping at the motion of the car as Jake slowly pulls his hand back and drives down the dark street, every house silent, everywhere around them still and quiet.

Jake’s speakers play music, softly, a man’s voice singing, well, let that lonely feeling wash away - maybe there's a reason to believe you'll be okay over the press of piano keys and hint of strings.

"What is this?” Kauri asks, tries to point, fails.

“Um, Chris’s shit,” Jake says, but he doesn’t change the song. “I drove him to get some hair dye today, he must have put his playlist on. Musical shit.”

And oh, someone will come running and I know they’ll take you home

“When can it?” Kauri asks, softly. “When can it happen?”

“What?”

“Us. When can us happen, Jake?”

Even when the dark comes crashing through, when you need a friend to carry you and when you're broken on the ground, you will be found

“I hate this song,” Kauri mutters.

Jake doesn’t look at him as he signals a turn - Kauri fights a laugh at the sight of Jake, totally and utterly alone on the road in the earliest hours of the morning, fucking putting on his turn signal a careful distance back from the intersection - and takes a right.

“Jake-... I want you,” Kauri says, the last vestiges of tequila pressing the words onto his tongue, rolling them off and out into the soft air between them. “When can I stop wanting and-”

“Kauri.” Jake’s voice goes softer, not harder. It’s not chiding him, it’s not angry, but laced with something very different.

He wants me, too, I know he does, I know it.

“Jake, I-”

“It can’t ever happen,” Jake says in that same soft voice, lost in something that some dim part of Kauri recognizes as an echo of his own feelings, “until it’s not like this.”

Jake reaches down to grab his phone, hits a button, and the song changes. Kauri fights back a laugh when he realizes it’s just a different song from the same fucking musical.

“Fucking Chris,” Kauri says, trapped between laughter and tears.

Jake’s hand moves to rest on the console between the seats, and after a second, Kauri’s hand remembers how to listen to his brain and he lays his cold, thin, long fingers over Jake’s larger, warmer ones.

Jake doesn’t pull away from him.

By the time they get back to Nat’s house, their fingers have wrapped around each other, and Kauri feels a little warmer than he felt before.

When you’re falling in a forest and there’s nobody around, all you want is for somebody to find you

“Next time, can it be your music playing?” Kauri asks, voice a little huskier and rougher than he means it to be. All the numbness that came with the drinking is gone, and Kauri hurts, inside himself, in a way he’s almost grateful for.

When you’re falling in a forest and when you hit the ground, all you need is for somebody to find you

“Uh, um, yeah,” Jake manages, and his voice is rough, too.

No one deserves to be forgotten, no one deserves to fade away

“I can get better, Jake,” Kauri says, voice low. “I can. But I’m never-... I’m never gonna be whoever was me before.”

No one deserves to disappear

“I know,” Jake says. “That isn’t who I care about, anyway, Kaur... I care about you.”

No one deserves to disappear

They sit in the driveway until the song ends. And through the next song, and the next. The streetlights shine down and the dark is otherwise total and the world slowly steadies in its constant spin around the sun. Kauri lets his head slowly lean back against the headrest.

“I’m-... so fucking lucky you found me,” Kauri whispers. Jake’s fingers twitch in his, and his eyes are locked on Nat’s front door, up on the porch.

“No,” Jake says, softly. “We’re-... I’m lucky you found us.”

Neither of them wants to be the first to let go of the other one’s hand.

---

@maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly @whumpiary @whump-tr0pes @raigash @cubeswhump

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bellshells · 4 years

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Nobody Can Know Part Four

It’s here! The finale of Nobody Can Know! This was actually really emotional for me, 52, 540 words later and this fic has come to an end. I have had the absolute best time writing this and I must send a massive shout out to @hinagiku0 for requesting this in the first place. I do have a bonus chapter in the works set in between parts two and three, but no time frame as to when that will be finished. Thank you to everyone who has come on this journey with me, and thank you to everybody who has liked, reblogged and taken the time to send me your kind words. You’ve made this aspiring writer very happy indeed. Thank you.

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Slytherin Reader Warnings: Language, Angst, Blood, Smoking, Alcohol, Smut Summary: Christmas has come faster than anyone could have anticipated, but with everything so up in the air; it’s impossible to celebrate. The promise of a break away may give everyone the clarity they need. Word Count: 17.4k+

“No, you can’t. That’s- no. I won’t let you.”

George looked at you with a look of utter desperation, it made you ache. You bit the inside of your cheek to distract from the pain in your heart, it didn’t work. He shook his head and wiped at his face as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“I’m sorry, George. I just need to think.” You whispered, you longed to reach for him, to comfort him; but your mind was made up. “I need some time away.”

“Why? Love listen, please just talk to me. Tell me what to do.” George begged, he grasped your hand across the table and squeezed tightly. “I’ll do anything.”

You smiled sadly; you knew he would; he would do anything in that moment to keep you there. But was that enough?

“I know George, I just feel…honestly I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. I just need to get away from everything so I can sort myself out.” “From me?” “From you, from the shop, everything!” You answered tersely, you didn’t mean to be blunt with him, you were uncomfortable seeing George distressed. But he needed to understand that you wouldn’t be swayed. “Do you still love me?” He asked, his face twisted in agony as you pulled your hand away and placed it in your lap. “That’s never in question.” You stood and walked around the table to where George sat, he looked at you expectantly as you bent down. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll send you an owl when I’m settled, so you know how to reach me if anything happens.” “Where will you go?” “A friends.”

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

Cokeworth was probably the most depressing place you had ever set foot in. The industrial town was still dirty from the smoke that the chimney of the old mill had puffed out. While in recent years it had ceased in its emission, the last century’s worth of grime had remained strong. It was a bleak, often sad reminder of the proletariat forefathers of the current upper working-class families who had purchased the many two-bed terraced houses for good rail links to Birmingham and Wolverhampton. You could never have imagined that Professor Snape lived somewhere like that, but really, you couldn’t imagine Professor Snape living anywhere other than Hogwarts. You had seen his office on many occasions, it was to be expected really; full of dusty books and rolled up pieces of parchment. It always smelled distinctly of cedarwood and myrrh, a scent you had almost absolutely convinced yourself that it was Professor Snape himself who smelled of such. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t dwell much on the last few days, instead you would take this time for yourself. You wanted to be kind to yourself for once, to just be you. You weren’t looking forward to the quiet though, your life had never been quiet.

You walked for what felt like miles, all the streets looked the same, each house identical. It was disorientating, the numbers screwed on to each door seemed to ascend and descend in whichever way they liked. You were about to give up and go back the way you came until a little white sign on the side of a house on the corner of the street caught your eye; it had an arrow pointing in the opposite direction with SPINNERS END written across it. You breathed a sigh of relief and started off in the direction dictated by the sign. 69, 67, 65- it was 65 wasn’t it? You pulled the crumpled bit of paper Professor Snape left you from your pocket and looked from the words there, to the grey wooden door in front of you.

If you are in need, you need only knock

You knocked once on the door, you heard a click of a lock from the inside and it swung open slowly. There it was again, that smell. It was almost overpowering as you took a hesitant step into the house. From what you could see, it was immaculately clean. You dropped your suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and removed your heavy cloak from around your shoulders, hanging it over the bannister. The walls of the hallway were a dark green, but this didn’t surprise you. You would have been incredibly shocked it you had entered Professor Snape’s house and the walls had been painted magenta and mustard. You smirked at the idea and followed the hallway round to a room on the right, it looked like it should be a lounge. The walls were lined with books, every surface was littered with them too. There was a well-worn leather armchair in one corner with a drink’s cabinet close by. A table sat in the middle of the room and on the opposite side, a two-seat sofa. The leather of the sofa looked intact, like not a soul had ever sat on it. Whilst you knew that was near impossible, your heart ached for the lonely man who owned this house. Nobody should lead as solitary a life as this.

You looked for a moment, long the lines and lines of books. Some looked to be incredibly old indeed, some without a dent in the hard spines. There were books in languages you didn’t know and some you recognised as classics in the muggle world. You ran your finger across the spines and sighed, you could imagine clearly that Professor Snape had read each and every one of them. You could see him in his chair, one leg crossed over the other- book in one hand and cigarette in the other. You smiled at the image you had created, you hoped he was happy here. You made your way out of the sitting room and back into the dark hallway, the stairs had a cupboard underneath them, the door painted the same green as the walls. You noticed a glimpse of the kitchen through a door which sat ajar, you pushed it open and stepped through. There were more books, many sat on the small dining table that sat in the corner. It was old, it reminded you pews at Hogwarts in its shape. The kitchen itself was cramped, although it had all the amenities one might expect, the claustrophobic closeness of the cupboards did nothing but remind you of the tiny kitchen in your flat. You walked over to the cupboards and opened them one by one, mugs and glasses, plates and bowls (four of each) and then one full of non-perishables. You laughed slightly at the tins of baked beans and scotch broth, a tin of rice pudding sat further forward on the shelf, as if picked out and then placed back.

You opened up a low cupboard next to the fridge and exhaled in relief at the sight of instant coffee, you pulled it out and unscrewed the lid. Giving the coffee a big sniff, you decided it was good enough to drink and sought to put the kettle on. After you had found the sugar and cutlery, you poured the contents of a tin of tomato soup into a pan and lit the cooker. Satisfied with your level of domesticity achieved, you placed your coffee and soup onto a tray and levitated it behind you into the sitting room. You scoured the books for something to read, and finally settled on a dusty black jacketed book called Dracula. The image of the author; a gentleman named Bram Stoker was still and aged, you could but assume this was a muggle book and you secretly relished in the simplicity of it. You settled into Professor Snape’s well-loved armchair and ate your soup quickly, quietly cursing when you burnt your tongue. You devoured the novel, your coffee forgotten until you squealed at the un-dead return of Lucy Westenra. You heart raced and you laughed, having fully immersed yourself in this novel. It was exhilarating. Your coffee was now cold as you brought it to your lips, and you yawned. It was dark outside now, but, in the deep December that could mean it was about five o’clock. Looking over your shoulders as if someone could catch you at any moment, you reached for the handle of the drink’s cabinet and marvelled at the assortment of alcohol stored within. You reached greedily for a bottle of port and padded into the kitchen for a glass, it was then you noticed a scrap of parchment next to the sink.

(Y/N), it read in Professor Snape’s neat script,

Welcome, if you have decided to stay. I have left some muggle money on my desk in the second bedroom upstairs, along with an almanac of the values of it. There is some food in the cupboards, please feel free to help yourself to it. I am not expecting anybody to arrive, so please do not let anybody inside the house. I would be very much appreciative of that. You may write to me if you wish, I would like to know if you are there. Have a Merry Christmas.

Best,

Severus

You raced up the narrow stairs of Professor Snape’s house, port and glass forgotten. The landing was small and had three doors that lead from there. One you assumed was the bathroom, you hoped it was as clean as the rest of the house. You continued to the next door along and opened it, Professor Snape’s personal study before you. You walked into the body of the room, absolutely in awe. He had enchanted the ceiling to reflect the night sky, the moon high above and stars twinkled through the heavy clouds. You stood for a moment and appreciated the craftmanship of this, it was silent in this room and the serenity of the night sky filled you with a sense of calm you hadn’t felt for the longest while. By the only window in the room sat his desk, it was surprisingly non-cluttered with minimal books. True to his note, there was an envelope marked Money. It was a curious thing, you peeked inside and found coins but also paper money too. What would muggles do if the paper money floated away? From the cursory glance you gave Professor Snape’s deconstruction of the value of each piece it seemed the paper money, or ‘notes’ as he called them were of greater value than the coins. But the coins together equalled the sum of notes. It was all very confusing, so you popped the envelope back on the desk and opened up the small drawer on top, thankful to find some parchment.

The feel of Professor Snape’s quill in your hand was foreign and took some getting used to. You wrote two letters in total, one to Professor Snape to let him know you had arrived and to thank him again for his hospitality. He really had gone over and above what you had dared hope, and you sunk further into his debt. The other letter, was to George. Could it really only be a few hours since you had last seen him? You ignored the glassy state of your eyes as you sealed the letter and opened the window. A small silver whistle hung on a chain attached the inside of the sill, it had an owl in flight intricately engraved on the side. It was really quite beautiful, it glistened in the moonlight of the room and felt heavy in your hand. You brought the cold metal to your lips and blew once, but no sound came from the whistle. You looked desperately into the blackness of the street, the only light was the flickering streetlamp; only one was working and that one looked ready to be condemned. You noticed a speck in the distance, it grew bigger as it flew toward you. Your heart leapt at the sight of the black owl that fluttered its wings as it settled on the windowsill. “This one first.” You instructed the owl as you offered the letter addressed to Professor Snape to it, it presented its leg and you fumbled in the drawers of Professor Snape’s desk for some string. “Fucking fuck fuck, where’s the fucking string?” You cursed, the owl gave an indignant hoot, and you made a face to it. Upon finding the string, you attached both letters to the owl’s legs and watched as it flew into the night.

You trapsed back down the stairs and collected you dirty dishes and washed them in the sink. You yawned, fuck, you didn’t realise how tired you were until you caught your eyes closing of their own accord as you stood aimlessly in the kitchen. You collected your bag and made your way back up the stairs to the bathroom. You hadn’t expected a bachelor to take such good care of his home; the bathroom smelled strongly of bleach and the toilet was so clean you could’ve eaten your dinner off of it. No shower, you thought. Not a bit of wonder really, especially when you considered how old these houses were. You were thankful though, that Professor Snape must have charmed the brick somehow to keep the heat in, you wouldn’t even know where to start switching a radiator on. You decided against having a bath, it was far too late, and you didn’t fancy accidentally drowning to death as you inevitably fell asleep. You changed and popped your dirty clothes into the empty washing basket in the bathroom, making a mental note to write to Professor Snape and ask for instructions on how to use the washing machine. You felt a pang of loneliness as you walked across the empty landing, you and George never went to bed alone and you had missed his usual night-time burst of energy as you would get under the covers. It usually resulted in you making love for a few hours until you both passed out from exhaustion. No- you wouldn’t think about that.

You pondered what to do. There was one bed. You hadn’t spared a second thought to the idea that Professor Snape had turned his second bedroom into a study, you cursed yourself as you stood in your knickers and stared at his wide bed. The bedding was black, of course and looked inviting in your sleepy state. You chewed on the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t appropriate for you to sleep in his bed, certainly not. You imagined how enraged he would be if he found out you had slept in his bed. But, he had let you stay here. Surely, he knew you would need to sleep? Maybe he thought you would have a sleeping bag, or even a blanket and you could sleep on the sofa that looked like it had never been sat on. You shook your head and chuckled, what a nightmare. Resigned, you pulled back the covers of Severus Snape’s bed and climbed in. You decided you would find your way to the town centre tomorrow and buy a pillow and a blanket and sleep on the sofa. But tonight, well one night wouldn’t hurt. You had imagined Professor Snape would sleep in a coffin, or perhaps a bed of nails in your youth. You hadn’t considered a large spongy bed, with brushed cotton sheets and pillows so soft your head could sink through them. The sheets smelled of freshly washed linen and you wondered if he had cleaned his house for you coming, you were grateful if he had and impressed if he hadn’t. Your eyes were heavy and closed almost instantly, you pulled the covers tight to your chest and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

********

You were awoken by the sound of scratching. You opened your eyes and were confused for a moment why there wasn’t a sleeping redhead next to you. It had been three days since you had arrived in Spinner’s End and you felt almost at home now. You had a routine, you would wake up and have a bath, have some breakfast and read. You had managed to find the muggle supermarket and filled the cupboards full to burst. You often found yourself falling asleep in Professor Snape’s armchair. The evening would breach the windows of the living room, and you would drift away. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t particularly exciting either. You felt the same pang of loneliness you’d felt the night before as you sat slowly and sighed. The black owl tapped its beak impatiently on the bedroom window, you rose unsteadily and pulled a t-shirt out of your open bag. The owl didn’t wait for you to let it in as you opened the window, it swooped into the room and landed on the bed, kicking it’s legs, like you hadn’t already noticed the letters tied to it. “I haven’t got any treats for you, sorry.” You said as you attempted to untie the letters, at least, if the owl stayed still for a second. You finally prised the letters away and the owl flew out the way it had come. The morning air was freezing, more snow had fallen in the night and the whole street was bathed in an eerily white blanket. There were a few children already out in the street, their parents scraping ice from the windows of their cars. People still need to work, you supposed, regardless of how close it was to Christmas. You closed the window and climbed back into bed, it was still warm under the covers and you settled in to read your letters.

(Y/N), the first one read.

Glad to hear you have settled in. Yes, you may help yourself to some of the drinks in the cabinet, but if you touch my Lagavulin with your grubby little hands, I shall know.

You snorted as you read that. You inched deeper into the bed, craving more warmth.

I’ll be in London for New Year, believe me, it’s as much an inconvenience to you as it is to me. So, whilst you are more than welcome to stay in my house, be prepared for my arrival on 31st December. If you wish to stay until then, I will require you to buy food. Please let me know what you decide to do well ahead of time.

Best,

Severus

That was the third time he had signed off by using Severus and not Professor Snape or Professor S. Snape, Head of Slytherin House Hogwarts, Potions Master, Surprisingly Nice Person as you had almost expected him to. So, he was coming back for New Year? Blanket and pillows were definitely on your agenda for the day. You picked up the other letter. You knew it was from George and you felt a sinking feeling in your gut as you fingered the envelope. You weren’t really expecting a reply, you told him you had arrived safe and you’d write him again soon. You weren’t sure what in the letter you sent actually required a response.

My darling, George wrote.

I’m chuffed to hear you’ve settled in wherever you are. I’d like to think you’re being looked after, but I know you don’t need anyone to look after you. I really miss you, gorgeous. I know there’s not much I can say that I didn’t already say yesterday, but I would have felt like an absolute git if I didn’t tell you again. I’m not going to ask you to come home if you’re not ready, but I wanted to let you know that me and Fred are heading to mum’s for Christmas. Couldn’t quite face it in the flat without you. So, if you decide you want to come home for Christmas, you know where we are. I love you, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to show you that.

All my love forever, George xxx

P.S. I noticed you didn’t take any of your tampons with you, just say the word and I’ll send them to you. Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, love x

You shot out of bed like a rocket. Your tampons? Oh fuck. You raced across the landing to the loo and as you sat down, you saw the same sight that had been staring you in the face for weeks.

Nothing. Nothing in your knickers.

You were late. More than late, it had been far more than a week ago since you were due on and yet, with all the stress of the last few days you had forgotten all about it. You sank onto the bathroom floor and cried. Big, mournful tears and sobs that wracked your whole chest. This couldn’t be, this wasn’t to be your life. With a sniff of resolution, you stood from the floor and looked at yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t realised how haggard you looked. There were dark circled under your eyes and your face was pale and gaunt. You ran a finger across your cheek and felt the hardness of your cheekbone that jutted out further than it ever had before. Merlin, you were far too young for any of this. In the year that you had spent being George’s girlfriend you had had more strife than you could have possibly imagined. Quite frankly, you thought, you had taken it like a champ. But this just seemed one ordeal too far. You were alone, alone and hiding in Severus fucking Snape’s house from your boyfriend. No family, no friends, nothing. No, no more.

