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yostresswritinggirl · 3 years

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Antinomy

Part 2; things are brewing. VIBE

“Do you know the spiritual meaning of 11? What about in numerology? You’ll find it quite intriguing, funny even… until it starts making sense.” You’ve witnessed and harnessed the way and days he had grown to be; this fic enumerates the trials of the 11th before he became a Harbinger under your care. From strangers to mentor to friends to love- Childe made a grave mistake, now you’re once again strangers.

Pairing -> Childe x Harbinger!Fem!Reader

Word Count -> 5217

Themes -> Friends to admirers, mentor, fluffy, suddenly ANGST

Series -> #Sojourner Specials (600 Followers Event) Part 1

Warning -> Blood and injury

Maybe it was stubbornness, his unhinged desire for the thrill of a fight, or you mistaken misguidance. Many possibilities, really, but Childe knows it had nothing to do with all of those. You're not to blame for his mistakes, but he sure as hell would have to pay for the mess he just created.

vi. fontaine

The show felt like a dance made to lure and trance such audience, and despite his resolve and difference in agendas, the strong Harbinger had been victim to the beauty of the show. Of swaying thin clothes and alluring flicks of the hips.

“We’re not co-workers, we don’t know each other, remember that.”

Tambourines and lyres synced through the performance as men and women alike cheered and stumbled to the songs. The Snezhnayan dancers set the bar high in terms of beauty as the Fatui disguised as performers indulged the crowd in symphony and dance, as if the whole nation was under a mania, no one saw and no one heard. They just followed lead as the agents lulled their own targets into a sense of security and joy.

In the middle of the crowd you lead the choreography as the main dancer, distinguished by the colors of your garb and its grandiosity, yet still respectably covered compared to the other performers. Your main objective was to catch the havoc of a man that left the headquarters of your organization in flames at his wake; and yet, it was instead Childe that was allured to your spell.

An intoxicated man had been eyeing your behind with drooling eyes for a while now, and with the assistance of liquid courage, he reached his hand out to get a feel- when it landed on gray pants of firmness. “Oh my, I didn’t know you swing that way, citizen,” you whipped around to see Childe directly behind you, who was also has his head angled to look behind him where a Fontaine man stumbled back in disgust. His hand clutched to his chest as if it were burned. “Sad news tho, I’m off the table, try someone else maybe.”

Before you can register the edge in his voice, he was already guiding you by the hand back to your dancing stride. You were momentarily stunned but devolved into a glare at his current recklessness, “Come now, Lady Viscaria.” He addressed you by your dancer name. “The whole world is high in the clouds around us, this would be a moment no one will remember.” You didn’t even need to look to know he was right, and you succumbed with a sigh.

Childe didn’t realize just how small your hands are compare to his, the softness of it in contrast to the rough texture of his gloves. If he knew, if only he knew, he would have removed them before you had entertained the idea. Your steps were lithe and your turns were grace manifested, eyes closed yet a gentle smile equipped on your face, the ones you had been wearing ever since you started the performance. “So this is how you fight.” He mumbled with his own grin when he had spun you back against his form, your feet glides against the pavement yet barely touching it as you seemingly floated to place. If he hadn’t known better he would have thought you were an Anemo Vision wielder.

Soon enough the square dissipated to give way to the ferocious dance you two had eased into. Steps became more pointed, arms tensed and strong, and the turns was almost reminiscent of martial arts as you seemingly evade each other’s swings. Suddenly a kick aimed to hit his chest forced him to jump back, and at the other side you dropped your foot, a taunting smirk and a condescending gaze set upon him. His blue eyes widened.

And the elegance of the tango from earlier turned into a vicious round of capoeira, powerful kicks and jumps yet not made to touch each other. Your figure leaped into a crescent kick when he had made a sweep to hit your ankles, him immediately rolling to the side to evade the blow. Dropping to the ground with your ankles and knees bent, a leg outstretched you gasped, and went into a running start towards him, “Lift!” A single command yet he knew what he needed to do.

Gripping your hips upon your leap his strong arms easily eased you high up, your legs were kicked high up and one bent farther back and you steadied yourself by gripping on to his shoulders. The atmosphere turned tense and the only sound you can hear were the ragged breaths you heave up close. And the crowd around then explodes into a round of applause.

Childe seemed to have snapped out of a trance from the foreign noise, breaking the eye contact you both held as he slowly placed you down. There was a sudden bashfulness to him then. But was once again pulled away from his reverie when you quite literally pulled him out of the square into a dark alley, eyes glinting dangerously as a toothy smirk donned your lips, “I saw him, the redhead.”

...

The chains felt sentient. As it flies forward to try and capture him, Childe conjured a wave to sweep it away only for it to change angles to strike at him again. It pierced through the pavement he was once on before it moved to retract back to the owner. At the other side, Childe had a glimpse of your more successful fight with the fugitive as your polearm easily deflected the advances of the chains, even if it gets caught sometimes. Your Cryo Vision would always make quick work of freezing and breaking the chains.

None of you expected a non-elemental fight, and this seemed more complicated of a battle than you would have thought. The man carried with him the aura you feel when you use your delusion, you grimly thought as you ducked out of another barrage, sensing the frustration and desperation of the enemy. You were barely breaking a sweat, you’d see his red eyes take notice, and you weren’t even using both of your hands to fight. With another smirk, your Vision then glowed by your side as you raised your arm. The hooded man braced for impact, but instead he felt a force hit his lower half- water current from Childe, and suddenly it solidified to ice upon your avalanche. His hand where the strange device were also covered to render him useless.

An arrow and a spear’s tip was now aimed to his heart. “Well, well, that was a nice fight, Ragnvindr,” you leaned down close enough to see the finer details of his hawk mask, you saw his eyes squint into a glare. He knows he lost. By your side Childe relaxed his arms and dematerialized his bow, the next part should be yours to work on. “Thank you for your dedication, but this atrocity ends now.” You straightened your back and took a step back, angling your spear to his throat. As his eyes close to succumb to death, your head would angle itself slightly to see Childe’s reaction

when a golden flicker appeared past his shoulder.

“CHILDE!” The devil himself felt the air leave his lungs at the force that punched at his chest, enough to immobilize him as he was punted to the ground. Before he could even recover, the pavement around shifted and crumbled to create a wall between him and the frozen Diluc. He heard the ice breaking and two pairs of feet scrambling away. “Fuck, he had an accomplice,” he breathed as he took his stand, about to give chase to the escapees. That is until he registered his mentor-

barely standing with a stalagmite pierced through her stomach.

“Chi...lde.” You gripped the pointed tip of the structure to keep yourself up as your legs started to lose feeling. He was there hovering over you, unsure where to touch or how to assist. Fuck. Fuck. This was his fault. “Go... chase, I’ll be- I’ll be fine...”

And then you blacked out.

vii. seven correspondence

There were multiple parchment of the same color littering his office desk filled with different lengths of paragraphs. Childe's quarters in the palace was cozy and wide, and nothing could be heard but the sound of his fountain pen scratching the surface of the paper with ease.

"Letters are important in Snezhnaya," you perked up from your unfocused gaze from his window, where you silently watched the brewing blizzard manifesting outside. Your eyes made contact with his genuinely gentle ones that still lingered at the task at hand, "why not write one?"

"Letters are commonplace in Snezhnaya," you corrected as you made your way to his side to snoop in his letters. He did not seem to mind. After all you'd pretty much already the whole of his family that one awkward encounter. He was working on the seventh letter and your eyes lingered around the six finished ones: there was one for each younger siblings, one meant for the two older brothers, another for the older sister, and one for his parents. "It's not necessary for me to write, I don't have an address in mind to begin with."

Is that so, he mumbled under his breath before the conversation died down once again to little scratches. A lot of his words had tales to tell about his stay in Fontaine, you realized the most details were poured into the contents for his parents. At the mention of this nation, your hand ghosts over your stomach.

The bandages from long ago had already been dispatched. And yet the stiffness of it has still affected your composure as well as the weird pull of the skin from the stitches. Only a nasty scar was left in its wake to remind you of the failed encounter and it forced you to make drastic wardrobe changes to your performing attire.

You saw Childe's shoulders slightly tense at your action.

"Childe," his grip on the pen tightened yet he kept his head down. You didn't mind. His mind was going overdrive again, probably. "Who are you writing that last letter for?"