******

You hadn’t been to this part of London before. You were quite shocked when she suggested meeting you here, you hadn’t anticipated she was one for the theatre. As you stared up at Her Majesty’s Theatre, the bright still photographs of the show stared back at you. A woman, with long curly hair in a pink dress seemed frightened as a masked man with dark hair loomed behind her. What utter drivel you thought, who would pay money to see this? You rubbed your hands together, now significantly warmer with your new gloves you had bought on your way into London; and scoured the busy street for her. You were starting to think she wasn’t coming when you saw an emerald green cape swish in your periphery. “There you are! Merlin, I was beginning it think you were taking the piss out of me.” You said as you wrapped her into a warm hug. “Never,” Pansy smirked, she pulled away from you and gazed intently at your face. “You look terrible mate.” “Thank you dear, you are nothing if not horrendously honest.” You looked at Pansy with a sly smirk. It felt so wonderful to see her again, her arm entwined easily with yours as you started back toward Leicester Square. “Why did you want to meet in front of that theatre?” You asked. “Oh, I saw the show last week with my parents and it’s an easy location, tucked out the way a bit yet still in central London.” Pansy seemed to have blossomed in the time since you had last seen her. her hair had grown long and glossy, and she was pretty, very pretty. “You? You saw a musical?” You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips. Pansy rolled her eyes and pushed you playfully. “Don’t judge unless you’ve seen one yourself. The music is to die for.” She smirked and lead you up a busy street. “Do you want to look at the Christmas Markets?” Pansy asked as she picked up a bauble from a nearby stall and inspected it. You wondered if it was a mistake to meet in such a crowded place so close to Christmas but, as she had reminded you, less chance of bumping into somebody you know. “Actually Pans, I need to talk to you.” You replied, she nodded and lead you across the square to a café, all of the tables were either taken or dirty. You both looked over your shoulders as you pointed your wand at a table in the corner and the dirty mugs and plates stacked and ended up on the next table over. “What do you want? I have muggle money.” You said as you reached into your purse and pulled out one of the paper notes; you remembered they were worth more than the coins. Pansy looked from the paper note in your hand and to your face and burst out laughing. “What?!” You demanded. Onlookers from other tables began to stare in your direction as Pansy doubled over laughing. “Oh, fucking hell, (Y/N). You are so clueless.” She managed through her giggles. “You’re going to pay for two coffees with a fifty-pound note?” “Is that wrong?” You asked bewildered, surely it was right to take the biggest one? “Merlin, just put that back in your purse before someone steals it out of your hand and I’ll get the coffees.” Pansy replied, you could see her shoulders still bobbing up and down with laughter even as she queued for your drinks. You couldn’t help but smile too, it had been so long since you had seen her last, too long.

Pansy ended up taking longer than you anticipated ordering drinks. Your stomach began to rumble, and you felt sick. You ran a hand through your hair and sighed, you needed to speak to Pansy about the situation. You had nobody else to turn to. You stared aimlessly out of the window at the last- minute Christmas shoppers frantically move from shop to shop. You wondered if George would have taken the things you had bought for his family back to the shops, or if he would have wrapped them terribly and dished them out. You cringed at the idea of Molly seeing George’s wrapping and thinking it was yours. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of gold and a suitcase whizz pass the window. Your heart raced as you made eye contact with him, Mundungus Fletcher. Behind him he pulled a trolley you saw old ladies carry their shopping in full of tat. He raised a ringed hand up and waved at you through the glass, a sneer fixed on his stupid face. You reached for your wand, but he was too fast, he weaved through the crowd and was gone. You searched for him wildly with your eyes, you craned your neck to try and see further, but it was no use. He had disappeared as quickly as he appeared. You tried to quell the hatred that bubbled under your skin and took a deep breath. “Who was that?” Pansy asked as she set a tray on the table. She passed you your coffee and a slice of cake and put the tray on the floor. “Nobody.” You muttered. You thanked her and took a sip, you grimaced as you swallowed it. Muggle coffee was terrible, watery and bland. It made you long for home, the kitchen staff at your parent’s house were always at the top of their game. It had spoiled you really, you had made such an effort to learn how to do everything yourself. You wouldn’t be one of them. You refused. “What did you want to talk about?” Pansy said as she shovelled a forkful of cake into her mouth. You bit your lip; you didn’t know how to say it. “Oi, you haven’t dragged me all the way to London just for a coffee so talk.” “I’m late.” “What do you mean?” “My period’s late.”

Pansy’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth; her eyes wide with shock. You tapped on the table nervously and glanced over your shoulder. You would be mortified if you found yourself in another situation like the one of the last few days. “How long?” “Nearly two weeks now that I think about it.” “Shit.” “What do I do, Pansy?” Your eyes brimmed with tears as you watched your friends face flit between emotions. Pansy’s usually stern face softened, she ran a hand over her beautifully quaffed hair and sighed. “Have you been to St. Mungo’s?” She asked, you shook your head. “I didn’t know I had to. I only realised this morning and that’s when I wrote you straight away.” “Right, okay. So, first thing you need to do is go to St. Mungo’s, you’ll see a mediwitch and they’ll make you drink a potion to see if you’re…pregnant or not.” She whispered, you nodded tearfully. “Is that it? I just need to go to St. Mungo’s?” “Well, you need to make an appointment first. Only-” She stopped short, she frowned, and her brow furrowed. “Only?” You prompted. “Only, it’s the day before Christmas Eve (Y/N). They’ll be no appointments until after the New Year, I’m sure.” “Is it the 23rd already?” You asked, “Fuck me, I didn’t realise.” You paused. “So I have to wait?” Pansy nodded and swallowed another mouthful of cake. She pondered for a second before she sat up straight in her chair. “Unless…” “Unless?” You asked, you were growing impatient. “There is the old-fashioned way of finding out. The muggle way, it’s just as effective. My sister had to do it before she was of age and she had it off with one of the Black cousins.” “Which is?”

******

You shifted your weight uneasily from foot to foot. You were in Piccadilly Circus waiting outside of a, you think Pansy called it a chemist? She didn’t trust you to not have a breakdown in the middle of a muggle pharmacy so left you to wait outside. It was bitterly cold and the snow had begun to fall harder than before. You watched as muggle pedestrians tried to weather their way through the flurry. How had it gotten to be the 23rd of December without you noticing? How had you let yourself not notice that your period was late? Very, very late, you cursed. You couldn’t help but be slightly angry at Fred and George, you had worked your fingers to the bone over the last few weeks to make sure the sop was stocked to the brim ready for Christmas. You had been exhausted, and still found time to cook and clean for the boys too. No, stop that, you thought. You were just irritable and nervous. You weren’t angry at the boys; you loved the boys; and were so proud of everything they had achieved in such a small space of time. Its natural to have bumps in the road, you just hoped there wouldn’t be a bump of another kind making an appearance.

You shook your head to try and rid yourself of these thoughts. It was no use to anyone to berate yourself, you placed a hesitant hand on your stomach. You prayed silently to Merlin, to anybody that could possibly hear you. You whispered the words over and over again in your mind, please don’t let me be pregnant please don’t let me be pregnant please don’t let me be- “Got it!” Pansy thrust a plastic bag in your direction, followed by a handful of coins. You cocked your head to the side in confusion. “Your change,” she announced and placed the money in your hand. “Merlin, you know absolutely nothing do you.” You offered her a tight-lipped smile as she linked her arm with yours and you hurried away from the pulsing crowd. “Right, let’s go to your flat and get this over with.” Pansy stated, she pointed to the designated apparation point and looked at you expectantly. The thought of going into an empty flat filled you with a dread that quickly turned to sickness, a bile that rose in your throat. You shook your head and slumped against the wall behind you. “I can’t Pans, I can’t go back there now. Not today, I’m not ready.” You muttered, your hair fell into your face and shielded it from Pansy’s view. You felt Pansy put an arm around her shoulders. She pulled you close to her and enveloped you in a hug. The tears you had been holding in since you left Severus’ (could you even call him that now?) house fell from your heavy eyes as you clutched to your friend for dear life. She rubbed your back and swayed you from side to side. “That’s okay, we don’t have to go there. Let’s just go to where you’re staying.” “I can’t take you there either!” You laughed through your tears, Pansy laughed too and brushed her thumb across your cheek. “Fucking hell, you truly are off grid, aren’t you? Don’t do break-ups by half.” “We haven’t broken up, Pansy. I just needed some time away. I haven’t been on my own since…since-” “Shh. I know, I know. I was just winding you up.” She pushed you back gently and held you at arm’s length. “Now stop crying please, you’re making me uncomfortable.” You laughed again and smiled weakly at her. You exhaled deeply and nodded. You needed to pull up your big girl pants and be an adult. “I’ll owl you as soon as I know.” You said, Pansy’s face fell into a look of concern as you took a step back from her. “Have I not shown you, you can trust me, (Y/N)?” She replied, she looked hurt and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes, of course you have, Pansy. I just- I need to do this alone.” Pansy sniffed in indifference and crossed her arms over her chest. You felt instantly guilty, you loathed to upset your friend, especially when she had gone above and beyond for you; but you needed to do this by yourself. “Fine. But you should let George know, it’s as much his concern as it is yours.” Pansy said stiffly before she turned away from you and disapparated with a small pop!

You were still for a moment. The snow had turned to sleet and it seemed to soak you through to your very bones as you stood. How had everything turned into such a mess in such a small space of time? Of course, Pansy was right, you needed to tell George. He had a right to know what was going on as anybody else and another feeling of guilt flooded over your already aching chest.

******

Desdemona was waiting patiently on a streetlamp as you approached Severus’ house. She let out an almighty hoot as you spotted her in the encroaching darkness, she flew quicky from her porch and nearly into your face. “Bloody stupid bird,” You muttered as you extended an arm. Desdemona landed roughly; her talons pinched your skin under your winter coat as she offered the letter in her beak. Your heart sank as you took it, it could only be from your parents. “I don’t have anything for you. Go home.” You ordered her, if you didn’t know any better you could have sworn she rolled her eyes before she took off into the sky. You watched her fly for as far as you could see her, her tawny features hard to make out after a while. With a groan, you let yourself in to the house.

You settled in Severus’ armchair and kicked your shoes off. The letter from your parents held tightly in your hand, it felt heavy and you were anxious yet reluctant to find out what it said. You sank lower into the comfortable leather and brought your knees to your chest and teased open the envelope. It wasn’t a howler, that was for certain. A smaller envelope dropped out of the initial one, and a folded piece of parchment landed on your lap. Ignoring the small envelope, you picked up the note and noticed immediately it was written in your father’s hand.

Daughter,

I understand you have moved to Diagon Alley with your partner; congratulations, I’m pleased you have found happiness. I must admit, this is to be a strange Christmas without you here with us. I will leave your stocking above the fireplace like always. I wish for you to understand that you are always welcome here, this is your home. I am your father. You will always be my little girl. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

Enclosed you will find your Christmas present; your mother gave her blessing for me to send it to you.

Merry Christmas, my darling.

You clutched the letter to your chest as you sobbed. You traced your finger over your father’s words, as if you could touch him through the parchment. You missed him more than words could say, you hadn’t anticipated how much so. In the time that had elapsed since you had last seen him, it was easy to forget the good things, the best things about your father; instead remembering him as the distant man who told you to run instead of protecting you. But he had, from the coldness of your mother, from the sneering remarks of the other noble families as a child and finally from your torment as you sat alone at Christmas.

You padded solemnly into the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of port and the glass tumbler you had set out the night before. You poured yourself a healthy measure and as you brought the glass to your lips, you stopped. You remembered the white plastic bag you had flung on the floor at the bottom of the stairs when you arrived back, your stomach gurgled, and you bit your lip. What were you to do? Well, you knew exactly what you should do. You should write to George immediately, or better yet, go straight to The Burrow and you could do this together but- there was a part of you that felt that if you were to go to him now, you would be conceding. You would be letting yourself down. You hadn’t run straight into George’s arms the minute Mundungus’ plot was uncovered, if you were to go back now after two nights away from him would make you look weak. You demanded space, you demanded time to think and get away; you deserved it! George had to understand that he had hurt you immeasurably and not everything could be solved by a kiss and a cuddle.

Regardless, if it turned out you weren’t pregnant then what would have been the need? You would have gone back to him at the first sign of trouble like always, and you weren’t prepared to it this time. If you were pregnant then yes, you would go to him. You would sit down and have an adult conversation over what to do next; but if you weren’t? You could perhaps enjoy this time to yourself before you returned to him. Before you decided what it was exactly you were to say to him. The layers of guilt that had so far weighed heavy on your chest eased slightly, your affirmations to yourself that this was the right thing to do, seemed to have assuaged you some. It was time, you knew it was. It was now or never, and it was most certainly, now.

You read and re-read the instructions on the side of the box as you sat on the toilet. Your hand trembled as it held the little white stick, you parted your legs and pushed your hand between them; no idea if the stick was in the right position. When you were satisfied that you had done what you needed to, you pulled the stick away and popped the little blue cap on the used end. The box said it would take two minutes to give you a result, so with that, after thoroughly washing your hands, you returned to the living room. You placed the ‘test’ (it was most unlike any test you had ever taken in your life thus far) on the table face down, so you couldn’t see the little window and picked Dracula up from its perch on the nearby shelf. It was then that you noticed the small envelope your father had sent on the arm of the chair. You opened it gently, unsure of what it could be. Onto your lap fell an incredibly delicate silver choker encrusted with brilliant emeralds and littered with small diamonds, given to your mother when your grandmother died. You lifted it to the light and watched how the jewels caught the light. This piece of jewellery had been in your family for generations, You had admired it since you were a little girl, it had sat pride of place around your mother’s neck for special occasions, and you had tried it on- once or twice. Your mother would have been furious if she had found out. Your heart swelled with pride as you traced your fingers lovingly across it, that your mother wanted you to have it. Progress perhaps?

A thunderous banging on the front door caused you to yelp in fear. You reached into the pocket of your jeans and produced your wand, you waved it frantically across the room and with a puff, all the candles were extinguished. You were plunged into darkness. Your heart pounded in your chest as you inched slowly out of the living room; wand raised- you weren’t sure what use it would be in the dark, but you refused to cast a Lumos. Severus had said he wasn’t expecting anyone at the house, and to not let anybody inside. You swallowed your fear and allowed yourself a second to think. The only people who would know what this house was, would either be one of two kinds. Muggles, probably drunk, banging on the wrong door or the darker alternative. The one you hoped to Merlin it wasn’t. The banging recommenced as you entered the hallway, you flinched at the sound but continued in your progress toward the front door. The early evening had well given way to night, and the only thing you could make out through the panes of glass in the door, was the shadowy figure that once again brought its hand up to bang against the wood. You crept silently along the hallway, with each step your pulse quickened as with trembling hand, you slowly reached for the catch. You felt a trickle of sweat run down your neck as you clasped the metal knob and turned it ever so slightly, you aimed to open the catch and fling the door open to the surprise of the intruder. You hoped to catch them off guard. As soon as you heard the click of the door, you flung it open. “Stupefy!” You exclaimed, but he was faster. “Expelliarmus.” Your wand flew from your hand and landed in his, bloodied and shaking. You blinked, unmoving as he reached for you. His other hand grasped onto your shirt as he tried to stand up straight. You recoiled backwards; it was instinctual. You noticed the hand which held fast onto the front of your shirt was also drenched in blood. “Don’t scream.” He breathed, “Don’t scream, just…help…me inside.” You managed to nod and grasp him under his arm, as with the other he left bloody handprints along the wall. He kicked the door closed behind him as you helped him into the lounge, and with a big heave, assisted him to the sofa. “Why…is it so…dark?”

In a second, every candle was lit, and you were able to get a good look at his face. “What happened to you, Severus?” You asked horrified, he had a large gash on his cheek that bled freely. He clutched his side, and you noticed a flash of skin underneath his hands, he was wounded, badly. Bleeding profusely, what the fuck do you do? “Tell me what to do.” “Dittany.” Severus whispered, “Cupboard in…bathroom.” You raced from the lounge up the stairs as fast as your feet could carry you, you wrenched open the bathroom cupboard and frantically searched for Essence of Dittany. You noticed that your hands were also covered in blood, his blood as you twisted and turned every bottle until you clasped your hand around the brown bottle. “Give it to me.” Severus said weakly, he reached for the bottle, but you shook your head. “No, you can’t-” “I didn’t ask for…your opinion witch, give…me the…bottle.” He wheezed through gritted teeth, his face was a mass of blood now, like he had somehow tried to quell the bleeding but had somehow made it worse. You hesitated for a moment before you handed the bottle to him. He reached forward with a surprisingly steady hand and applied three drops to his cheek, his face contorted in pain as a small puff of green smoke rose around him. He winced as he tried to sit up, “Help me,” was all he said. Again, you supported his arm and helped right him. “My coat, I can’t reach-” You reached for his buttons and swiftly tried to undo them, he writhed beneath you, obviously in a copious amount of pain. “Sorry!” You breathed as you reached his midsection, you could see clearly now the wound on his side. It looked as if he had been sliced, the blood was thick and dark as it oozed out of him. Tears stung your eyes as you panicked, you felt so very overwhelmed and with no idea how to help him. You tried to gently manoeuvre his arms through his sleeves, his jaw clenched and with two tugs, you managed it. He pulled his shirt up to his chest and granted you a look at how thin he was. You almost cringed at the sight of every rib in the poor man’s body, his stomach and what you could see of his chest were absolutely littered with scars; some old, some new. “You will have to help…with this one.” Severus said, he looked better, if that was possible. The wound on his cheek shone purple, as if it had been there all along. The only tell-tale sign was the blood beginning to dry there. You rolled him onto his side and took the bottle from his hands, opening it quickly. You placed a gentle hand above his wound, just to the side of where his ribs jutted out. Severus flinched one and then relaxed as you tenderly brushed your fingers against his skin. “Ready?” You asked, he gave a curt nod and you applied four drops of the Dittany across his wound. Severus, to his credit, let out a groan of pain whilst his whole body shook under the strain of new skin closing the wound. The puff of smoke was larger this time, you held your breath as it passed over your face. You held him in place until his breathing slowed, he looked at you askance and motioned to be helped up. “Do you want some water?” You asked as you pulled his shirt back down, covering him up. Severus shook his head. “Whisky.” You rolled your eyes but knew better than to argue with him. You stood and brushed your hands against your jeans, you were sticky with his blood and felt uncomfortable. You hurried over to the drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle of the amber liquid. Severus held his hand open and you passed him the bottle, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and brought it to his lips.

You watched him as he took sip after sip of the whisky, the colour eventually returned to his cheeks and you felt satisfied to leave him for a moment. You wandered into the kitchen and doused your hands with soap, scrubbing them hard to remove the blood. You fought back tears as the image of Severus writhing in pain engrained itself into your mind. You had never seen so much blood in your life and shuddered as you remembered the smell of the smoke as his skin knit together. You found him asleep on the sofa as you entered, bottle tipped to the side and his face peaceful. Carefully, you slipped his shoes from his feet and propped his legs up onto the sofa. Your wands lay together on the floor, you retrieved yours and Accio’d his duvet and a pillow, laying the latter under his head as you covered him in the blanket.

You retrieved your cloak and settled into the armchair, you pulled it up to your chin and hooked your legs over one of the arms. It wasn’t comfortable, not in the slightest, but you couldn’t justify leaving him in his state. Your hand closed around your wand and pressed it against your chest, ready, just in case. For what- you didn’t know.

******

“Sleep well?”

You awoke with a start. Severus sat across the room from you, he was upright on the sofa. He still looked weak, but his eyes sparkled with humour. “Like the dead.” You offered feebly; you arched your back; oh, fuck it was agony. You winced and Severus chuckled, your neck was stiff as you craned it to look at him. “Nice choice of words.” You grimaced as you swung your legs onto the floor and ran your hands through your hair. You were surprised to feel the ends were dried red. Oh, of course. You shuddered as a fleeting image of the previous night’s bloody work crossed your thoughts. Brushing it off, you stood. “Coffee?” “Please.” He answered, he looked more tired than you had ever seen as he watched you lazily. You returned a few moments later with two mugs of coffee, his black obviously, Severus nodded in thanks. You drank in silence, neither of you looking at the other. After a while, you stood without speaking. You felt disgusting, you were covered almost head to toe in Severus’ blood, although you had scrubbed at your hands- you hadn’t realised how messy it had been.

You allowed yourself to cry in the bath. The water was hot and as you sank beneath the surface, you felt pathetic. You sobbed, more than you had in days. Your throat hurt and your eyes were swollen. Your heart hurt, why? Were you scared? Scared that someone might come after Severus and you would be caught in the crossfire? Or guilty that the man who had shown you so much kindness had been so dreadfully hurt and you hesitated in answering the door.

He was sat in the same position that he had been in when you left him. He didn’t look like he had moved a muscle. “Are you in pain?” You asked quietly, you felt stupid asking him stood in your Christmas pyjamas, but you were quickly running out of clean clothes. “Immensely,” Severus answered wryly, he pointed at the coffee table. “What’s that?” Your gaze followed the direction of his pointed finger and your stomach fell. “Nothing. Don’t worry.” You replied quickly, you snatched the pregnancy test and thrust it into the pocket of your pyjama bottoms. How the fuck had you forgotten about that? Your heart raced; you could know. You could know now, all you had to was look at the little window and it would tell you all you needed to know. “Is that a pregnancy test?” Severus asked, the whisper of a smile tugged at his lips as you blushed. “No.” You lied, why would he know what a pregnancy test looked like anyway? Especially a muggle one. Severus shook his head. “If you say so.” He paused and watched you, your hair dripped big, wet droplets onto your shoulders. “Bring me some parchment and a quill, I need to write a letter.” “Do you not think you should rest?” His face was aghast as you questioned him, you squared your shoulders and met his gaze. “I promise not to exert myself too much moving my wrist.” You gave him a look of annoyance as he made a gesture as if he were writing. You rolled your eyes again, he chuckled once and then grasped his side in pain. Good, that serves him right for being a dick. You smirked to yourself as you retrieved parchment and a quill along with the silver whistle and thrust them into his hands. “Would you like something to eat?” You watched him as, even with the sheer amount of pain he was in, his hand was steady as he wrote fluidly across the page. Severus ignored you as he continued to write. You sat in the armchair and watched him for several minutes, you noticed he brought the feathery tip of his quill to his lips every once in a while, in thought. It was almost hypnotic, watching his hand glide across the parchment, the only sound the scratching of his quill.

The test in your pocket burned with anticipation. You reached for it deftly, careful not to make any sudden movements so as not to disturb Severus. Your fingers grasped it and pulled it out slowly, you shot a glance in his direction, satisfied that his attention was firmly placed upon his writing. You turned it over and…nothing. You panicked and turned it over, upside down and back to front. The little window that displayed the result was empty- no lines. “Did you not read the instructions?” Severus called from the other side of the room. You gave him an uneasy look. “It quite clearly states that results disappear after twelve hours.” He hadn’t even looked up from his parchment, or so it seemed. You raced from the living room to the bathroom and plunged your hands into the wastebin in search for the box. He was right, of course he was right. Why wouldn’t he be right? You felt the blood drain from your cheeks as you slowly made your way back down the stairs. “Idiot.” Severus mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear as you paced the length of the room. What were you to do now? It was Christmas Eve; you couldn’t face going back into the crowds. “I need you to take this to The Leaky Cauldron.” Severus’ deep baritone distracted you from your thoughts as he passed the parchment he had been writing on in your direction. You rose from your chair to take it from him, he had closed it in on itself over and over again until it appeared miniscule in your hand. Some kind of enchantment to dissuade the prying eyes of those unintended to read it, you supposed. “What is it?” You enquired, turning it over in your fingers. Severus motioned you forward and held his arms out to you. “You don’t need to know. Help me up.” Severus muttered and as you placed your arms around his back, your chests flush together; you blushed at the close proximity. He placed his hands onto your shoulders and supported himself to a standing position. “I need to go to the toilet.” He took two steps and swayed, he grasped hold of your arm to steady yourself. “I can apparate us upstairs, Severus.” You stated, he grimaced and placed your arm under his. “No, I’ll be sick. Help me and I might be able to help you with your problem.” He gave you a strained smirk and you nodded. You wondered what he could mean as you slowly supported him up the narrow staircase. You waited awkwardly outside of the door for a moment while he relieved himself, you accio’d his duvet and pillow and returned them to his bedroom, taking care to clear up the clothes you had scattered around the floor. When he emerged from the bathroom, you noticed his face was wet. He had attempted to wash his face rather unsuccessfully and you suppressed a laugh. You helped him into bed and pulled the covers over him, he seemed to relax under your care; letting you wipe a warm flannel across his face to remove the stains of his blood and hummed contentedly. “You can do the rest yourself,” you announced. He opened his eyes and regarded you, “You can piss off if you think I’m going to give you a bath.” He laughed at this, a real smile appeared on his face and you smiled back, it was nice to see. “Agreed. I can manage for now.” He sighed, “How late are your courses?” “My courses?” You looked at him quizzically, Severus grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your period, (Y/N). How late?” You blushed again and fiddled with the hem of your shirt, he looked at you expectantly as if he had asked you a question about the ingredients of a potion. “Two weeks.” You answered, Severus nodded slowly and looked to the ceiling as if in thought. “Yes, I think I shall be able to help you. Let me sleep for a while, deliver that letter for me and when you come back, we can eat, and we shall get to the bottom of this.” You sighed; you really didn’t want to go back to The Leaky Cauldron. “Who shall I give it to?” “Give it to Tom, he’ll see it gets where it needs to go.” Severus replied, his eyes closed again. “Am I to say who it’s from?” Severus opened one eye and gave you a dark look, he wet his lips and frowned. “Obviously.”

*******

You hesitated before pushing open the door to The Leaky Cauldron, it was midday, and the pub was filled yet again with people making merry. You fought your way to the bar and waited to catch the attention of the young witch behind it, your neck craned in each direction to catch a glimpse of her. She appeared finally, two large trays of glasses hovering behind her as she began to rearrange the glassware behind the bar. “Excuse me!” You said as you waved your hand, she noticed you and gave you a smile. “Oh, hiya!” She said warmly, “Can I get you a drink?” “No thank you,” You replied, “Is Tom available?” “He certainly is,” A voice behind you said, you whirled round to be met with Tom’s smiling face. “Can I help you, miss?” “Yes actually, I was told to give you this.” You showed him the tiny piece of folded parchment, Tom’s eyes flashed from it to yours and gave you a concerned look. “Is this from…” “Severus Snape, yes. He told me you’d know what to do with it.” You levelled, he took it from your hand and placed it into the pocket of his shirt. “I assume there must be a reason why he sent you and not delivered it himself.” Tom replied with a raised eyebrow, you refused to let your mind wander to the events from the night before. “Yes, but it’s not for me to say so- can I leave it with you?” “Of course, I’ll see to it that everything is in order, tell him.” Tom replied, “Merry Christmas, miss.” “Merry Christmas, Tom.” You watched as he withdrew into the crowd, you turned to the witch behind the bar. “Merry Christmas.” You smiled, she offered you a grin in return and waved her hand. “Merry Christmas.” She replied cheerfully.

You didn’t want to go into Diagon Alley, but your feet carried you over the cobbled stones to the dismay of your heart. Despite the growing tensions in the wizarding world, the wonky street was abuzz with people; not unlike the shoppers you had seen in Piccadilly Circus with Pansy. There was a long queue outside of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and you smiled sadly as you approached the window. The display you had spent so long working on looked magnificent, snow fell from behind the glass and tiny enchanted swans swam in a small lake, surrounded by miniature fur trees and families of deer. “Penny for your thoughts?” You noticed Fred’s reflection in the glass appear next to you. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed tightly. “I thought you’d still be at The Burrow!” You exclaimed, he laughed and hugged you back. You pulled away and looked into his face, he looked well and cheerful. You had learned the differences between him and George over time, subtle though they were. “Well somebody’s got to be here to run the shop,” Fred said as he gestured to the busy building, “I’m going back tonight.” You nodded in understanding and he placed your hand in the crook of his arm. “Fancy a walk?”

Fred led you passed the bustle of the shops and back towards the apparation point. “You okay, Freddie?” “Yeah yeah,” He answered quietly, it must be difficult for him to see you- to know what had transpired between you and George. “Look, I don’t want to bombard you with questions or anything, (Y/N). But I need to know; is that you and George done? You left things so up in the air with him, and he’s putting on a brave face don’t get me wrong but…he’s my brother, and I can tell he’s hurting.” You bit your bottom lip, you hated to think about George in pain; but you just weren’t ready to talk about things. “No, Fred. We’re not done…but he really hurt me, he said some awful things to me; accused me of terrible things and it’s going to take some time for me to be ready to have a conversation about it. Let alone forgive him.” You paused and wiped away a tear that fell onto your cheek. “I suppose I just never expected he could be like that. It surprised me.” “Bloody surprised us all mate. When George came flying down to the shop floor after you left, ranting and raving- I’d never seen that side of him before. And Merlin, when Snape arrived at mum’s with Mundungus Fletcher, I thought he would wind up with a wand suspension the way he was trying to hex Mundungus.” Fred exhaled with a small laugh, you matched it with a smile. “He’s a good bloke, (Y/N). You mean everything to him. Believe me, I’ve had to share a room with him for the best part of two decades. If you’re not ready to talk about anything, can I at least tell him I saw you today and what you said? I’m sure it’ll make him feel loads better if he knew you hadn’t, you know, broken up with him without him realising.” You considered it for a moment, if Fred told George he had seen you today; it might make him want to find you. He had really respected your space so far and you were grateful for it, but the thought of making Fred keep something like this from his brother was too big of an ask. Plus, you were also keeping a huge secret from him, but you couldn’t tell Fred before you told George- it wasn’t right. “Yeah, of course, Freddie. Tell him, you can also tell him Merry Christmas and that…I love him.” Fred made a gagging noise and you smacked him on the arm. “I need to go.” You pulled Fred in for one last hug and squeezed enough for him and George. He chuckled as you walked to the apparation point and gave him a big wave goodbye.

*******

Severus stayed upstairs all afternoon and well into the evening. You couldn’t blame him though, it looked as though he had been through a massive ordeal and he needed time to recover, you couldn’t begrudge him that. You found a magical cooking book in one of the cupboards and coupled with some of the food you had bought at the supermarket, you managed to cook a reasonably tasty meal. Severus made comments about the quality of the steak, but you expected nothing less. You suspected it was only to save face though, as twice when he thought you weren’t looking, you saw him close his eyes and savour the taste of the food. You had served him in his meal in bed, he had managed to prop himself up on the pillows and you sat at the foot of the bed. It seemed quite personal really, but you found yourself savouring the intimate moments you shared with him. It made you feel like he did actually care for you, as more than an ex pupil, as a friend. He asked you about The Leaky Cauldron, who you spoke to, how you got home. After a moment, you felt brave. “Who did this to you, Severus?” Severus sighed and passed his empty plate over to you. “Nobody.” “I find that extremely hard to believe. I need to know if I’m in danger.” You asked him earnestly, he met your gaze with a softness you seldom saw from the man. “You’re in no more danger now than you have been in the last three days. Please don’t concern yourself with my welfare.” He answered, you suspected he intended to seem sterner than he came across. You wondered if he couldn’t muster the energy to chastise you. “It’s a bit difficult to do that when I have to take you to the loo every time you want a piss.” “You’re vile.” “Pot, kettle, black. I found your blood in my ear this morning. That’s vile.” You laughed and he managed a laugh too. “I’m just glad I was here when you arrived last night.” “Whether you were here or not, I would have gotten inside one way or another.” He levelled nonchalantly. “Would it really be so horrendous to just say ‘thank you’?” You let out an exasperated sigh and flopped backwards on the bed. He eyed you with annoyance, but you could tell it was fleeting. “Yes, actually. For me anyway.” “Well I’m not surprised. You’re just annoyed I’m working off my debt to you.” You winked and rolled from the bed, you picked up your used plates and took them downstairs.

You returned when he called for you. You held two glasses of port in your hands and found him in his study. “When did you get in here?” You asked with a smile, pleased to see him on his feet, if not slightly unsteady. “I am an enigma of a man, (Y/N). I wouldn’t expect your tiny brain to even begin to comprehend me.” Severus answered with a smirk, you passed him the glass and he raised it to his lips and drank deeply. “Delicious.” It was then you noticed the cauldron bubbling contentedly on his desk. You wandered over to it and inspected the shimmering, iridescent silver liquid, it smelled foul; like rotten eggs and you recoiled. “What the fuck is that?” You demanded as you covered your nose. Severus had his back to you; he ran a finger along one of the shelves which held bottles of all shapes and sizes and plucked a large green bottle with a jade lid. You watched as he carefully unscrewed the top and dropped a tiny drop of the liquid onto a sprig of lavender. The flowers wilted instantly, and he dropped the whole thing into the cauldron. A great lilac cloud erupted from the cauldron and dissipated as Severus waved his hand. “This, (Y/N) is a pregnancy test.” Severus replied with a satisfied smile. He beckoned you over to the desk and you sighed as the smell had gotten progressively worse with the addition of the lavender. The liquid had changed from its silver to a dark burgundy, it still held its iridescence as it bubbled. “Is this what they use in St. Mungo’s?” “Merlin no, they use a potion so convoluted there you could have had the baby by the time you receive an answer.” Severus sniffed, “This is Enfantin Inventim, it’s old. Really, very old. They stopped using this in everyday practise about three hundred years ago. It’s notoriously difficult to prepare and can often lead to an incorrect result.” “Should we use it then? If it can give an incorrect result?” You asked anxiously, the last thing you needed was to wait another day. You needed to get on with your life, one way or the other. “Do you think I would prepare something that would achieve anything other than one-hundred-percent accuracy?” Severus snapped. He had a point; he was a potions master for a reason. “Okay, what do I do?” “It isn’t pleasant, (Y/N). Do you trust me?” You considered it for a moment and then nodded, he offered his hand to you, you took it and he pulled you towards him forcefully. Severus winced with the effort and forced your hand open. He quickly drew a pearl-encrusted dagger across the length of your palm, easily opening the flesh. You howled in pain and tried to pull your hand back, Severus clasped it into a fist and squeezed tightly. Blood began to fall from you hand and he brought it over the cauldron, the potion drank your blood hungrily and after you parted with ten drops, the potion began to cloud over.

“Stand back.” He commanded, he gave you a scrap of cloth and you pressed it hard into the palm of your hand. “If the liquid turns white, you’re pregnant. If it turns black, you’re in the clear.” “How long do we have to wait?” You whispered and closed your eyes. “Not long.” In that moment, you wished George were by your side. He would know exactly what to say, and even if he didn’t, he would make you laugh. You imagined his hand around your waist and his lips pressed to your head in a gentle kiss. “Severus. If I am…you know. What do I do?” “I imagine what women have done for a millennia-” “No, what I mean is-” You paused, unsure of how he would react. “Do I have a- do I have a choice?” “Of course you have a choice. I can put you in contact with some discreet mediwitches. They’re friendly and would have you sorted in no time.” “Okay.”

You waited for what seemed an age. You tended to your wounded hand and shot a scowl in Severus’ direction when he likened it to a scratch compared to his. The cauldron continued to bubble, it produced green smoke and spat out occasionally. You couldn’t take it anymore. Severus stirred it dutifully and you told him you’d be back in a moment, trapsing your way to the bathroom. You paced back and forth frantically. You couldn’t stand the waiting idly by, you had fashioned a bandage for your hand out of the cloth and some rolled up toilet paper when you caught your reflection in the mirror. You moved towards it and placed your hands gently on the sink underneath it. “You need to sort your fucking life out, (Y/N).” You said to your reflection, you stared deeply into your own face. Hardly even recognising the person reflected back to you. “(Y/N)!” You heard Severus shout from the study. “It’s done.” You supressed the bile that rose in your throat and took a deep breath. You stepped uneasily back into the room to see Severus’ neutral face waiting for you. He stood with his hands behind his back. “Have you looked?” “Yes.” “What is it?” “For fucks sake, have a look.” He snapped; he shook his head with a scowl as you inched toward the cauldron. Your hands trembled as you peered down into the now still liquid. It was black. The liquid was black. “It’s-” “Black.” He answered with a smile. “I’m-” “Not. Pregnant.”

You cried out a tremendous cry of relief. Big tears rolled down your cheeks as you moved to Severus in two swift movements and threw your arms around his shoulders. He swayed with surprise. “Ow. Careful.” He murmured before he patted you awkwardly on the back. When you pulled away, you beamed triumphantly up at him and he returned your smile. “You can thank me by releasing me.” You complied with a laugh, a genuine laugh. You felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest, you breathed easier than you had done in weeks. “Thank you, Severus. I suggest you stop being nice to me or I’ll forever feel indebted to you.” You laughed, you noticed Severus’ expression alter slightly. “What? What did I say?” “I feel like I haven’t been quite honest with you.” Severus said quietly, “Don’t interrupt me, just let me finish, yes?” You nodded and took a step back. You waited patiently for Severus to speak, he seemed to mull the words over before he was satisfied. “You asked me a while ago whether I’m this involved with all of my old student’s lives, and I think we both know the answer to that. When I returned to Malfoy Manor after I took you to The Burrow, your father took me to one side.” You eyed him suspiciously as he wet his lips before continuing, “He knew what I had done and asked for a favour.” “Of course he did.” “Shut up, I’m not finished. He asked me if would be able to keep an eye on you, he knew I had connections almost everywhere, and he wanted reports of your whereabouts. And I agreed.” You stared unblinking at Severus. “He offered monthly payments if I could tell him where you were going, what you were doing, who you were seeing etcetera.” Severus squared his shoulders and took a sip of his port. “He just wanted to know you were safe.” “So he paid you to spy on me?” “In essence, yes. I never accepted the money though.” Severus levelled, you covered your eyes with your good hand and sighed. “That’s why you let me stay in your house.” Severus nodded grimly and gestured for you to sit. You did so and chewed on your lip. You felt a multitude of emotions, not one of them good. “There is one more thing, (Y/N). That night in The Leaky Cauldron where Mundungus saw you and I for the first time. He was there on my orders.” Your mouth fell agape. No, no absolutely not, that couldn’t be. Severus couldn’t possibly have ordered the hurt that Mundungus inflicted. You stared at him again, stony faced as tears began to trickle down your cheek. “I heard you though, I followed you into the alleyway when you confronted him.” You said feebly, your lip quivered. “I know, I made sure you would hear so not to suspect me. I was annoyed at him though, that was never part of the plan. He went rogue, so to speak.”