He felt like he'd dodged an arrow over the way he had relaxed, slumped down even when he met eyes with better resolution within it. "It's for a special someone," his signature smile was back, "I've met her long ago and I've always made sure to send her a letter yearly as thanks."

Thanks? "Thanks?" The letter (it was short, you realized) was already folded before you could peek at the words within. You knew Childe was good-looking, but for him to have a girlfriend waiting for years as he drowns in his work, quite irrational and yet painful. Painful... to you?

"I've met a girl back when I was 14," he was suddenly up and bustling as he bundled up his letters. Urgent you followed to listen to his tale as best as you can with his long legs. "I never knew her name or her face, but she saved me from the wolves back in Morepesok. I never properly gave her my thanks, so yearly I would leave letters at the woods where she'd gone, and hope that she'll be able to read them and know that I lived because of her." You already halted your advances to chase after him as you stood before the doors of the Palace. He didn't seem to mind, he kept going until he was gone.

...Morepesok was a seaside fishing village with a vast white forest by the edges in which ferocious wolves and bears usually haunt. After your promotion to the Palace, you had never once set foot in the village, much less the woodland. Where you are right now.

You held a steady hand against your stomach as you retraced the familiar route you'd gone, something so far away you would have expected to forget it by now. That was six years ago, you counted as you reached the clearing in horror of its emptiness, there should be six letters here by now.

A snapping twig had you whirling to look behind you. "So, it really was you." His gentle blue orbs had met your widened ones, breathless you both were, but for different reasons.

"So you lied about the letters," the mocking pout on your lips had made him laugh. A sprinkle of red dusts his cheeks, and he was quick to hide it with the familiar letter on his hand.

"I didn't lie about this one," your upturned palms received the crispy envelope, carefully opening the seal and unfolding its contents, "I wanted to make sure I was right."

'Your sacrifice had given me a new chance, a new life, a new beginning. I wish I was there to thank you for protecting me, but this time, I will get stronger and make sure-'

"I'll be the one protecting you from now on." He finished, and the red dust over your own cheeks felt like torches made to melt the mightiest icicles.

viii. fleeting glances

Signora had always been the type of person to only make appearances when necessary, but most of her dirty work were done by her subordinates, her own little army. She's the coordinator and observer at the back as things were weaved into place for her. Like a flower on the wall, the Fair Lady knows and notices details.

The first one was by the entrance, the second was by the veranda. The third, fourth and fifth were by the hallways. The sixth was by the throne room. The seventh was outside. And the eight was that in front of her—

Childe disliked being in the same area or even breathing space as her, this much Signora knew. He was a kid still under training over the ways of the Fatui, but there was nothing more he hated than the way the Fair Lady handles her work, her soldiers. But it came with the aesthetic, and he had no other means to pry until he had finally grasped the way the cogs turn in this organization known as the Fatui.

The youngest Harbinger never looked her directly in the eye or even dare spare her the glance when it was not needed. And in all honesty, it was quite bothersome the first few times. After all, Tartaglia carried with him a certain charm.

His eyes would either narrow or be guarded for any other Harbinger that comes his way, respectful or dismissive, the options fleet through those whenever. But there was one humane and warm look he gives at special occasions, for a special someone, and Signora finally witnessed it in full view and detail—

The crease between his eyebrows would immediately ease as his eyes break free from its squinted, slanted form. The dark depths at the middle would dilate as his expression quirks up, teeth usually visible through parted lips as he dons an easy smile. And Signora would be taken aback by the immediate change as she follows the trail of his stare.

The gold was the first to strike with the way the trinkets hang by the waist, and the warm and mellow colors so contrary to the Fatui colors draws away the unease of onlookers. It was to make sure that no association with the Fatui would be made, that was your calculated explanation was upon your choice of 'uniform.' You've just came from a short trip to Natlan to gather all data to be reported to the Tsaritsa, and during that time the 11th had been under no one's particular care.

You passed by their forms (pass is a strong word, they were off to the far side, honestly) with your report in hand, humming to yourself as you continued your way to the throne room. That demeanor only means that you had good news to tell, good news for everyone.

The glance was gone fast as the moment ended, and his hard look came albeit much lighter this time. But the way Signora smirked signified she'd noticed, and his look only grew stiffer.

"Come now, pretty boy, show that look often."