A heavy silence descended between the pair of you. Severus, his usual staidness reduced to slumped shoulders and a guilty expression. There was a plethora of things you wanted to say, questions you wanted to ask him, but you couldn’t find the words. He finished his port and hobbled out of the room, your heard him enter the bathroom. You sat still, positively unable to process everything he had told you. Was there anything in your life that you held control over? When he appeared in the doorway, his face was ashen with pain and a thin layer of sweat appeared on his brow. “Do you have any cigarettes?” You asked him slowly. He nodded and pointed downstairs, you pushed passed him and retrieved them from his discarded coat. You carried the remainder of the bottle of port back with you and sat on the floor. Severus moved slowly passed you and collapsed into the chair, the evidence of his exertion etched into his face. You filled his glass with the ruby liquid and then pressed the bottle to your lips and took three deep swigs. He raised an eyebrow as if to complain but thought better of it. “Did you ever care about me, Severus? Because if it isn’t already clear, I care about you.” You pulled a cigarette out of the packet and lit it, you threw the packet into Severus’ lap, a little harder than you intended. He winced and lit his own cigarette. “Of course I care.” You scoffed and took another swig from the bottle. “And are you going to tell him about this? My father?” You pointed to the cauldron full of Enfantin Inventim. Severus shook his head and took a sip. “No, I did this for you.” “Why should I believe you?” “You don’t have to, I suppose. I can’t force you.”

You were silent again after that, you took long drags of your cigarette until the heat became too much as it reached the filter and burned your lip. You finished off the port and dropped the stub into the now empty bottle. Severus didn’t remove his eyes from your face, as if he were waiting for you to explode. You had every right to, you could go and punch walls and kick holes in doors, but what would that achieve? “I’m trying really hard to be angry at you.” You whispered. Severus’ look of surprise almost took you off guard. “And?” “I can’t.” Severus sighed and slipped further into the chair, he finished his cigarette and beckoned for the empty bottle. He dropped the stub in slowly, his face contorted with pain as he stretched. You watched as he did his usual action of wetting his lips, his tell-tale sign that he was about to speak. “I do care about you, (Y/N). There’s a goodness in you that one doesn’t always see when they’re brought up in the circles we frequent. I’m satisfied knowing I played my part in ensuring you got out of it all. You remind me very much of somebody I knew a long time ago, someone I wished I could have done more to help, but it wasn’t within my power. This, on the other hand, was very much within my capabilities. I’m not sorry.” His face settled into a frown and you sighed with exasperation. “Fucks sake.” You muttered, you rose from your spot on the floor and made your way to Severus. You dipped your head and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “You’re an arsehole.” “Believe me, (Y/N). That is one of the tamer names I have been called in my time.” He smiled ruefully and found your hand and gave it a squeeze. “If I ask you a question, will you promise to answer it honestly?” You asked, you saw the faintest hint of humour flash across his eyes. “I shall try.” “Was it the Dark Lord who hurt you last night?” He looked at you thoughtfully, a smile tugged at his lips. Severus lifted his chin and placed a finger on it and brushed it over his lips. “Yes.” You didn’t quite know what to do with the information, you weren’t quite sure why you asked the question. You simply nodded and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Please don’t worry about me, (Y/N). I know what I’m doing.” “Still.” Severus shrugged, he looked to the clock on the wall and then out of the window into the night. “If you leave now, you could make it to The Burrow by midnight. Bring in Christmas with your loved ones.” He said quietly, you wondered if you saw the slightest twinge of remorse on his face. You cocked your head to the side. “You want me to go?” “I think we both know it’s time for you to, what’s the expression, ‘get your shit together.’” You snorted and threw your head back as you laughed. “You could come with me, if you like; to The Burrow?” Severus shook his head, his hands outstretched in front of him. “No thank you, I prefer my own company.” “What will you do? Will you be okay if I go?” “I have weathered much more serious casualties than this one by myself. I shall be fine. I will travel back to Hogwarts in the morning ready for my Christmas Dinner.” “Are you sure?” “Go,” Severus stated with a small smile, “Get out of my house.”

******

It was five to midnight when you knocked on the door to The Burrow. You didn’t want to just burst in, just in case they were asleep or busy with family time. Your fingers flew to your neck where the intricate choker your father had sent you sat at the base of your throat; it was a special occasion after all. You knocked again and stood back to take a look at the house. There were a few lights still on even at this late hour, you strained to hear any noises on the other side of the wood and were about to knock for a third time when the door flew open. Ginny stood in fluffy red pyjamas, wand raised and a look of shock on her face. You launched yourself at her and she you, you engulfed each other in a vice like hug. “I knew you’d come.” She whispered, “George is going to wet himself.” She led you through the house where only Molly, Ginny and Ron sat by the fireplace in the living room. Molly clasped her hands to her mouth as she struggled to get out of her chair quickly. “Oh! My dear!” She said as she tottered toward you, she pulled you close to her chest and rocked you back and forth. “I am so happy you’re here; we can finally celebrate now.” “Please don’t, you’re going to make me cry.” You said as Molly pulled away and placed a warm hand to your cheek. “Welcome home.” She whispered. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

The sound of feet thundering down the rickety staircase made you jump, Ginny arrived breathlessly at the bottom and George immediately behind her dressed in his pyjamas. Your eyes met across the expanse and you opened your arms to him. He crossed to you in a flash and placed two hands on your face and pressed his lips hungrily to yours. You tossed your arms around his neck, and his arms moved down your body and hugged your waist. You pressed your forehead to his and sighed. “Merry Christmas.” You breathed; a whisper of a smile played at George’s lips. “Merry Christmas.” He replied, he laced his fingers with yours and beamed at you. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

Most of the snow had melted in the fields surrounding The Burrow, and you were grateful for it as George almost dragged you along a beaten path to a wooden bench under a tree, a good quarter of a mile away from the house. He pressed a hand to the seat and shrugged; “It’s not wet, just cold.” “I can handle cold.” You sat close to him on the bench, his arm around your shoulders as you both gazed up into the crisp night sky. There was something about the way the stars looked from here, like you could reach out and touch them. Lonely clouds like tiny whisps of smoke littered the sky occasionally, and you took turns in those moments where the stars weren’t visible in giving the other a kiss. “Merlin, I missed you.” George said into your hair, he stroked the side of your face with a gloved finger and you melted into his touch. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about it, George, but I need to tell you something.” You replied, his gaze softened as he placed another tender kiss to your lips. You sighed contentedly at the feeling of warmth that spread through you, you were home. He squared his shoulders and shifted slightly on the bench, so to face you more.

He listened intently whilst you told him of everything since you had last seen him. He nodded and occasionally asked the odd question like; “Was the inside of Snape’s house full of bodies?” and “God, I can’t believe you slept in his bed. Was it a coffin?” The only thing you neglected to tell him was of Severus’ attack, you didn’t know how deep the waters were that surrounded his area of his life and you didn’t feel like it was your place to share that information. When you told him of your pregnancy scare, his eyes widened, and his jaw clenched. “(Y/N),” He said sternly, “You should have told me straight away. That’s not fair.” “I know love, I feel awful about it. That’s one thing I’m truly sorry for, George. I promise not do anything like it again.” He nodded, seemingly content with that and kissed the tip of your nose. You began to tell him of the plot your father had embroiled Severus in, and George’s hands clenched into fists. “That fucking snake.” George muttered, “How are you not furious?” “Believe me, I tried to be,” You answered, “We talked about it and I decided there’s more important things to be worried about. I don’t blame him for what he did and neither should you, okay?” “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.” “I’ll take it.”

When you climbed into bed that night, it was nearly two in the morning. The rest of the house was sound asleep as you and George became reacquainted. His hands found themselves tangled in your hair and you moaned quietly as he pulled softly, his mouth lathering your neck in kisses. “Fuck, I’ve missed the sounds you make.” George breathed into your ear, you tipped your head back and found his mouth with yours. His hands travelled from your hair down to your hips, he pulled you close, and you felt his already hard member as it pushed against his boxers. You brought a hand down and cupped it, he hissed at the contact and bucked his hips forward. “Please let me fuck you, (Y/N). It’s been too long.” “Yes, oh, fuck yes. Do it, George.”

He wasted no time in pushing your knickers over your bum, and you wiggled frantically in an attempt to free yourself from them. He pulled his boxers down and climbed between your legs, he rubbed his cock against your folds and spat into his hand, rubbing it along his shaft for extra lubrication. When he pushed into you, you moaned together. It was like for one split second, the earth stopped. Everything stopped. You could hear your heartbeat in your eyes as you pulled George’s head down to kiss his lips. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip, and he shuddered. He rolled his hips against yours, and you grasped onto his shoulders tightly. George pulled out almost completely, before he pushed into you again; fully sheathed inside you. He did this three more times before you cried out; “Please! I can’t take it anymore!” With a growl, George thrusted hard. His hips snapped backwards and forwards at intense pace, he lifted your legs above his shoulders, allowing him to bury himself deeper within you. You gasped at the sensation of being utterly filled by him, your brow furrowed as you struggled to keep your moans quiet. He continued this pace, his cock now slick with your juices as you bit down hard on the back of your hand. He pushed back slightly and reached a hand in between your legs, parting them slightly as he began to furiously rub your clit. Your eyes rolled back into your head as overwhelming pulses of pleasure coursed through your veins, you moved your hips with his, suddenly desperate for release. George let your legs fall from his shoulders as he grasped your hips, moving you with ease along his throbbing cock. You groaned, as George pressed harder against your mound, drawing from you a string of curses as you trundled towards your orgasm. “Fuck, I’m going to come, George.” The surprise in your voice was palpable, the swiftness in which George was going to make you come was incredible. You panted hard against his shoulder as with a grunt, his nimble fingers rubbed you to completion, his cock hitting the delicious spot inside you. As you reached the peak of your high, George followed. He groaned as your walls tightened around him and he spilled his seed deep into your quim. “Sorry,” George breathed, “I couldn’t hold on any longer.” You smiled and kissed him, it was tender and held every ounce of love you had for him. He deepened the kiss, rolling his tongue around with yours as his hand cupped your breast. “I’m going to fuck you so hard as soon as we get to the flat, you won’t be able to walk for a week.” “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Georgie.” You smirked, he tweaked your nipple between his fingers and brought his mouth close to your ear, his voice deathly low. “I’m going to make you come, over and over again. You’re going to beg me to stop. Then I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck you the way you ought to be fucked. Rough and hard because naughty girls don’t get fucked nicely.”

Your skin flushed with heat as he nibbled at your earlobe, desire already building between your legs. You cast a look to George, who looked about two seconds away from falling asleep and giggled. “Do you want to be the little spoon?” You asked, he didn’t answer, instead he rolled his body away from you and faced the wall. He pushed his bum out and you gave it a playful slap. “Don’t get any ideas.” He muttered and you grinned as you wrapped your arm around his middle. He laced his fingers with yours and hummed contentedly as the room gave way to the quiet of the house. “I’m so happy you came back.” George whispered; his voice heavy with tiredness. “Me too. I love you.” You replied with a yawn. “Love you too.”

George complained the entire way back to the flat. He had insisted on carrying your bags plus gifts you had received over Christmas, including but limited to; a lovely scarf Molly had painstakingly kitted for you and a hilariously ruffled gilet for George. You couldn’t help but grin consistently as you walked ahead of him up the back stairs to the entrance of the flat, his hat had slipped over his eyes and he lost his footing. Your suitcase lurched backwards, it manged to bump comically every step before it lay still at the bottom of the stairs. “Right!” George announced, he dropped the rest of the bags and grabbed hold of your hips. You yelped in surprise as George hoisted you over his shoulder, fireman style and proceeded up the rest of the stairs. He near enough kicked the front door open and moved swiftly through the flat and into your shared bedroom, he ignored your giggled protestations and flung you down onto the bed. He was on top of you in an instant, his knee pushed your legs apart and his mouth descended onto your throat. He sucked and nibbled at the sensitive skin and began undoing the buttons of your coat. “Off.” He ordered as he opened your coat and tugged at the bottom of your jumper. Dutifully, you sat up and removed the offending items of clothing. His gaze was ravenous as he watched as you tucked your hair behind your ears and waited for further instructions. George’s gaze flashed down to your breasts. “Off.” He repeated. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as George removed his own coat and shirt, his hands moved to his belt and he slipped both his jeans and boxers from his body, his already hard cock sprung against his stomach as you followed suit. You threw your jeans across the room and your knickers next.

“So beautiful,” George commented as he ran a featherlight touch across your cheek. “Such a good girl.” You melted into George’s ghost like touch and shuddered. You kept your eyes on him as he brought a hand down to his cock and rubbed along the length slowly. “Touch yourself, (Y/N) I want to see you make yourself come.” Your eyes widened with shock for a moment before a smile crept across your mouth and you brought your hands to your breasts. Was it a show he was after? Then a show he would get. You placed your fingers on each of your hardened nipples and tugged slightly, your lips parted slightly at the sensation. You heard George as he took a sharp intake of breath as he gripped the head of his cock. You trailed one hand slowly down your body and shuffled down the bed as you lay your shoulders back onto the covers. You reached your throbbing cunt and spread your legs wide for George to see, he moaned as you brought your fingers over your clit and rubbed a sweeping circle of it. “That’s it,” George moaned, “Let me see you- oh! Good girl.” You watched as George began to pump himself faster, your name fell from his lips as you plunged two fingers between your slick folds. You matched George’s pace as you fucked yourself with your fingers, you closed your eyes and fisted the sheets with your free hand. Pleasure built within you as with each pulse of your fingers, you found your sweet spot. “Come quickly, (Y/N). I want to see how fast you can come.”

You took your fingers out of your entrance and brought them now coated in your juices and recommenced the rubbing of your clit. You moaned as you rubbed tantalisingly quick circles on the electrified pearl between your legs. Your toes curled as you felt your orgasm build in the pit of your stomach, you moaned, and George answered it with a moan of his own. Your hips bucked from the bed as you pressed harder with each swipe of your fingers until you came, it was fantastically intense and your voice, thick with desire called out for George. “Come here.” He demanded once you had recovered. His cock was impossibly hard and almost screamed for attention as you crawled slowly over to where he sat. George placed a hand on your head as you took him in your mouth, you placed a tender kiss to the tip and licked the little drops of precum that had gathered there. He sighed as you pushed your lips down the length of hi and relaxed your throat, allowing him a small thrust. His gentle hand became a fist in your hair as he pulled you back, almost pulling you away from his cock; but your hand reached around the base of him and began to pump him. Your tongue swirled around his tip and George’s head rolled back as you wrapped your lips around him and swallowed. You found a rhythm and George’s hand on your head helped you keep time; you could see the muscles in his thighs tense as you hummed around him. “Fuck. That feels good. Such a good girl.”

At George’s praise, you sucked him faster, hollowing your cheeks and your grip around his shaft tightened. George’s hips began to lift off the bed as he thrust into your mouth. There was nothing you loved more in this world than to feel this man come undone under your hand, you moaned against him and he slid further into your throat. That was enough for George, who parted with four thick spurts with a cry of pleasure. You swallowed it up and wiped your mouth, you pulled away and gently massaged your aching jaw. You watched the rise and fall of George’s chest as he recovered from his orgasm, arm slung over his eyes. “I love you.” You whispered, you felt tears sting your eyes and you sniffed. George sat up and looked at you, his face etched with concern. “I love you too, what’s the matter?” He asked, he pulled you close and bundled you into his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you nuzzled your face against his neck. “Nothing, nothing. I’m just so happy.” George chuckled and hugged you tighter, you popped a leg over his and hummed as happy tears fell from your eyes. “Me too.”

**********

“No, those need to go to the stockroom, Fred. I’m not having them cluttering up the flat. There’s already zero room in here as it is.” You gestured around you to the boxes of stock that stood tall in your tiny living room. “Right, and I’m telling you there’s nowhere to put them. We need more space.” Fred sighed and placed the box full of love potions on the floor. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Angelina appeared from behind a tower of boxes, her face aghast as Fred opened his arms to her. He placed a kiss on her shoulder. “We’re drowning in all this.” She said, you shook her head at you; a silent communication that the boys had finally lost the plot. “What do we need to do?” George called from the doorway, he levitated three coffee’s behind him as he held a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hand, a bottle of champagne in the other. You grinned as he rushed to you, he presented the flowers to you and you sniffed them gratefully. Roses, lily’s and daisies. Your favourite. “They’re beautiful, George! Thank you!” You placed a loving kiss to his cheek and traced a lily petal delicately with your finger as George put the champagne in the fridge. “Congratulations my love! And happy second anniversary.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in for a hug. “This mine?” Angelina asked, she pointed at one of the three coffees suspended behind George’s shoulder. “Oh yeah sorry, Ange. This one’s yours love.” George smiled and dished the coffees out; Angelina gave George a warm smile of thanks as you sipped happily. “Where’s mine?” Fred demanded; George patted his pockets sarcastically. “You weren’t here, mate.” He shrugged, Fred huffed and turned his attention to you. “Congratulations I suppose, (Y/N). Still think you’re wasting your time being a Healer.” Fred said, Angelina wasted no time smacking his stomach. “You think I’m wasting my time being a Healer…as we’re about to go into war?” You said, despite the seriousness of your words, a smile tugged at your lips as you knew Fred was just sorry to lose you from the shop. You had spent the last year and a half revising your arse off to be fast-tracked through the training programme. It was the only way you could think of to give back an inch of the kindness you had received. You had received your lime green robes this morning, an immensely proud moment indeed. “All I’m saying is, you could have been junior assistant manager. I had the badge made for you and everything.” “Ignore him, (Y/N).” Angelina said as she rolled her eyes, “We’re all really proud of you. Well done, babe.” You handed George the flowers and tossed your arms around Angelina’s neck for a hug. “Thank you, Ange. What did I ever do without you to help reign dear Freddie in?” You laughed and she laughed with you. “Think there’s anyway we can back out, Georgie?” Fred whispered dramatically to George who just grinned ruefully. “Not a chance.” “Too fucking right. You’re stuck with us now.” Angelina replied, an arm slung round your shoulders. “We still need to work out what to do with these boxes.” “There’s no room for them in here.” George offered, he waved his wand over your flowers and they arranged themselves beautifully in a vase. “No,” Angelina agreed, “I think we all know this flat isn’t big enough for four people, couples or not.” You nodded and made your way back to George, he hoisted himself up onto the kitchen counter and you settled between his legs. “What are you thinking?” Fred asked his girlfriend; Angelina shrugged and sipped her coffee. “We were thinking,” You replied, “Turning this upstairs flat into a staff room and overflow stockroom. You’re selling so much, so obviously have to have the stock to sell. There just isn’t room for us in here anymore. Plus, I’m pretty sure the staff would love to be able to come up here and have an actual cup of tea on their breaks.” “We think we should move.” Angelia said, “Separately.” She added softly. George’s hand stiffened around your waist. You wished that Angelina had waited a day or two before dropping the bombshell, but the pair you had spent the last month speaking of little else. You and George needed your own space, and Fred and Angelina needed theirs as much. “You want us to move away from each other?” Fred asked incredulously, you offered him a small smile. “Not exactly.”