The Fair Lady's laugh echoed inside the Palace walls as Tartaglia stomps off to where you had gone, to wait after the dusk convention respectfully.

ix. years of employment

Of the many milestones that could have been celebrated, it was done in an odd number at the most peculiar time. Yes, it is no surprise for everyone to know that you had been working for the Fatui for nine whole years now. And honestly, you shouldn't have been surprised that your younger colleague with the weird ways of his Abyss-induced brains, decided that it was time your anniversary be celebrated instead of waiting another year for the double digits mark.

"Please tell me we're not going to your house again," you softly pleaded as Childe continued to guide you through the paths in the main city of Snezhnaya. "As much as I appreciate their caring atmosphere, I'm not too keen on the idea of pretending to be the head honcho of the toy-selling company of Snezhnaya."

To this, Childe guffawed to a boisterous laugh, pulling his hand away from your back to clutch at his convulsing stomach. You pursed your lips in distaste of his reaction, but then it would loosen up to a smile as you watched him still try to catch his breathe.

After that, the trip had continued with only small chatter in between as you descended further to the edges of the city. You haven't been to this area, simply because of the fact that there were no patrols needed around the cityless wasteland where you are headed, and the glint of surprise had fixed a knot at Childe's back. Relief painted his face.

And you found yourself in front of a frozen lake, with hanging lights decorating the leafless trees by it, and a small table filled to the brim with food. "Lady toyseller!" You shot a glare at your student who averted his gaze away easily to focus on his other siblings. This heretic lied—

"Big brother said it's a special occasion! To commemorate your anniversaries for being in the toyselling business!" Your glare died down to a look of confusion, and the family gathered back into a homely atmosphere. So it seems that Childe coincidentally joined the Fatui the same day as you, two years apart. And he said nothing about it.

"We've been celebrating since the last three years, if we had known, you could have been with us!" And with that you were pulled in by Tonia to the table where her mother was, congratulating you for your hardwork and patience as she offers you to taste some of the food they had brought for the picnic.

"I know you've been helping my son ever since he became a Harbinger," you looked up to Childe's mother in wonder as your mouth was currently stuffed with her delicious homemade Pelmeni. She gave a light laugh at the sight of your wide, curious eyes paired with stuffed cheeks. "Childe mentioned how you saved him when he ran away from him..." and the mother continued to spill the details you were never given the chance to hear from the man himself.

You suppose this was the cause of your perfectly crafted aura of trust, to lure in your targets and make them spill to their heart's contents as you indulge them. In the end, Childe's mother's true intention was to thank you for all that you had done for her son, and to help him cultivate into the best person he could be among the ranks of the Harbinger. You gulped the last bits of the dumpling, a shy smile placated on your cheek, "It is my honor to take him under my wing."

"Hey, master, I sure hope mum didn't say anything embarrassing about me while I was gone!" A hand holding a tissue softly wiped the cream at the edge of your lips as Childe- Ajax finally made his way over to your table.

"It's okay, really, it's normal for children to pee their bed." You mused as Childe's mother laughed at the way her son choked over his own spit. Ah, you were right.

The rest of the day was filled with ice-skating, something you have forgotten, clumsily held up by the three younger siblings as they expertly excelled in the field. And right after was a session of ice fishing with their father, who was greatly impressed by your strength upon reeling the 50-centimeter long tuna. Flopping on to the ice platform as if to chase the children on land.

"Don't want to stay? There's a spare room here, you can borrow my big sister's clothes for the night. It's a long way back to the Palace," he stood next to you outside the entrance of his home while you face the other direction.

You sighed. "Tartaglia, I'm your mentor. And as the 10th Harbinger, your ascension should be my priority." You didn't see the way his jaw clenched at the intonations of your words. "If it were a different circumstance-"

"Next week," the snow caught on to your lashes as you closed your eyes, basking at the cold that bites at your cheeks. "Will be my last try. And after that, please see me as your equal."

"Alright." Your hands trembled.

x. final spar

Fatuus lined the veranda surrounding the quadrangle in quiet anticipation, skirmishers and agents alike that had yet to be assigned under Harbinger supervision and even those who just had nothing better to do.

Childe had anticipated the spotlight, but it was a greater scale he was not comfortable on. He was lucky a Harbinger had yet to watch the spar, the last spar as he had promised, and it seemed the gossip had spread enough to alert the whole organization. The Delusion mask sat by the side of his hair as he watched you at the other end of the field.

Your eyes held no emotion as they stared through his soul. A different kind of emotion he'd have wanted to see. He thinks to himself at the thought of you once being in the same predicament as him, did you feel the same fear and worry as he did? Did it take you ten tries? Maybe more, maybe less?

Tartaglia said this will be the last spar, and the final chance for both sides to make it a fair fight (to give it their all). But when you suddenly disappeared and materialized above him with your spear ready to strike, he thought, maybe not this time either.

The spear collided with the dirt floor as blades of winds seem to have exploded from it, a series of gasps resounding through the crowd as they stepped away from the edge. Tartaglia softly landed back on his feet after the successful somersault, materializing his water polearm to strike his elemental slash from the distance. But you stood still, unscathed as the wave that was meant to slice you turned into ice before it could come any closer. Fuck, Tartaglia knew his Vision was weak to yours.

You charged at him once again with the boost of your Anemo delusion, your polearms clashing painfully as you both tried to get hits on each other. There was a nick at this cheek to draw the first blood, your dominant hand twirling the spear easily Tartaglia retreats back to avoid the wildly spinning blade.

Soon enough he dons his own mask and the real fight begins. Electric currents ran through the field as an icy fog starts to envelop the floor, superconduct reaction running the parameter of the field as the Fatuus back away further. The next time your blades meet, a crackle of lightning resounded through the whole palace. Smacking his blades upward, your spear quickly sweeps down to swipe at this ankles, forcing him to leap as the fog obscures the reach of your polearm. Mid-air, he was kicked on the chest as your acrobatic arms held you up and over.

Soon enough his hunger for victory begins to manifest, and his biggest advantage comes into play: overwhelming strength.

Tartaglia felt huge triumph when you finally used both of your hands to parry his blows, your feet sometimes sinking into the dirt floor under the pressure of his attack. For the first time in the fight, your facade cracked with a grimace as you held your polearm up against his dual blades. Quickly leaning away, you brought your foot up and pushed at the spear's shaft, enough to force him back as you leaped out of his range. There was sweat trickling at the back of your neck now, feeling the sizzle of the current on the slight moisture. You swiped your spear in a crescent motion as a snow avalanche bombarded Tartaglia's side when he tried to approach, giving you just enough time to breathe as he tries to free himself under the snow.

By the time he's set himself free, you were already running forwards with your hands gripping your spear at your right for a swiping motion. He fashions his dual blades as he too sprinted in the middle to clash, weapons encased with frost and electricity. In a split second, his arms raised to your left, knowing this was your non-dominant side would make it easy to send you flying at the angle of approach. A powerful blow against another was about to shake the whole Palace—

"Columbina!" The vagrant's voice pierced through the crackle of elements, and Tartaglia's eyes widened when he had noticed your foot slip at the distraction. The inertia of his arms unable to stop the course of action; superconduct and electro-charged reactions creating a powerful explosion as the iced fog seem to have imploded from the force.

Childe's moist hands trembled as his vision tries to refocus. There's a ringing in his ears as he tries to grip at his hands, the electricity coursing through his nerves to make it numb. He desperately closed and opened his fists, and when he finally settled his sights straight, the dripping red liquid had splattered all the way to his mask and arms. With hesitation his sights followed the trail of blood and frost splayed across the field barely visible as the mist still covered the floor with a thin veil, his steps halted at the sound of glass crunching underneath his shoes, and he didn't need to look to know what it was.

"GET THE MEDIC NOW, PREPARE THE INTENSIVE CARE UNIT!" Pedrelino's voice reverbed through the field as the few agents that finally recovered from the shock went into emergency actions, some running off and some running to the direction of where the blood trail ends.

There was an obvious pool of blood forming under you, as your whole torso was littered with the same redness. Your left ribcage was angled inwards in an anomalous way as the dual blades had logged itself in between the ribs. You were already unconscious as blood dripped from the side of your lips;

how unfortunate, Childe collapsed to his knees in front of you. You didn't get to congratulate him.

xi. eleventh of the fatui harbinger

His mission had been explained to him concisely and accurately alongside Signora's assignment right after he had been acknowledged as officially part of the Fatui. The throne room had itself full of the Harbingers (with a glaring absence of one) as the Tsaritsa empowered him with her will and concise plan, the gravity of the law and order of the universe and its incoming divine war finally weighing on his shoulders. It was, after all, his wish to end the ministrations of being under someone's supervision and finally walk his path of conquering.