**********

The portkey dropped you in the middle of a field. You were on your lunch break and only had half an hour before you needed to be back at St. Mungo’s. George looked stressed as he straightened his tie, you could tell he was nervous. You took his clammy hand in yours and gave it a squeeze. “You okay?” “Yeah,” He replied in a strained voice. “It’s just a lot of money to part with.” You sighed and dragged him in the direction of Fred and Angelina who stood waving at you. You approached them with hello’s and hugs and waited. “What time’s he meant to be coming?” Fred asked as he checked his watch, you followed suit and checked the upturned watch pinned to your robes. Only twenty minutes left. “Any minute now.” Angelina asked. You all looked in opposite directions, scouring the grassy horizons for any sight of the man in question. What you didn’t expect, was for him to surprise you from behind. “You can never expect a group of Gryffindor’s to be on time.” You felt a grin widen across your face as you saw Severus fold his arms across his chest. “Excuse me, I’m one of yours.” You replied, he shook your hand rather formally but gave you a brief wink as he dropped two sets of keys into George’s hand. “Is it all sorted?” George asked the potions master, Severus nodded. “Yes, I watched them as they signed the paperwork this morning. All in your names now, though I don’t see why you had to have me do it. I’m very busy.” “Because I don’t trust anybody else.” You countered, “I needed to be one-hundred-percent sure my parents wouldn’t try any funny business.” “They were quite happy to get rid of these cottages if you ask me. They have no need for them anymore, especially given that they’ve sold the house in Rouen.” Severus said, he looked up at the old stone walls of the two cottages. “The price of war, I suppose.” Fred quipped; Severus cocked an eyebrow but ultimately smirked in agreement. You broke away from George and the others and placed your arm through Severus’, wandering a few steps. “Thank you again, I really appreciate that.” You whispered; your heads close together. Severus placed a hand on top of yours and patted it softly. “Are you still coming for lunch on Sunday? It’s my only day off this week.” “Are you cooking?” “No, George is.” “Yes, I shall arrive at twelve.”

You waved as Severus made off into the distance, when there was no longer any sight of him. Angelina turned to you, and then back out to the cottages. A pair of great stone cottages with an adjoining garden stood before you. That had been built hundreds of years ago by twin farmers who tended the surrounding fields. They were acquired by your parents in the sixties; and now were to make new homes for you and George, Fred and Angelina. It was fitting really that another pair of twins would live in them all those years later, making new memories. “How long have you got before you need to be back at the hospital?” George whispered into your ear. You glanced down at your watch. “Fifteen minutes.” “Plenty of time.” He breathed, George grabbed your hand and dragged you laughing towards the front door of your cottage. The door slammed behind you as he placed a hungry kiss to your lips. His hands where everywhere at once, slipping your robes over your head and grunting in your ear. “This is our house, (Y/N). I want to hear how loud you can be.”

Of course, you complied; you wanted everybody to know that you were his, forever.

#george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x slytherin!reader #george weasley x reader #severus snape #Pansy Parkinson #Ginny Weasley #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter reader insert #nobody can know #godrics-swallow #fred weasley

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frankchurchillsaysrelax · 3 years

Text

wherever you’re going i’m going your way

That night Buck dreams of a person he’s never met, of a life that was never lived. He has nothing to work with apart from a photo and a name, but he’s always had an active imagination and tonight it carries him to places that could have been.

The house Buck stands in front of is dark and cold, shadows creeping out of the ground, curling mysteriously along the siding as the wind whistles secrets against shuttered windows. He doesn’t know this place. He doesn’t like this place. He knows he should walk away but his feet feel stuck, anchored to this spot.

“Evan!”

He turns to look down the street and sees a boy on a bike riding straight towards him. He looks familiar and just his presence breathes warmth into the air. Buck feels like he can move again and when he does he’s just a little boy, gangly limbs tripping him up as he moves to be closer to the older boy, desperately wanting to be caught up in his orbit.

Gravel kicks up where tires come to an abrupt stop. The sun shines brightly behind the boy, reflecting off of sandy blonde curls and expanding that feeling of warmth all around them. He knows this boy, he just can’t remember where from.

“You know mom doesn’t like you being out here by yourself,” the boy says. “Get inside before you get yourself in trouble, kid.”

“I’m not by myself!” Buck laughs, running up to the bike, reaching out with stubby fingers wrapped around the handlebars, his feet only just skimming the ground. The boy’s balance never waivers, seemingly well accustomed to this move.

“Can I ride on your handlebars, Danny? Please?” Buck looks up, squinting against the sun. He draws the last word out with an exaggerated pout of his lips and he knows, just knows, that this boy will do whatever he asks.

The boy, Danny, shakes his head but is smiling. “Don’t tell mom,” he orders seriously before reaching out to pick Buck up and put him in place on the bike. Buck feels like a king on his throne from way up here with no fear of any danger coming to him. Danny would never allow it.

Wind whips against his cheeks catching the corners of his smile as they ride together down the street.

Buck feels the wind against his face but realizes too late that he is falling. He’s falling and there is nothing to catch him, just his hands meeting pavement. There’s the burning feeling of skin breaking and then his knees hit the ground sending pain ricocheting up his legs. Laughter is the next thing he’s aware of, coming at him from all sides, pushing him down further into the hot blacktop beneath him.

“Stay down, you freak.” Buck looks up and oh, he instantly remembers being here before. Sam Powers hovers over him with a sneer on his freckled face. It’s third grade and Sam has once again decided he’d rather not look at Buck’s birthmark any longer. Dread builds at the memory of what comes next. Behind them a bus door closes as the oblivious driver pulls away from the curb, little faces pushed up against glass to watch Buck’s torment.

“Get away from him you little creep.” The words sound like a roar, louder than any bus or laughter or shame.

Buck looks up from his spot on the ground to see Daniel striding towards them through the circle of onlooking children. He looks like a god from down here, Buck thinks. He’s so tall that his golden hair touches the sky and his letterman’s jacket draws a chorus of unsuppressed awe from the crowd. He’s nothing but impressive and Buck feels only pride at the knowledge that this is his brother, come to save the day.

This never happened back then, Buck thinks sadly. The thought floats away as quickly as it came and then he’s back in the present watching as his savior finally reaches him, bending down to help him up and dust him off. The other kids watch on but Daniel pays them no mind as he takes Buck’s small hands in his and frowns at the angry, red skin peeling away from his palms. The skin feels cooler under such careful attention.

“Come on, kid.” He puts an arm around Buck’s shoulders and leads him away from the scene. They stop long enough for Daniel to level Sam with a glare so threatening it leaves the bully visibly shaken, freckles more stark against his pale drawn face.

Buck smiles the whole way towards the jeep he himself drove through high school. Once he’s settled in the passenger’s seat, Buck shares a look with his brother, feeling like he’s being included in a secret and instantly feeling infinitely cooler than the sad memory of the little boy curled up on the ground surrounded by his laughing peers. Daniel closes the door with a wink.

Buck slams the door to his jeep and clicks the button to lock the door with an echoing beep. His shoulders are heavy beneath the weight of his backpack and the general stress of being a senior in high school. He drags his tired feet across the driveway and lets himself into the side door of the house.

“Hi, honey,” his mom’s voice carries out from the kitchen, cheerful and soothing like warm tea and honey on a rainy day.

The backpack has disappeared from his shoulders but the oppressive weight remains and Buck is drawn to her, seeking out the palliative nature that fills the house with only two words.

“Hi mom,” he says quietly, pressing a brief kiss to her cheek. It feels totally normal, habitual, like they have been this affectionate his entire life.

She looks different, wrong somehow. She’s older than she should be, her hair shorter than she used to wear. She’s smiling, he realizes. Her smile is warm, comforting, and safe, highlighting the creases at the corners of her eyes, and before he knows it he is dragging her closer for a hug.

She wraps her arms around him without hesitation, her hands rub gentle circles between his shoulders and it feels like Maddie or Athena but more. It feels like a hug from his mom.

“There’s something for you on the table,” she tells him. He separates himself from the embrace reluctantly, arms moving to a script he doesn’t want to follow, and walks towards the kitchen table. On it is a large white envelope, the blue and white Nittany lion staring up at him, bold and proud. His mom’s hand rests easily on his shoulder and stops him from floating above solid ground.

“Congratulations, honey.” He was alone the last time this happened. “Your father and I couldn’t be more proud.” The words have him spinning with an unknown happiness.

He spins around and there is Maddie in her old nurses’ scrubs looking exhausted but healthy and so young.

“Maddie! You’re here.”

“Of course I’m here, Evan,” she says tiredly. “I work here.” She’s evasive, walking around him without looking directly at him. Her sneakers squeak against the too clean hospital floors as she walks further away. The wide, white halls surround them but in the corner a shadow looms, waiting for a chance to reach out and swallow them in its darkness.

“You haven’t been answering any of my calls. Or mom’s. Or Daniel’s.” He reaches out for her, unsurprised but still guilty when she flinches slightly. The shadow coils like a snake ready to strike. “We’re worried about you Maddie.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Evan.” She finally looks at him, a familiar perfectly fake smile spread too tight across her face. “I’m happy,” she promises. She takes a step closer to the shadow. “I’ve just been busy, that’s all.”

“I don’t believe you. Please, Maddie, talk to me. I know something is wrong with him, I know you need to get away. Please just leave him,” he pleads. All the words he never had the guts to say come flowing out as a river of truth.

A pinky wraps around his though Maddie does not move. The shadow curls around her leg, claiming her. Buck looks to his right and there is Daniel in his white doctor’s coat standing strong and silent beside him. It’s like that day on the playground all over again only now Buck stands tall beside him. Together they are unstoppable. A united front. They each reach a pinky out towards their sister.

“Come with us, Maddie,” Daniel tells her with an authoritative big brother voice. Sunshine pours from his mouth cutting at the shadow with sharp rays of light.

She looks between them and finally, finally closes the circle, pinkies locked together with theirs allowing them to pull her toward warmth and safety, a light brighter than any other emerging from her to scare the darkness away.

The flash nearly blinds him. Maddie takes photo after photo of him and the small bundle in his arms. His niece is like air his hands try too hard to hold onto, far too fragile for someone so big to be holding all by himself.

“Be sure to cradle the head.”

Daniel is here, of course he is. Present at the official welcoming party for their tiny, precious niece and as always steady at his side. Athena and Bobby’s back yard is bursting with life and love once again as everyone Buck loves gathers in one place.

His mom and dad, now holding the baby, stand off to the side, bright smiles on their faces that Buck has never seen before. Maddie glows at the center of everything as Chimney, Hen and Eddie orbit around her. Bobby and Michael are at the grill while Athena, Karen, and May play with the kids. Everyone here, happy, healthy, and alive, the air buzzing with energy.

“This is a pretty good family you’ve got here, kid.”

Buck turns to look at his brother but instead finds that young boy on the bike watching the group of people around them with a wistful look on his face.

Buck wakes to the early morning light shining through his windows. Despite this and the noise Albert makes downstairs, he squeezes his eyes shut tight, desperate to not let the dregs of his dreams slip out of reach.

#my fic #911 fanfic #911 fic #evan buckley #daniel buckley #911 #911 fox #my first 911 fic and it has to be a dream sequence because of course #also i hate the ending #so yes i know it’s bad #whoops...this isn’t my side blog

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the-golden-ghost · 3 years

Note

Alternatively: 4, Jigen & Goemon.

I am going to do the other one you requested but the desire to write Soft Jigoe Shit was too high so here we go:

It was the third week after Lupin’s wedding, and Jigen was wrong. It had lasted.

“Well, they usually last longer than a month,” he admitted when Goemon confronted him about it. “Even Lupin doesn’t get bored that easily. I’d give it four months, tops.”

“Do you think she is really a descendant of the Duke of Milan?” Goemon asked.

“Probably not. Look, Lupin’s marriages all end the same way; badly. Either she’ll turn out to have only been after his money, or he’ll turn out to have only been after her money, or it’ll be a random whirlwind romance where they find out after three months that they actually can’t stand each other and they’ll part on bad terms.”

“How many times has he been married?”

“If he’s honest with me? This is his tenth. But I wouldn’t be shocked if there’s a couple more he’s not telling me about. They weren’t all legal, though,” Jigen leaned out over the balcony, watching the cars pass below with little interest. “Pity he and Fujiko decided to do this at the same time.” Fujiko had gotten engaged - and wed - shortly before Lupin had. On her part, she hadn’t invited any of them to the wedding, which Goemon had been angry about. Even if he knew it would have been bad taste to flaunt her lovers in front of her fiance, she still could have invited them as friends.

“There’ll be other times, with her,” Jigen said, noticing the look on Goemon’s face. “Come on. She goes through guys the way some women go through shoes. If not this one, then maybe the next one.”

“Maybe I won’t show up even if she does invite me,” Goemon said, and Jigen laughed.

It was dull, though, waiting for half their gang to hurry up and divorce. Goemon had gone on a retreat into the mountains and Jigen had moved into his little apartment, but now the two of them were back together and Lupin wasn’t showing any signs of following suit.

Jigen lit a cigarette and sat on the rail, both of which Goemon would have rathered he not do. “Pity the two of us can’t get married,” he muttered.

“Speak for yourself. I still intend to find a bride someday.” Goemon said.

“I meant to each other, stupid,” Jigen said with a grin. “Guess I’m not much of a bride, though, am I?”

Goemon, embarrassed that he hadn’t realized what Jigen was getting at, flushed and looked away. “You are not,” he admitted.

Jigen nodded. “Hell, imagine... well, we couldn’t do it legally, but,” he took a drag of his cigarette. “We could do it. There’s enough dives out there where you can get a fake certificate written up. It’d look like the real deal, close enough. I’ve seen Lupin do it plenty of times.”

Goemon’s first thought was to brush the idea off as ridiculous, until he realized there would be nothing legally binding about any of it. He wouldn’t even need to divorce Jigen, nor would his future wife need to know anything about this. Mostly it would be a way to tease the other two. Let them come back and find themselves out of the loop for a change. And once Goemon realized this, the more appealing the idea sounded. “Let’s do it.”

Jigen looked startled. “Are you serious?”

“I have never been more serious,” Goemon replied. “There is no one in the world I would rather have as my unlawfully wedded husband.”

“Not even Lupin?”

“Lupin’s not here. That is why I am serious.”

Jigen’s look of surprise slowly changed to excitement. “Well, then. Let’s do it!”

Five hours later, they were crammed into the back of a city bus, dressed in the finest clothes they’d been able to grab on such short notice, cackling at the sight of their marriage certificate.

“Saskatchewan!”

“Saskatchewan...”

“We’re legally married in the province of Saskatchewan!”

“Not even, this is not a legally binding document. And we are not from Saskatchewan!”

“We’ve never BEEN to Saskatchewan!”

“We’re never going to go to Saskatchewan!”

“Is there anything to steal in Saskatchewan?”

“Is there anything at all in Saskatchewan?”

“Trees? Moose?”

“We can go up there. And become lumberjacks.”

They started howling again, not caring who stared at them since there were only four people on the bus besides them anyway. “All right, Goemon; here’s the plan. We steal, just... a shitload of loot over the next year. Then we quit the business altogether, move up there, get us a log cabin and live off the land forever.”

“All right.”

“We can find you a waterfall to sit under, even. If there’s waterfalls in Saskatchewan. I don’t know if there are, but if there’s one, we’ll find it.”

“It will be too cold.”

Jigen snorted. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you warm.” Then he kissed Goemon hard, pressing him close to the glass of the bus window, and he was right. He was warm.

Ten hours later.

The whole thing was supposed to be a joke, and it had felt like a joke when they ran down the sidewalk holding hands and bumping into people and street vendors, laughing. Or on the back of the bus, making dumb plans that would never happen but were fun in the moment. Or when they’d announced to a bar full of strangers that they were married men as of one hour ago and gotten ignored, but didn’t care because they were too lost in the moment. Or when Goemon had fireman-carried Jigen into the hotel room and tossed him onto the bed, or when they’d spent a half hour waging war against each other by using the bouquets of flowers they’d bought, turning the room into an explosion of flower petals.

But it hadn’t felt like a joke on the way back when Jigen, in his excitement, had caught Goemon’s hand and squeezed tight. Or when they’d fallen asleep curled up together on the couch, tired and half-drunk but warm and comfortable, and Goemon had dozed off to the sound of Jigen’s heart. Or now, at 2 in the morning, with the city lights keeping Goemon awake through the open curtains, the buzz of the liquor wearing off, and Jigen asleep beside him, holding on to him like even in sleep he couldn’t believe this was real. In this moment, it felt a little too real for words, and Goemon wanted the morning to come so they could brush it off, forget it.

It wasn’t as if they’d never shared a bed before. They’d done it a dozen or more times. Sometimes with Lupin, sometimes with Lupin and Fujiko, and other times, just the two of them, but it wasn’t new.

Goemon knew it should not have been any different than before. A fake certificate from a Canadian province and a few announcements in some late-night downtown bars didn’t make a marriage. They barely even made a date. Things had not changed between them. The document was forged, the ceremony rushed, and nothing - nothing about this was real.

The thing that nagged at Goemon was that part of him wanted it to be. And he knew what a stupid thing that was to want. He had such plans for himself - finding a bride, a young woman with the same values and traditions as him, and marrying her properly, legally, in his home country. Setting up a life with her. He could not - under any circumstances - spend the rest of his life married to a man ten years his senior, especially not a retired mob hitman with a drinking problem.

It just wouldn’t work, and Goemon knew it, even though he could bury his face into Jigen’s hair and pretend like they had a long and beautiful future together, they didn’t, and couldn’t.

But tonight they could. In the morning it would be gone, and they’d ride back to Lupin and taste death and burn bridges and cheat and steal and laugh and bleed until the moment of their permanent separation. But tonight they could have a taste of something different. Something warm, and as close to innocent as either of them were ever going to get.

So he shifted closer to Jigen, holding him like he would hold the man he married, if they were married for life. Jigen, always a light sleeper, opened his eyes, and Goemon thought that the way the city lights reflected in them were beautiful. And when he told him that, and watched Jigen smile, still half-asleep, Goemon thought that was beautiful, too.

#Lupin III #my writing #take a shot every time they say the word 'Saskatchewan'#also I don't know how in-character this actually is and I have to second guess myself about 87 times while writing it #I still don't know if I have a Grasp on the Lupin Characters yet but I'm doing my damndest #and I think the idea of them getting fake married is funny so that's what's going down #anyway do you think Lupin and Fujiko find out about this? You Decide

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backtothestart02 · 3 years

Text

A Weekend of Firsts - 1/? | grandice fanfiction

A/N: Part 1 of my On Set Attraction series (for now). This one will be 2-3 chaps. Not sure yet. For the anon that requested an sdcc hook-up. I hope you enjoy this first part.