A month after the fight had him standing by the piers of the Snezhnayan ocean. Here he will finally depart to Liyue where his true mission lays, as well as the franchise of the Northland Bank he'd have to oversee. The influx of information for both his and the other's works had his head reeling, pleading silently at the hope that you'd be there to reassure and clarify what exactly he needs to do.

But you're not. In fact, Childe hasn't seen you in the whole month after that fight. He was prohibited from approaching your ward as you were still unstable and fragile to risk; no, everyone was not allowed to enter, he assured himself. He had not seen nor heard you throughout the grieving process of a moment he should have been proud to boast.

During that time, Childe had also adamantly avoided Scaramouche.

He heaved a tired sigh as the consequences weighed his resolve once again, were you still unconscious? Are you still in critical condition or are you recovering? If things ended ever so differently, would you be there next to him to wave him off to his first major assignment? "Liyue, huh, that's a pretty nice nation."

Childe produced a strangled noise when he turned to his right, where you stood, watching the ocean horizon. Your hair was slightly disheveled yet framed your face naturally. There were bandages wrapped all over your torso, peeking out from the sleeves of your unusually covered attire, and your left arm settled on a sling meant to lessen the constraints of your side instead of sporting an actual broken limb. When Childe's calculating gaze settled on your face, you had a calm expression.

"Congratulations, you're finally on your way to your first mission."

"Thank you, although I heard it's quite different from what I'm used to. Besides seafood, too many new customs."

You produced a soft gasp as your eyes widened slightly. Childe stood guard, waiting for you to tell him what was wrong. "I'm a failure of a mentor," what. His eyes watched as you turned to face him (as he did) with an amused glint in your eyes paired by a light smirk. "I didn't get to teach you how to use chopsticks."

His face dropped into a deadpan, before you two harmonized into bouts of varying laughter. Your other hand placed itself on your chest to minimize the vibrations of your giggles, not wanting to put pain into yourself. A flash of hurt recognition passed through his eyes.

"Master, I'm so-"

"(Y/N)." You immediately interjected as you gazed at him past your eyelashes. His breath hitches.

"Ah, (Y/N)," you nodded at his experimental taste of your name and urged him to continue. He opens his mouth before closing it again, a silent debate within the depths of his brain, before his lips parted with a different thought. "Teach me when I come back, please?"

Your eyes widen in surprise and amusement, "I'm sure you'd pick it up easily."

You're not wrong, but he's adamant. "Nah, I'm sure I wouldn't, I heard they're really a handful. I'd rather wait for you."

Giggling again, you raised your mobile hand as he did own, exchanging the most genuine smile. "Okay, pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise."

I wrote this for two hours straight to the point that my left arm doesn't work anymore....

@moaa @kookieyachi @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @dandelion-dreams @snackgod @rxsalinee

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #childe x reader #genshin impact Childe #genshin impact oneshots #exile.flower #sojourner special #female reader #Harbinger #brrrrt

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disease · 1 year

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SILENT SERVANT // NEW WORLD [AIR TEXTURE: VII, 2020] by RROSE + SILENT SERVANT

#audio #silent servant #rrose #ambient techno #experimental #air texture #air texture vii #techno #electronic #music

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unfoldingdaydreams · 3 years

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Safe In Your Arms, Where I Belong (Jude x Willem Fanfiction)

Series: A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

Pairing: Jude St. Francis and Willem Ragnarsson

Words long: 5.6k

[MAJOR BOOK SPOILERS]

Takes place after VII/Lispenard Street

Summary: Jude's final attempt sends him back to the day Willem's car crash happens. But this time, the drunk driver hits another car instead. Willem is alive. With the memories of a life without Willem, Jude decides to achieve a better ending than the one he got. And with Willem by his side, nothing feels impossible.

(Also, sorry if the writing style feels a bit different than Yanagihara's, My first language isn't English and I didn't read the English version of this book. I really hope there aren't too many noticeable mistakes that would prevent you from enjoying it.)