...

Synopsis: Grant and Candice get together.

...

Chapter 1 -

SDCC 2014.

The first real large-scale event that The Flash cast attended in preparation for the upcoming season one of their show.

San Diego Comic Con.

Candice was starry-eyed. It had been her first time attending SDCC as someone featured and not just an audience member. She’d secretly attended just for enjoyment’s sake once years earlier, but she wasn’t about to spill that. She was a little embarrassed about how nerdy she’d been, dressing up in cosplay and everything. She was putting that behind her. Now she was a real celebrity – or she was about to be.

Glancing back at Grant on the bus, she felt her cheeks grow hot and quickly turned around. She’d thought to look over to him because he, too, had never attended SDCC as part of a featured cast, but his eyes and his smile had gotten the best of her, and she hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact.

What was the matter with her? She wondered, but it was no secret to herself why her heart started racing and heat filled her cheeks whenever she caught that sexy grin of his.

She had a crush. A big one.

He was single, so it’s not like if she acted on it there would be bad fallout. But it might affect their chemistry onset, which to hear it, was some of the best the casting director had ever seen.

Electric. Show-stopping. Edge-of-your seat. Magical.

She couldn’t risk losing that by confessing her feelings. And besides, she didn’t even know if he felt the same way. His rejection of her alone might affect their chemistry if they couldn’t get past that awkward moment.

No, she was better off keeping this little crush to herself and hopefully getting over it, sooner rather than later hopefully.

She tried to find reasons not to fantasize about what the two of them together romantically might look like. She honestly did. She tried to find flaws in him. Real, honest-to-God flaws that could make her see him more as a friend than a crush.

But it was just so God damn hard.

He was such a flirt, and he focused most of his efforts of her. He’d deliberately run into things to gauge her reaction, and he’d tease her relentlessly. He was funny too, so funny that she found herself laughing long after everyone else had stopped. She’d thought he would think oddly of her for that, but when their eyes met after she’d stopped, he was only ever smiling at her, as if nothing existed for him outside of her.

They shared similar interests too – well, except for the ongoing Superman vs. Batman debate. That would probably never end. But they both loved dogs and video games. She had a few potted plants in her trailer that sometimes she’d come back to see him watering. And his two dogs, Jett and Nora, took to her right away.

They gravitated to each other easily when alone, and his first instinct was to slow dance with her in between takes. She never led him on or tried to get his attention one way or the other. He always came looking for it.

And sometimes, occasionally, she’d catch him checking out her cleavage or her ass when she knew he thought she was unaware. It made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, he had a thing for her too?

But she never brought it up and neither did he. The cast couldn’t be completely oblivious to their connection though. She hoped they never brought it up to anybody. The last thing she needed was for people to think she was getting attention simply because the leading man was giving it to her.

She was the leading lady though, so was it that hard to believe?

She kept herself in check as best as she could, however. And when the bus finally arrived and they filed out, she made herself focus on what the itinerary of the day was. Well, for the first day it was pretty low key. They just needed to check into the hotel and attend a couple low key events. The real slew of interviews and panels and photoshoots, autographs and more would take place over the next couple days.

Paparazzi lined the walkway, as did some fans who had heard about the show. If they got renewed for another season, she imagined the fans would multiply at events like this. Not that she was hoping for that or even needed it. She was just amazed – still – that she had gotten the part. Her talent and her chemistry with Grant had sealed the deal. She couldn’t be happier.

Once inside the hotel, they got their keys and made their way to their floor. Candice stopped at her door and was about to slide her key in when she heard Grant call out to her.

“Hey, we’re neighbors?”

She smiled tremulously and called back, “Yeah, cool!”

Cool?

She rolled her eyes at herself and got into her suite. She lay on the bed for a while, then peeked outside at the view she had. A busy street. Not the best, but they were in busy San Diego. What did she expect?

She stepped into her bathroom and turned on the shower. Setting out her clothes for the first event, she stripped down, went under the glorious hot water and soaked herself. After she was thoroughly wrinkled, she washed up, then shut off the water, dried herself off, and proceeded to get ready for their night of events.

Alcohol.

She hadn’t thought twice when champagne was offered to her at the first event or the second. She didn’t think she was anywhere near tipsy by the time the after party came around, but she did notice one thing.

Grant was flirting more than usual, and she was flirting back.

Her heated cheeks a faint memory, and her heart racing nothing to the sound of glasses clinking and toasts being made at their first day of SDCC being completed successfully.

Candice couldn’t stop smiling.

She didn’t know where the rest of the cast had gone. They’d all arrived together at the party. But now it was just her and Grant and other people they didn’t know who probably didn’t really know them, what with their show not having aired yet. It was nice to be somewhat anonymous and just having fun without a care.

Minutes ticked away into hours though, and when she looked around she noticed that the place was starting to empty.

She tugged on Grant’s arm and pulled him down to her to whisper into his ear.

“Think we should go?” she giggled helplessly, and he grinned, that sexy smile of his so close to her cheek.

Was it just her or she was getting more drunk and he was getting more sober?

“Yeah, good idea!” he declared, smiling brilliantly.

He leaned across the bar to ask the bartender to call them a cab, even though he had his phone in his pocket. Candice giggled at that but decided not to inform him of his slip-up.

“Do you have money?” she teased, yanking on his arm again and pulling him close.

Grant grinned shamelessly.

“Should I ask him for that too?” He turned toward the bartender. “Hey, dude!”

“No, no, no, shhhh!” She couldn’t stop laughing. “He didn’t mean it! He didn’t mean it!”

The bartender continued his call and then gestured towards the door when he was finished. Looping arms, Grant and Candice stumbled slightly on their way out and promptly informed the driver where they were headed. They couldn’t remember the address, but the guy knew his way around the city and was aware of where they were staying.

Candice decided then and there that she wasn’t the only one bordering on drunk instead of tipsy. Grant just did a better job of looking like he was sober. But she was too far from sober to care what he thought about her behavior. Her insecurities were gone.

After paying the driver – miraculously – Grant helped her out of the cab and they fumbled some more getting into the hotel lobby, the elevator, and finally falling out of it when they got to their floor.

“Want to come to my room?” he asked teasingly, raising his eyebrows suggestively. She couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“Sure!” she burst, and skipped down the hall with him, her arm still looped through his when he got his hotel room opened and they struggled to walk inside at the same time.

Finally they unlooped from each other and burst into the room.

“Ooo, this room looks nice,” she commented, taking a gigantic breath. “Looks just like my room!” She giggled profusely again.

He snickered.

“We can go to your room tomorrow!” he declared, and she nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes! Yes! Aaaand…yes!”

She fell back on the large king-sized bed in the room and stared up at the ceiling. She was shocked to find her reflection staring back at her.

“You have a mirror on your ceiling.” She pouted.

He came to lie next to her after nearly tripping out of his shoes.

“You don’t have one in yours?” he asked, turning to face her.

She turned her head to face him and shook it.

“Uh-uh,” she said, and then made the mistake of dropping her gaze to his lips for a little too long.

“Candice,” he said, and he sounded really sober then it nearly sobered her up.

“Uh-oh.” She sat up quickly. Too quickly. Her head hurt. “Need more alcohol.”

She curled up and off the bed and opened the minifridge in his room where some chilled beers were located.

“Want one?” She held one out to him.

“Okay,” he said.

She grabbed another one for her and handed both to him.

“Can’t open. Too hard.”

She plopped back down on the bed.

He definitely had to be sobering up, because he easily opened both.

“Think we’ll get alcohol poisoning?” she wondered aloud.

He held the beer out to her and hesitated to drink his own. She didn’t though and so he just shook his head and laughed.

“You are the best person I’ve ever met,” he said, setting both their beers on the table.

“Oh, wow. That is really great!” She placed her hands on either side of his head. “I’ve got a crush on you,” she informed him.

“Yeah?” He sounded breathless.

She nodded enthusiastically.

“Biggest crush ever!”

“Me too,” he said back, and it really didn’t register until he leaned in and kissed her without warning.

When he pulled back slowly after she’d responded just a little, he looked deep into her eyes.

“You’re not as drunk as I am,” she accused.

He winced. “I just hold my liquor better.”

She pouted, then got a little angry.

“Were you pretending to be drunk so I’d feel better?”

She felt her insecurities rising and wondered if this was a different kind of drunk.

“No!” he insisted. “I was just being silly, having fun. Sometimes it looks like I’m drunk when I’m just having fun.”

“Oh.”

She leaned back on the bed till her head was nestled nicely on top of two pillows.

“Do you regret coming to my room?” he asked, lightly brushing some of her locks out of her face, dipping his fingers down across her collar bone and along the column of her neck.

He slipped one strap of her dress down her arm to reveal more of her cleavage and then stopped, looking at her looking at him.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice raspy, and she shook her head.

“No.”

She reached up for him and pulled his face down to hers. Then she kissed him passionately and arched up against him as he climbed on top of her. She allowed his tongue entrance into her mouth and wound her fingers into his spiked, messy hair. His body felt incredible on top of hers, and she wound her legs around his, letting the skirt of her dress hike itself up.

When his hand landed on her bare thigh, she moaned into his mouth, then tipped back her head to give him access to her neck.

“Fuck, Candice, you’re gorgeous.”

She moaned louder when he found the sweet spot on her neck and sucked.

“That feels so good. Keep doing that.”

She bit her bottom lip, feeling her core soak itself through her barely-there panties.

She reached around his back, sunk her fingers into his covered ass, and pressed her body up against his, seeking more.

Then, as if he’d never been there at all, Grant lifted himself off of her and got off the bed. He retrieved a water from the mini fridge and drank half of it.

Candice propped herself up on her elbows.

“What’s wrong?”

He laughed to himself, then turned around.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m sobering up.” She hiccuped.

He came to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, but I’m not drunk at all. Not really. And I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

Her eyes widened.

“But I may not want this in the morning! I mean, I may not let myself want it.”

He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck.

“That’s just a risk I’m going to have to take.”

He got up and held out his hand to her.

“Come on, I’ll take you back to your room.”

She was annoyed, more than annoyed. She was intensely irritated.

But more than both of those things, another feeling rose up inside of her.

Bile.

“Oh, God.”

She quick ran off the bed and went into Grant’s bathroom to vomit into his toilet. When she was done, she could barely stand up.

Grant wet a washcloth and wiped her mouth before gathering her into his arms and taking her down the hall to her room. He tucked her into bed, went to leave and then stopped when he heard her sigh loudly. He turned back to look at the sad expression on her face and braced himself for the words that would follow.

“I suck.” She huffed. “Don’t I?”

“No,” he said. “You don’t suck.” He managed the tiniest smile. “Goodnight, Candice. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He shut the door behind him before she could answer, and she spoke her reply to the darkness.

“Goodnight.”

She paused.

“I suck.”

#grandice #fanfiction #grandice fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #a weekend of firsts #chapter 1 #for anon

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howdoyousleep3 · 3 years

Note

mama K! here’s to a happy pride!!! sorry if this is sad, was in my feels a little bit today. (they have a happy ending of course)

He sits by the window, his head turned towards the streets rolling by, the weight on his shoulders carried by a red bus. He’s has a rough day, and he knows the time on this bus won’t help him clear his head. In the past being alone with his thoughts hasn’t always been the best idea. When he gets to his apartment his husband will help him figure it out. He could make all those thoughts, all those insecurities, go away with just a smile. It’s still crazy to think that he’s allowed to call the man he’s spending the rest of his life his husband.

He lets his thoughts wander against his better judgment. His life doesn’t feel normal. The normal he knows is hiding in closets, no pun intended, and hoping beyond God that no one finds him. Even the ones who would accept him, because good intentions only get you so far when it comes to things like this. It hurt that it was even an option that people wouldn’t accept him for something as trivial as his sexuality. The thought of people back then finding out about him now makes him sick. Years later. He thought once he moved away their words would leave, let him be the one to bring himself for , not other people. He thought he could make himself forget.

But they didn't know, or at least they didn’t care, that their hate filled words would impact him more than the people who said them. He doubt they even remembered what they said to him. Hurting people for being different than their cookie-cutter ideas was so normal for them that he was just a point from a long line of young people with scars.

That wasnt even the hardest part. He could deal with people saying things to try and change him, he knew it wasn’t going to work. One of the hardest things to remember is people fighting on his television, deciding whether he could love the man he wanted. As if it was their choice to begin with, as if they had any right to chose who he’s allowed to get married to.

He lets out a long sigh and focuses on the song playing in his headphones. It used to be his mother’s favorite, and he can’t seem to let it go. It could still be her favorite, he wouldn’t know. They haven’t spoken in five years. Maybe it’s been six, he tried to tell himself but the truth is he knows exactly how long. Call him sentimental. Call him weak. Its nothing he hasn’t told himself.

He remembers everything from the day he told his parents no matter how hard he tried to forget. He was wearing a hoodie that he threw out a few months later, not being able to stand it. It was blue and it has pink flowers on the sleeves. He still knows that he was wearing glasses because they were fogged up from the tears he shed. The tears his parents caused him to shed. Jesus, his parents.

The hardest part had been going into the conversation, knowing that when it ended he wouldn’t have a family anymore. He was going to be alone. He had been so fucking scared. Before he had the conversation with his parents he had already packed his bags. He was certain he knew how it was going to go, and he had been right. All men are created equal, until they decide to love each other, right?

For all the bad times that his memories recall, there are the good ones too. Having his boyfriend at the time hold him all night whenever his thoughts caught up with him. Getting kneed in the face by his husband when the announcement came out that they could be with each other legally. His husband was so excited that he forgot about his head resting in his lap and he stood up, apologizing with profound words. He can’t remember another time when he felt such pure, unadulterated joy. He had waited for his whole life, longer, to be able to call the man holding his face with gentle hands and tear streaked cheeks his husband.

But you can’t have strong positive emotions without a crash. Later that week he felt such resentment towards all the people who had halted the process, stopping him from something they had no right to control. He got proposed to that very same year, his husband down on one knee with shaking hands, his face framed by falling autumn leaves. Seeing his husband, his husband, waiting at the end of a long aisle, hastily wiping away tears and giving him a smile that held in it the rest of their lives together. They had both been dressed in white, mocking the angels. Not that he was one to believe that his love was a sin.

He’s almost at his stop, and then he can go home into a warm embrace, a loving smile, and a person, a man, he can lean on.

He wished he could say he never wanted to be anyone different. He couldn’t. There were times, there still are times, when he wants to see his little sister who never had a chance to stop anything that happened those years ago. He misses singing along to The Beach Boys in the back of his moms’ minivan. He misses making fun of his dad for his favorite movie, Clueless. (He hasn’t watched that in years) He knows he can never have that again, but that was their choice. Not his. He has to remember that.

He’s tried to stop blaming himself for who he is. Blaming God is easier, but he knows there’s no one to blame. He loves who he loves. It’s one of the underlying facts of human existence, it’s not something he can change. They can say it’s not real, that he’s being dramatic, he’s making it up, but if his sexuality isn’t real then it doesn’t that mean no one’s is? There’s a natural balance in life, he’s learned. He can look up the definition of love all he wants, he can ask everyone he knows what love means, but there isn’t one definition, isn’t one true meaning of love. It’s whatever he wants it to be. It’s what he has with is husband, his love.

He walks into his front door. Maybe he’s imagining it, but it’s warm. Comforting. He knows that when he looks up he’ll see a smiling face sitting on a mantle.

A soft “How was your day?” greets him. He can tell from the voice that his partner knows it was a rough day. It’s okay, they both have them. They’ll cry, they’ll hold each other close. An endless cycle of pain and joy.

But that’s what life is. They can’t let it consume them, no matter how much it hurts. If they let themselves go down there’s no chance of getting back up.

Deeply unhappy thoughts breed joyful reunions with death.

😭😭😭 I'm so happy you have shared this with us. Happy endings always. How personal and reflective and deeply emotional. Thank you, nonniebug. I lub you so much. 💖

#askK #writing #pride

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quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years

Text

Good Together

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 9,300 (sorry!)

Summary: You and Bucky have a very tumultuous relationship -- but you’re good together.

Warnings: Smut!! Angst maybe.

A/N: Inspired by “Good Together” by SHY Martin. This is my first time writing smut, so please let me know what you think and I’m so sorry if this is terrible!! Just let me knoowwww also sorry for making it so long!

...

I've been working on myself and on my patience But sometimes that shit don't come easy And I see you've been tryin' your best to give me explanations But words don't really cut it lately

“Buck, would you just listen to me,” you spat, emphasizing the last three words, shaking your hands in significance. He continued calmly putting the dishes away; you knew it was a façade: his relaxed shoulders, plain face, raised eyebrows – all a ruse to make him look like a victim. “Turn around.”

He spun quickly on his heel, still holding the clean plate in his hand, facing you with a strong tone of expectation: expectation that you had something really fucking good to say if you had to interrupt him putting the dishes away, especially since you ask him every day to help out with the chores. “Yes, dear?”

You rolled your eyes almost immediately as the term of less-than-endearment slipped off his tongue. “Listen to what I’m saying – ”

“I can multitask, (Y/N), thank you very much.” He continues on his merry way unloading the dishwasher, turning his back to you once again.

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath. An inhale and exhale through your mouth; so quiet yet you’re sure he heard you. Focus, you thought to yourself, shutting your eyes and finding your peace. He wants you to snap. You took another deep breath, craning your neck in a circle, listening as the top of your vertebrae cracks with a loud pop! “All I’m saying,” you begin smoothly, “is that you need to stop acting like a baby.”

He scoffs, eyebrows raising in doubt. “What part of this is being a baby, (Y/N); enlighten me.” Patronizing fuck.

You swore that talking to him took more patience than raising a puppy – hell, at least the puppy would learn to listen to you. “You’re always like acting like the victim; such a martyr. I try to bring up one thing with you – have an adult discussion – and suddenly you act like it’s all my fault and that I’m crazy? Like I’m the bad guy here.”

You can feel him roll his eyes through the back of his head. He shrugs. “Look, (Y/N), all I was saying was that you were bitchin’ over nothin’ – all I did was apologize.”

You actually laughed arrogantly, reminding him what he stated earlier, laying the sarcasm on as heavily as he did: “oh, I’m so sorry, (Y/N). Sorry that I have eyes and like to use them to look around.” You narrowed your eyes at him, finally gaining his full attention as he fisted the cutlery. “Sorry, how does having eyes justify you eye-fucking the girl behind me?”

“I wasn’t even staring – ”

And you snapped. In his defense, you maybe sounded a little shrill when you flipped out at him; your voice did, in fact, raise about twelve octaves. “You were literally undressing her with your eyes, James.” You threw up your hands in the air, exaggerating a groan as your head dropped back. “You probably have x-ray vision, don’t you?” You accused, almost jokingly. But as he narrowed his eyes as he hesitated to say something back, searching his mind for the proper response – but you were too fast. “You fucking do, don’t you, you piece of shit. Of course – ”

The sound of shattering glass cut you off immediately. You opened your eyes and straightened your stance to be faced with Bucky, butter knife in his hand, and a plate, split perfectly in half, sitting on the counter beside him. His blue eyes were squeezed tight in control, his flesh hand gripping the knife so hard that his knuckles had gone white. You stared at the porcelain dinner plate, feignedly wondering if that’s what he wanted to do to you.

Deep down, you knew he would never lay a hand on you; he always insisted on throwing or breaking something when he became so frustrated with his anger – with you. He’d gone so far as to throw a lamp at the wall (in the opposite direction of you, of course); thus, showing his intention to release his anger and not an intention to hurt you. The two of you had been working on different ways to channel his anger; however, as he stated: he was used to a life of destruction, so that’s how he vented. He found that it got the job done: it got you to shut the fuck up.

“I don’t have x-ray vision, don’t be a child about it.” His voice was surprisingly calm, especially considering how he still hadn’t put the knife down. “I wasn’t even starting. I glanced at her – in her direction.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, though. That’s the issue that he didn’t comprehend. You let out a sigh, speaking calmer than you had all night. “Bucky, I’m just sick of having this same conversation, please,” you pleaded, taking a step closer. He remained silent and still, eyeing you as you approached him. “I feel like I’m not asking for much.” Stop staring at other girls while you’re on a date with me: not much. It was not only infuriating, it was embarrassing.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, putting the knife on the counter beside the pieces of plate, turning his head down. “I didn’t mean to be doing it. I just get distracted.” His voice was quiet, almost child-like as it rose in inflection.

You were torn. You could believe what he was saying, hoping that this time he’d actually be telling the truth: you knew he had a short attention span, and he did have a tendency to space out a lot. But you were caught between believing that and the fact he had spaced out in the direction of a girl with a significantly low-cut blouse. These other times, he liked to play the victim-card, blaming his less-than-appealing tendencies on his poorer qualities that, technically, nobody could refute him having.

You’d learned to read through his words, though. And this time, it was the latter.

Remember when our love was precious We thought what we had was the best, yeah Now every answer's a question Like every night is one of us is getting aggressive The other one's acting possessive Guess it's the way that we do shit now

Your fights had grown frequent.

Your relationship had grown volatile.

Not that it wasn’t based on your tumultuous roots – but it had just gotten so much worse lately.

This relationship started off fairly normal, however, the cherished affair the two of you shared quickly became tainted through the media. Countless news outlets had gotten word of the coupling instantaneously, leaving the two of you swamped with paparazzi and yelling passerby’s every time either of you left your houses. It was quite the shock that James Buchanan Barnes had a girlfriend – a regular girlfriend, too; a non-Avenger. People were quick to sell you out, too. Close friends and even some family selling information about your relationship (and even just material about you) to make a quick buck.

It had gotten the best of the both of you early on. Bucky was tired of being constantly followed and photographed. He was a man who had grown used to solitude and, while he was slowly but surely adapting to twenty-first century life and everything that came along with that, all of the flashing lights and constant yelling made him want to climb into a hole and live in the dark forever.

You, similarly, were extremely unaccustomed to this. Suddenly, you were on the cover of magazines, reading articles about yourself in People & Us magazines, scrolling through stories of yourself on Snapchat. Old friends, people from college, even some work colleagues sold stories about you to the tabloids. Maybe some of the resentment that you held towards them reflected upon Bucky. You didn’t think about it often, but maybe there was a correlation – an unfair correlation, obviously. Your hatred on the outside world didn’t equate to hatred towards Bucky, but you still aimed it towards him quite a bit.

Bucky, never slow to defend himself, returned said animosity right back at you. The two of you picked each other apart until you were both bloody and raw.

Tonight was no different.

The entire evening, meant to be romantic, turned into a fight. You both intended for event at Stark Industries to be uneventful: a night of mingling with friends, reminiscing in old stories, and drinking expensive champagne. It started off halfway decent, that is, until you started meeting more of the people that worked at the Tower.

You had no problem hanging out with the rest of the Avengers – especially Sam, who you bonded with through teasing Bucky (nothing but love, of course), but when it came to meeting a couple other supporting agents, you were a little out of you element.

Take, for example, Agent Toller, who came up to you and Bucky early on, greeting him kindly with a hug and introducing herself to you with a handshake. “Nice to meet you, (Y/N)! Bucky’s told me so much about you!” You smiled genuinely at her statement, responding and continuing the conversation. It, of course, came to a point where she slung her arm around his and stated matter-of-factly: “You better keep him locked up. I know a lot of ladies wanting to get their hands on him.”

Your lungs deflated. Including herself, apparently. “I’ll do my best,” you reply through gritted teeth.

Then there was Agent Rivers, who straight off the bat ignored you. She came up to Bucky telling him she finally mastered the thigh-grip, a move, she later clarified, made notorious through Black Widow. “All that time in the gym finally paid off, huh,” Bucky teased.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she beamed back, touching a hand to his arm.

He rolled his eyes playfully, chuckling. “Please, just playing the dummy – as usual.”

She merrily smacked his arm, grinning. “Don’t say that, Buck.”

You stood next to Bucky, staring up at the man blankly. Rivers trotted off once she caught wind of you glaring at Bucky. Plucking another glass of champagne from the passing server, you took a long sip, finally asking: “So, Buck, what would be your part in her mastering this thigh grip?” It was a bit condescending, a little irked, and extremely sarcastic. The image of her perfect legs around your boyfriends neck did not sit right with you.

Was he more of a flirt than you remembered? It had been ages since he’s properly flirted with you. It was nothing to get angsty about; its not like you had anything to truly worry about. He came home every evening, spent the night in your bed with you; save for when he went on missions, but surely, he wasn’t accompanied by any women you had to worry about, at least – Natasha and Wanda had your full confidence. But it wasn’t the women that bothered you; you shouldn’t have to worry about Bucky. No matter how many beautiful, strong, talented women flirted with him, he should shut them down – not flirt back literally in front of you.

A few more introductions played out exactly like that, so a few more glasses of champagne were necessary for you to get through the evening. At one point you actually started having a good time. You’d left Bucky to chat with the boys while you found sanctuary in your girlfriends off to the side. You were able to air out your grievances, confidential information falling onto open ears. They took your mind off it by bringing up their own drama, in which you all openly made jokes and critiques, the liquor now fully streaming through all of your bloodstreams.

Once the party started to clear out and even some of the Avengers began to leave, Bucky swooped by your pow-wow and wrapped his arm around your waist, whispering a quiet “ready to go?” in your ear. You and Bucky walked out with Sam and his girlfriend, chatting casually.

As you expected, as soon as the pair spilt off from you two, everything fell silent. Not the good silent: the silence that swirled around you two as your gazed at stars together, the silence as you laid napping in each other’s arms on the couch, the silence that comforted him after a nightmare, accompanied by your fingers curling through his hair. No; this was the silence filled with tension; it was the kind of silence that you’d rather die than have to ride home in the car with him not talking to you.

You bit your lip when you brought it up.

He actually laughed, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other resting loosely on his lap. He turned his head to you momentarily, a glint in his eye as his smile mocked you. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“They’re all throwing themselves at you!” You clarify, exasperated, throwing your hands in your lap, turning towards him underneath your seatbelt.

“I can’t help that, can I?” He shrugged it off, turning back to the road, reclining farther in his seat, biting his bottom lip to stop himself from smiling. Smug bastard.

“Yes, James. It’s called personal space and we all have it.” You spoke slowly, enunciating each work clearly. “It would really kill you to tell these girls to stop touching you?” He pulled into a parking spot in front of your apartment and got out of the car without even letting you finish. You followed suit, trialing him up the few steps to the front door. “Every single woman you talked to had her hands all over you.”

He shoves the door open, leaving it wide open for you. “I wasn’t touching them, was I?” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it back. He groaned and pulled at the tips, acting as if any sort of physical torture would be more preferable to this conversation. “No, my hand was on you the whole entire time, (Y/N). It’s not an issue.”

You slammed the door, crossing your arms over your chest. “Really?” You questioned, tone and volume raising significantly. “So, you don’t care about them touching you in front of your girlfriend? It’s not an issue? Forget it just pissing me off – you don’t think that was fucking embarrassing for me?”

He shrugged earnestly, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips.

Taking a page out of his book, you pick up the closest thing in arms-length: the half-empty wine bottle you’d left on the table from earlier. You don’t intentionally aim for Bucky, but maybe you weren’t seeing as clearly as you thought you were. It narrowly swipes past him as you drive it into the wall, only marginally missing him because he took a step sideways. His eyes are wide momentarily, turning his head from the large red splotch dripping down the white wall back to focus on you. Instantly, his posture changes: he’s standing upright, more alert – no longer seeing you as annoying instead of nonthreatening; his chest puffs out, his eyebrows knit together, lips pressed into a firm line as he glowers at you. “What. The. Fuck.” His teeth are barred, the words coming out bitterly.

“Oh,” you scoffed, unable to hide the smirk forming on your lips. “You don’t like it when I do it to you?” If you were in his position, you’d want to slap yourself. You were only taunting the beast, speaking to him in such a patronizing tone. You couldn’t help yourself, though; it was finally a taste of his own medicine: to be treated like a child. You bit your lip, trying to smother the smile pulling your lips as you watched with half-lidded eyes as he strutted towards you.

“You don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

You raised your eyebrows in challenge. “Says who?”

He stares down at you, another stride forward, consuming all the space left between the both of you. Taking one more step, he backs you into the wall. Your shoulder blades make contact with the cold plaster. “I do.” His voice was rough, about six octaves lower than usual, volume barely above a whisper, yet so much anger in his tone. You laugh, breathing out, sneering at him. “You better wipe that smile off those pretty little lips.” His voice did not waver; there was no inflection nor cadence of amusement.

Your smirk does not faulter. “Make me.” His metal hand snakes around the base of your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck. He watches in amusement as your smile quickly drops into an open mouth, gasping as you struggle to take in a sharp breath in shock.

His hips press into yours, hip bones jamming into each other’s. His breath tickles the shell of your ear as he leans in closer to you, chest against chest. “Not so funny now, is it, baby?”

You and me we never say we're sorry Hands around my body Fucking 'til we're good Fucking 'til we're good And we promise we'll do better Both go down together Fucking 'til we're good

You stare up at him under your eyelashes and focus all your energy on inhaling and exhaling through your nose – this wasn’t your first rodeo.

He watches you, jaw tense, flexing at the sharp contour under his ears. You feel his angered breath as it warms the air over your nose. He grinds his hips up against yours, just moving ever so slightly, pushing his thigh in between your legs. You narrow your eyes at him, clenching your own jaw and huffing out a sharp breath. Your hands flew up to his metal forearm to have something you could hold onto as your oxygen left your lungs.

He leans in once again to whisper in your ear. “What’s that, baby?” He coos condescendingly. He kisses the spot just under your earlobe, the sensitive skin sending a jolt through your body. He trails a few more kisses under your jaw, just above his hand; each kiss becoming progressively longer and sloppier. He makes his way to your other ear, now pressing his lips right up against the cartilage. “You got more to say to me?” His metal fingers and his left leg. His thigh hitches farther up, you’re now practically sitting on his leg – trying to stabilize yourself on your tiptoes. His fingers squeeze your throat, causing you to shut your eyes as you release the breath from your lungs with a whine. He hums in response – you can feel his smile pressing into your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

Your eyes open at the sudden loss of contact as his grip loosens and he shifts back in front of you, face-to-face. He stares at you through the dark strands of hair that had fallen loose in front of his face, his eyes dark and clouded over with lust. You imagine you looked the same way, completely disheveled, staring up at him with nothing but desire. Your legs clench around his thigh, pulling yourself farther down onto his muscle-bound leg.

Bucky leans down, slowly diving in for the kiss.

But he stops too soon, his bottom lip just brushing yours. You try to meet him halfway, struggling against the sturdy grip on your throat. You can’t help but groan, eyebrows pulling together in need as he beams down at your joyfully. “You wanna tell me what you need, baby?”

“Touch me,” you whine, hips now moving ever so slightly against his thigh. You couldn’t move much, considering you were barely balanced on there, but you could manage.

“Touch you?” He questioned, quickly swooping forward, pressing his lips to yours chastely. As soon as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss, he tore himself far enough from your lips to speak in a hushed tone: “Touch you like those girls were touching me?”

Fuck. Immediately without thinking, you release his forearm where your hands previously rested, pushing back on his chest as hard as you absolutely could. He stumbled back a couple steps, completely taken off guard. God, you were so hot when you were aggressive like that. He loved pushing you to your breaking point: to the point where you’d begin to assert yourself towards him. He loved when you stood up to him, reeling in anger, just so he could take charge and show you who was boss.

It was an adrenaline rush for him.

For you, too.

You stood before him, fists clenched in rage, staring at him. He was just barely smirking, eyelids half shut, a hungry look on his face. Ever the challenge, he would conquer you.

You nearly jumped when he pounced, taking him up against you, legs twined around his back, arms locked behind his neck. His tongue was hot on yours, meeting in a seething hot kiss. His hands immediately palmed at your ass underneath your cocktail dress that had now ridden up to pool at your waist.

As he began up the stairs towards the bedroom, you broke the kiss – with a displeased groan from Bucky – and laid a sloppy trail of kisses and licks along his throat and to his ear. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of his jaw (his weak spot), touching your tongue to his hot skin, following it with another kiss. His steps stuttered, his knees buckling as he took the next step. He groaned deep somewhere in the back of his throat, pinching your ass, a quick slap ensuing afterwards as he regained his footing and kicked open the bedroom door.

He tossed you on the bed, wasting no time in grabbing the back collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head and onto the floor in one swift motion, completely disregarding the row of buttons sewed along the front. You took the hint, shimmying off your tight dress while laying on the mattress. He followed suit with his pants and underwear off next. As soon as the cool bedroom air hit his body, he was throwing himself on top of you, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and unhooking your bra. He discarded your underwear next, pitching it over his shoulder, fingers immediately finding your pussy and sinking in.

He took you by surprise, eyes squeezing shut and knees involuntarily closing together. Bucky used his hand to hold one leg down, prying them apart completely. He looked between his hand – his fingers pushing in and out of you completely soaked – and your face – eyebrows knitted together and mouth hanging open. He didn’t know which view he liked better. “Shit, baby, you been this wet the whole time?”

That was the thing about Bucky – he was a talker. If he wasn’t egging you on, then he was filling the room with his vulgar commentary and dirty talk. He added another finger, pumping in and out of you faster, obscene sounds blocking out anything and everything he said. He moved his metal hand from your knee to your clit, rubbing in slow circles, contrasting to his other movements. His metal hand was great – sensitive, temperature resistant; better than his flesh hand – but, god, there was something about feeling your wet cunt on his own skin drove him crazy.

You gasped, quickly biting your lip in anticipation of your orgasm. “Oh yeah, baby? That feel good?” He huffed, thumb whirling on your clit faster. He hunched to lay a kiss on your breast, meeting you hallway sitting-up to capture his lips with yours. You released the sheets you’d been clutching, instead opting to fist his hair, pulling his mouth hungrily to yours. As your body throbbed and your pussy clenched around his fingers, you moan into his mouth, falling back onto the bed.

Bucky sat upright on the bed and watched you as you laid on the bed completely blissed out; hair splayed across the mattress around your head, chest heaving up and down, legs shut – shaking – but knees pulled together, arms once pulling taught at his hair now limp on either side of you.

He waited patiently for about forty-five seconds for you to open your eyes. As soon as you did – without enough time for your eyes to even focus on him, he grabbed your waist, flipping you on the bed, gripping your hips to pull you ass to his face. He truly was a face-down ass-up kind of guy. Not that you minded.

You squeaked, burying your face in the sheets as his hand slapped your ass; his palm following to rub away the burning hot sensation it left behind. You felt his tongue drag a long line up from your clit to your tight hole, taking extra note to curl inside your leaking pussy.

Bucky wasted no more time in straightening up and giving his cock a few pumps, smearing his precum all the way down to the base. He grabbed your hip in one hand, guiding his dick to drive into you with the other. He sighed, your soaking wet, tight cunt squeezing him as he pounded into you from behind. He took hold of both your hips, balancing himself on his knees, pulling you backwards on his dick as he rifled his hips forward.

His momentum drove him forward, nearly folding on top of you, your ass pushed dangerously high in the air, tits and face pressed firmly into the mattress, muffling the sounds that escaped you every time the tip of his cock drove into you. His metal hand remained gripping your hipbone, his other palm pressing flat into the curve at the small of your back, pressing your arch deeper and ass further up as your ribcage met the top of the mattress.

He pounded relentlessly into you, the tiniest change in position making your pussy even tighter around him. “Take it,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Take my fucking dick, baby.” You couldn’t help but release a short breathy moan every time his dick brushed against the very edge of your cervix.

Bucky gathered a fistful of your hair in his metal hand, half slipping out, the other half tangled dangerously in between the death grip of his fingers. He hauled you up, causing you to yelp as you tried desperately to push yourself up. He never let go of your hair, instead using it as a vice to keep your back pressed firmly against his sweaty chest, yelping as he did so.

The pain subsided quickly as his other hand found your still sensitive clit, rubbing it with fast, loose circles. You dropped your head, no longer resisting him pulling it back, falling against his shoulder. “That’s my good girl,” he cooed, driving his dick upwards into your wet cunt; the soft pants you made egging him on.

He waited until he could sense your orgasm – feeling your muscles clench, your body stiffen, temperature rise – before he let himself cum, pumping thick ropes of his cum deep into you. His fingers didn’t stop working on your clit – in fact, they moved even faster even harder. You came with a shriek, his hand finally releasing your hair, allowing you to drop forward onto the mattress.

You didn’t move – couldn’t move – but Bucky followed suit, hovering lowly over you, pressing kisses down your spine, reveling in the feeling of his cum dripping out of your pussy around his dick still warm inside of you.

We don't do no, we don't do no conversations We don't talk the way we used to You act like we're all good sometimes, you know I hate it 'Cause it's so obvious it ain't true

“Hey, Buck,” you called from the kitchen as he walked through the front door. He didn’t acknowledge you, didn’t even look in your remote direction. He kicked off his shoes, tossed his keys on the table, and walked directly past you to grab a snack from the fridge. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen,” you mention, watching as he already began devouring the left-over chicken legs from the other day.

You gave him the benefit of the doubt: maybe he had a bad day. You continued chopping the onion, minding your business, silently cursing him out. He can’t even give you a simple hello back? Yes, a bad day makes anyone want to come home and eat a whole meal, but does it really give him the excuse to eat a whole meal right as you’re working on dinner in front of him? If you knew his plan was to eat cold chicken for dinner, you would’ve gone out to eat by yourself instead of making supper for the both of you.

As you started working on mincing the garlic, you mulled over last nights’ events. The two of you had it out, sure, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. You’d fought, made up, even cuddled when you went to sleep. Now today he was going to flat out ignore you with no rhyme or reason. Unless something did happen – something regarding his coworkers? It wouldn’t be impossible, you thought to yourself, bitterly slamming the knife on the cutting board.

“Can you chill with that?” Bucky grumbled, finally looking in your direction, mouth full as he spoke to you in an irritated tone.

“I’m chill,” you mumbled, scraping the contents of the chopping block into the pan, a sizzle filling the silence that now washed over the two of you.

“What’s your problem?” He muttered, mostly to himself, as he took another bite.

“You’re my fucking problem.” You earnestly didn’t mean for him to hear it; if it weren’t for his goddamn super soldier hearing, he wouldn’t have.

He sighed heavily. “What did I do? I’ve been home all of two-minutes.”

You abandoned your pan, turning on your heel to face him. “You’re always ignoring me.”

“What?” He questioned, dropping the container on the counter and raising his hands up. “I can’t enjoy silence anymore? Do you want me to hate every aspect of my life?” He bit his tongue, immediately regretting what he said, but lacking the filter to be able to stop himself. He just wanted for once to be able to have a conversation – actually, he wanted for once to not have to have a conversation – but to have one without arguing would be a gift from god.

You lay the wooden spoon on the island counter between the two of you, the smell of burning onions and garlic now very fragrant in the space between you. “Damn, I wish I knew you hated your life earlier,” you sigh. He rolls his eyes, preparing a refute about how you always seem to blow things out of proportion, but you cut him off before he can open his mouth. “I would’ve left a long time ago.”

He’s the one who was always incapable of talking. One small thing ticks him off and suddenly the only thing he’s capable of doing is shutting himself in a dark room alone. He’s always shutting you out and pushing you away; and all you every try to do is something nice for him – making him dinner, offering an open ear to ramble off some steam – but he always ends up throwing your good deeds back in his face.

Not anymore.

You simply walk out the door. You took your purse, your keys, put on your shoes, and left him standing alone in the kitchen with his chicken.

Maybe it was an overreaction. However, you felt that it was fine based on how he acts like this every day. Was he doing it so you’d fight, and he could just have angry sex with you to make it okay later? Did he genuinely not want to talk to you – ever? If he really hated his life – and you in it – he would surely let you know? Unless this was the actual way he was letting you know? He didn’t call out after you, he just rolled his eyes and let you walk out the door.

Not extremely surprising, but it did hurt your feelings a bit. How could it not? The man you loved for the past two years, put up with this tumultuous relationship for, dealt with his mood swings, waited for him to come back home to you – all that for him to tell you he hated his life? His life that you entered and made so much better; at least, that’s what you thought.

So, you gave him a day. If silence and peace was what he truly wanted, you’d give it to him. You crashed at your friend’s place that evening, taking that bumpy couch so Bucky would have his time alone.

The only issue is that he didn’t call you the next day. He didn’t call or text.

He was waiting for you to come back to him. Understandable but annoying – aggravating. You (and your friend) hatched out a plan. You waited until he left for work before you returned home, grabbing a few necessities: clothes, toothbrush, the works, and heading back out to her place. There was no doubt that he would know you were gone. This happened twice before. That you became so irritated with him that you left for the night. But you went back the next day, coming home to him lounging on the couch with not a care in the world, hindsight told you that much. You’d simply laid on top of him, his arms snaking around your waist and your face buried in his neck. He waited for you to come back because that’s what he knew you’d do.

This time, you wanted him to reach out. To see if you were okay. To see if you were coming home. You felt like the only one putting in effort and you were so tired. That effort, of course, was shown in the fights the two of you had. You might be able to pin 75% of said arguments on you; but yelling at him was the only way to get through to him. Boy, he loved to fight. You’d honestly never seen him show off such emotion. You brought everything up – the other women all over him, his attitude problems, everything that bothered you. But he never said anything to you. He was so apathetic towards you that he barely spoke to you anymore. He didn’t ask how your day was, he didn’t get jealous when another guy flirted with you, he didn’t even respond to you saying hello – he was completely apathetic.

You waited four days: Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

Monday, actually, you called in sick for work. You were caught between sobbing to your friend about how much Bucky didn’t care about you and wanting to show up to the Avengers Tower with your fists clenched and a certain red-headed Russian spy to back you up. There was no word from him. He obviously saw some of your things were missing; hell, he probably knew exactly where you were, too. He just didn’t do anything about it.

He obviously didn’t care, so you wouldn’t either.

So good together Maybe I'm crazy Maybe we're crazy No one loves me better Than you, you, you, you

It was clear that you were broken up. Neither of you said anything, but you slowly started to move out of your shared apartment, taking small amounts every day while he was at work until you were fully moved out and into the spare bedroom at your sister’s place on the other side of the city. It made your commute to work a little harder, now having to take two trains and walk a couple blocks; but you learned to appreciate the city, the architecture, the weather. Living with her was great – she was a built-in friend; but it wasn’t living with Bucky.

You were a little heartbroken – maybe more bitter. He just let you go without a fight.

Without a single word.

It was four months of binge-eating, wine-drinking and moping around about Bucky before you had a date. The date itself was fine. The guy was cute enough, funny enough, sweet enough. Your sister convinced you to go out with him again. You almost used him just to take your mind off Bucky. You felt bad about it, but he technically knew you and Bucky dated not long ago.

Everybody knew. It was in the tabloids. They photographed the two of you separately. They connected the dots after they hadn’t seen you and him together for a few weeks. Instead, they only got photos of you or him doing mundane things: you grocery shopping, Bucky going for a run around Central Park; you sitting on the train on your way home from work, Bucky saving the world.

Although you never grew to like having paparazzi take photos of your every step, you’d grown accustomed to it. You never made the front page or headline news, more reserved to as a style-guide or just a few Buzzfeed articles about yourself. Bucky, however, made headlines a lot. You had to speed walk past the newspaper and magazine stands around the city because you didn’t want to see him: whether he was decked out in armor, fighting bad guys, or simply smiling alongside Steve and Sam as they enjoyed one rare night out – you didn’t want to know about any of it.

You continued to see Oliver, almost seriously now, but trying to see past the whole using-him-as-a-rebound mentality. You’d gone on a few more dates, and, before you knew it, he had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. He was awkward in a cute sort of way – couldn’t be more of the polar opposite of Bucky.

Bucky had a demanding, intimidating presence; Oliver stood lanky and slender. Bucky was every bit of tall-dark-and-handsome; Oliver was fair and pale. Bucky’s attitude read toxic, masculine, and provocative; Oliver read like a nerdy-teenager, meekly quiet.

While there was nothing wrong with Oliver, he just wasn’t Bucky.

There was another aspect in which Oliver didn’t hold a candle to Bucky.

In. The. Bedroom.

You may not have been in love with Oliver, but, damn, after six months a bitch gets horny. It was fine at first, you were going to throw a dog a bone and not judge him too much the first round. After all, he was genuinely nice and seemed to care about you a lot, so you weren’t about to crush his heart just because he couldn’t make you cum the first time.

You’d grown to a certain level of intimacy with Bucky. One minute you could be making love – softly, sensually; the next minute he could be choking you and fucking you senseless. A long time was spent building the light affection between the two of you, before either of you even got comfortable with the toxicity and animosity that surrounded you – that egged you on, riling each other up until it was too much and you’d just explode. And maybe that was your problem. Each of you had too much pride and hidden hostility that it engulfed you. You’d lost touch with your younger selves. That became your downfall.

You tried not to think about it too much. Especially when you were in Oliver’s bed and he was kissing your neck. Exactly the position you were in at that exact moment.

His lips were sucking a hickey on your neck as he fucked you slowly. You laid flat on the bed, his elbows bent on either side of your ribcage, head tucked under your jaw. “You like that?” He whispered, dragging his hand down your stomach, fingers desperately trying to find your clit.

You laid there like a dead fish. There was no way you were going to be able to stand this for any longer. You stopped him, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing him off your body. “Let’s switch,” you suggested.

He laid down in your place, allowing you to hop on, reverse cowgirl, fucking yourself the way you wanted.

Bucky liked it when you did that. And you liked the way that Bucky would’ve let you use his dick to get yourself off, smacking your ass along the way, spurring you on. “Fuck, I love it when you ride me like this, baby,” he’d groan, snapping his hips up to match yours.

Oliver stayed quiet, breathing heavily as he watched your perky ass bounce up and down in front of him. You were just getting into rhythm when he began to groan behind you. No, no, no, please. One more minute, you begged, cadence not faltering. Before long – before you came – Oliver finished, leaving you with no other choice than to lay on the bed beside him. He pressed a breathless kiss to your lips. “That was amazing,” he mumbled against your lips. “Did you cum?”

Yeah fucking right. You kissed him again, humming in neither confirmation nor opposition. He got up and shimmied to the bathroom to dispose of the used condom. You shut your eyes and nearly face-palmed yourself.

God, Bucky had ruined you.

Ruined your emotions, your life, your perception of love.

Ruined you for any other man.

So, laying in Oliver’s bed, unsatisfied, you couldn’t help but think about how much you’d want to off yourself if Bucky slept with someone else – especially Toller or Rivers. You were broken up. It had been months – nearly a year. Hell, even you were technically sleeping with someone else.

But just the thought of him treating someone else the way he did you – pulling her hair, fucking her, eating her out, making her scream his name like it was the only word she knew – it devastated you.

You promise yourself not to ask and never to find out.

If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good? If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good together? If it isn't love, tell me why do we feel so good? If it isn't love, tell me why do we hurt so good together? So good together

You broke up with Oliver that night. It was better for everyone.

You felt it best to take this time to focus on yourself. Hell, you spent your whole past relationship focusing on Bucky, you spent all of your time with Oliver focusing on how he wasn’t Bucky.

This was about you. It was about your career, your health, your sanity.

Your broken heart.

No matter how hard you threw yourself into your work, how much you worked out, how much you refined your cooking, how many self-help books you read – you felt empty.

You got promoted at work, you built your confidence up, your pallet refined, you loved yourself more than you ever had – something was still missing.

And that’s how you ended up with your phone ringing against your ear, Bucky sitting silently on the other end.

He agreed to meet you. As you walked up the stairs from the subways station, your heartstrings tightened as you walked around your old neighborhood. It had been a year since you’d really been back here; you’d passed through occasionally, but never wanted to take your time travelling down the streets, as it was too painful. There were too many memories of you and Bucky walking hand-in-hand down these streets.

You strolled down your old block, stopping in front of your old apartment. Books and plants cluttered the front windowsill, CDs stacked along the side, bright lights shining across the windowpane, a shadow cast over the glass.

Of course Bucky sold the place. You left. He had no reason to keep it. He had a place at the Tower. He had people there. He had a life there.

You crossed your arms over your chest, pushing the collar of your coat higher around your neck, shielding yourself from the cold New York winter evening. You turned the corner at the end of the block, seeking shelter in the coffee shop. Bucky agreed to meet you here; it was neutral ground for the both of you. You’d had plenty of dates there, Sundays spent catching up on work and getting coffee. There were no bad memories here, no fights, no fowl words, no animosity. Only hand holding, hot coffee, and shy smiles passed from over the small tables.

You pulled open the door to the shop, sighing in relief as the warm air hit your cheeks. You stopped suddenly in your tracks, breath hitching in the back of your throat.

There he sat, fifteen minutes earlier than you planned, wrapped in that navy-blue sweater you loved – you loved to wear – waiting for you. You couldn’t feel your legs. You couldn’t take a step forward.

You barely recognized him. Obviously, you’d never miss him. He just looked so different. His hair was cut – short. He was clean shaven. He was a completely different man.

He stared you up and down. You looked good, he could tell even with your thick winter jacket and tall boots. He missed your face, your eyes, your lips, your hair, your smell – everything. He waited for you to walk over to the table; it took about two more minutes of you staring at him before you even made your first step closer.

You finally took a seat at the opposite side of his table, a large latte already waiting for you. Your hands were shaking as your held it against the porcelain cup. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. His handsome blue eyes. His chestnut locks brushed back nearly away from his face, showing off his chiseled cheekbones and jawline. You loved his long hair, you loved grabbing it, you loved the way it hung in his eyes, contrasting his blue eyes; it made him look so edgy. But this Bucky. Ladies’ man, charming, mesmerizing. You’d only seen pictures of Bucky like this, but you couldn’t believe how alluring he actually looked in real life.

Bucky with long hair would fuck you raw until you screamed yourself raw – Bucky with short hair would smile while doing it.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice failing you as you dropped your eyes to your latte.

You saw him nod at you from under your eyelashes. He lifted his own coffee to his mouth, taking a long sip before clearing his throat, gaining his full attention. You bit your bottom lip, staring at him wide-eyed. “So…” he began softly, giving you a half smile. “You’re the one that called me here.”

You stared blankly at him. He was right. It had been over a year and you’d called him up. Why? The answer escaped even your own mind. You didn’t know what compelled you to call him or what your plan was going to be once you actually sat down in front of him. “I guess…” you sighed loudly, dropping your eyes again. “I – I was wondering…” You lost your voice again.

“Why I never called?” He finished for you. He looked sad, once you finally gained the courage to raise your head again. He stared blankly at you, very matter-of-factly. You nodded, not trusting your own voice. He confirmed your nod with one of his own, taking another sip of his coffee. “I didn’t think I should drag you down anymore.”

You rolled your eyes. Just like old times. “Stop playing the victim, James. That’s why I walked.” You took the first sip of your latte, cooled now after it had been sitting out.

He narrowed his eyes at you, but you were right. Just like old times. He shrugged casually, trying to keep his cards close to his chest. “I just thought you’d be better off without me.” He stops himself from reaching across the table and taking your hand. “And that’s being honest.”

You nodded, processing his words. “We weren’t good for each other, huh,” you muttered over the rim of your glass.

“It was kind of toxic,” he admitted, a nervous chuckle following after. He tugged his knit sleeve farther up his arm, flexing it behind his head and pulling at the tips of his hair at the top of his neck.

“You hair looks nice,” you throw in, filling the silence that had fallen between you.

“Thanks. Just needed a change-up,” he replied, dropping his hand to the tabletop.

You nodded softly. You leaving his life wasn’t enough change? “I just wanted you to want me to come back,” you blurt. That’s the change you were waiting for.

He slowly let out his breath, shifting in his chair. His eyebrows raised at the accusation. “I don’t know how you could think that I didn’t want you back.”

“Buy you didn’t say anything,” you protested, laying your hands on the table, trying to keep your voice calm and steady. “Every time I left – you never tried to call, text – nothing.”

He brought his hand up to his chin, rubbing his jaw firmly. It was his old habit dying hard; back when he had a beard, he used to scratch at it all the time, you used to run your fingers against it, used to revel in the feeling of it brushing roughly against your thighs. “(Y/N),” he sighed. “I didn’t know what I was doing – I was stupid. Look, I thought about what I said to you for days; Every day that you’ve been done, actually. I treated you like shit.”

“Well,” you interjected. “It goes both ways.”

Neither of you could hold back your smiles. God, you treated each other like shit. But that didn’t stop either of you from loving each other as much as you did. “A little pain with the pleasure,” he mumbled, drinking his coffee. “So, you called me just to ask me that?”

You sighed, now your turn to awkwardly scratch the back of your head. “I missed you.”

And that’s how you ended up at the Avenger’s Tower, Bucky throwing you on his bed. He laid on top of you, bringing his lips to yours. You fisted at his sweater, trying to tug it off of him, Bucky breaking off the kiss just to pull it off his back, his lips finding yours once again. You kicked off your boots as Bucky unbuttoned your jeans, making quick work pulling them off your legs. You sweater followed suit, lifting your torso off the bed so he could peel it off you. As soon as your skin was exposed, Bucky’s lips attached to your warm flesh.

He trailed his tongue and wet lips against your collarbone, trailing it down your chest, then between the valley of your breasts. He quickly pulled off your bra, throwing it on the ground beside the bed. He took your nipple into his mouth, sucking softly, flicking the tip of his tongue over your nipple. He continued downwards, kissing the underside of your breast and down your ribcage.

Your breath hitched as his tongue dragged across your warm slit; he let out a low moan, reveling in the taste he’d been missing for so long. His hands found your inner thighs, pushing them apart, pinning them to the bed. Your hands slid through his hair, grabbing handfuls of his chestnut locks, short strands slipping through your fingers.

He laid his tongue flat against your slit, pointing the tip to curl between your lips to taste your juice. He circled his tongue gently at your clit, his hand finding your lips, spreading open your pussy and spreading you open with two fingers. He pumped in and out of you slowly, indulging himself in your velvet cunt.

He hummed against your clit, kissing it softly before groaning into your folds. He added a third finger, joining them with his tongue as he stretched you open, licking his fingers clean afterwards. He ate you out with vigor, rapidly fucking you with his tongue and fingers.

As he continued tongue-fucking you, he pulled his fingers out, holding them up to your face. He looked up at your from over your pussy, holding his fingers to your mouth. “You taste so good, baby,” he whispered against your clit.

You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out. You shut your eyes, swirling your tongue around his first two fingers as you sucked of the salty taste. You moaned around his fingers, Bucky’s face burying itself deeper into your pussy. As he sucked your clit, you sighed, dropping your head against the mattress and shutting your eyes tightly. You were surrounded by darkness and a sudden bright light.

He kissed your sensitive clit, kissing up your pubic bone and making his way up to your lips. “I missed your sweet pussy, baby.” You moaned, something about his low voice whispering against your lips, talking about how good you tasted that made you melt.

“Bucky, please,” you whimpered, fingers dragging through his hair, pulling at the ends. “I need you.”

He sighed, staring down at you. You were glowing. Sweat beading along your hairline, eyes glazed over and shining, skin luminous. “I love you, (Y/N),” he whispered, gazing into your eyes in admiration. “And I want you to know that I’m not letting you leave again – ” he pressed a firm kiss to your lips, his tongue running against your bottom lip. You parted your lips to accommodate his tongue, although he pulled away from you. “And I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.”

Your heart was heavy as it leaped into the back of your throat. Your breathing shallowed – and it wasn’t because of Bucky’s bodyweight laying on your chest. You blinked the tears away from your eyes, willing for them to not fall in this exact moment. “I love you, James.”

After two chaste kisses to your lips, he buried his head in the crook of you neck, lining up his cock with your entrance. As he pushed into you, he sighed against your collarbone, his hot breath tickling your skin. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” He bit into your shoulder, you eyes rolling to the back of your head as he bottomed out inside of you.

You hadn’t been stretched like this in so long. You felt like you could be torn in two as he impaled you. It hurt in all the best ways.

You gasped as he pulled out of you, quickly shoving back in – he bit his lip, nearly cumming in that exact moment. You were so tight, so wet. Nobody could fuck you like this – nobody could make love to you like this.

He took hold of your thighs, pulling them over his shoulders, calves resting against his collarbones. He took a hold of your upper thigh with one hand, intertwining his fingers with yours in his other hand, pressing it into the mattress. He angled his hips directly on top of yours, pounding straight on top of you. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the hot, steamy room, your sounds muffled by Bucky as he swallowed your moans.

He kissed you sloppily, his cock pulsating in your pussy, you writing underneath him – it was driving him crazy. It had been over a year since he had you under him: a squirming mess. You almost had to push him off of you – out of you – it was nearly too much. His wet lips on yours, his hot breath on your skin, his words whispered in your ear, you overly sensitive clit. This is what you’d been missing: all the pleasure that made the pain so worth it. The endless fights, the ruthless words, the meaningless fights.

Unbeknownst to either of you, it was the moment in which you both came simultaneously, in which you both silently promised each other to love each other forever – to never make the other hurt that badly again.

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