VIII / The Butterfly Effect

The needle of the syringe that’s inside of Jude St. Francis feels cold. Nothing more, nothing less. The fingers of the man holding it trembles for a second, even himself isn’t sure if it’s because he is scared or excited. Scared for death, or excited for the release.

Release. That’s the name he came up with for this attempt months ago, while he was planning the letters each person would get. He has become such a dead weight on other people that it is noticeable; from their smiles that hide worry, or their eyes covered in dark circles. People around him are tired because of him. Harold, Julia, and Andy, they all are. He thinks how their lives would be if they never met Jude. Probably way happier. This thought has been putting a lot of weight on his shoulders and each day the weight multiplies. The shoulders that have been already carrying so much of the past.

The needle stays inside of him for a couple of minutes, he still didn’t inject the air into his artery. He looks around himself, taking in the last chance of using his senses, ever. He looks at the -perfectly- clean bathroom tiles, feels its texture with his hand that’s not holding the syringe and smells the perfume of Willem he poured onto himself minutes before. He cries, of course. Cries for what he is doing, how others are going to react, and what could have been. If only this and that were different. If he was a better person, then things would be different. He would make everyone proud. Maybe even himself.

He fought, very hard. He just wishes other people will be aware of it after what will happen moments later. That he is not doing this because he is giving up, but because he fought so long that he can’t bear to do it any longer. “Release me from my promise to you.” He remembers shouting these words to Harold, “Don’t make me do this anymore, don’t make me go on.”

But he stops himself from diving too deep into his thoughts or memories. He has already thought about these probably his entire life. What good would they be in his final moments? So, he changes his focus; He looks at the space in front of him and thinks of him, Willem. He knows it's selfish not to imagine Harold or Julia or Andy… but Willem is already dead and dead people can’t be more disappointed. Thinking anybody else who is alive would only make him feel guilty about what he is about to do. He tries to imagine Willem in front of him, he thinks how his touch would feel on his cheeks, arms, chest, and back. He thinks about all the years he knew him. How Willem always found a way to find his way back home and how he always tried to take care of Jude. He plays their memories on his head, one by one, that’s how he always planned it would go. Because if he doesn’t, his promise to Harold will be all over the corners of his mind, and that way he could never find the courage to do what he is about to do.

Only Willem, Jude guides himself in the right direction. Willem’s hair, Willem’s smell, Willem’s kind heart, and Willem’s arms around him as they slept together side by side every night. The memories get faster and faster as his heartbeats do as well. Sacred memories that only belong to them. How lucky and blessed Jude must be to have such magical memories. Willem, he thinks.

Willem, Willem, Willem.

I hope we can meet again someday, dear.

He shuts down his eyes and injects the syringe all at once. The air that was previously stuck in the syringe’s tube finds its way and welcomes its new home, Jude’s artery.

The pain he feels isn’t how he imagined it would be, it feels normal to him, way too normal. But he can’t figure it out if it was because the actual act wasn’t as harsh as the papers written about it or if his body was so used to inflicting pain to itself that this was nothing new. He feels happy. Yes, the pain, his body trembling and his legs kicking around in an animalistic way feels distracting, but he can still think of Willem. Not being able to do that was his biggest fear in the whole act itself.

He thinks of him until his mind doesn’t allow him to, until he forgets what he looks like. But that doesn’t stop him. He knows Willem’s name and Willem’s name is enough home to him. Enough to keep him safe from Brother Luke and Dr. Traylor’s fingers that are reaching for him. It seems that Jude carried his demons with him for so long that his mind still can’t let go of them, even at death. He still clearly remembers every single detail about them, but he isn’t worried.

It’s okay. He knows Willem’s name, nothing else would be strong enough to take that name away from him.

There is a noise.

The noise comes and goes, one by one, but it is always the same noise. As if somebody is shutting a light switch on and off repeatedly. He drifts away from his dazed state, he can hear the ringing more and more clearly now. Jude can’t help but shake his head, the fog that's surrounding him needs to get away because the noise is getting more and more irritating each passing second. He feels his right arm slapping through the air as if he is materializing the thing that’s bothering him and punching it. But it doesn’t work, the ringing is still there.

Seconds feel like an eternity. An eternity of remembering what he has done seconds ago. Great, he thinks to himself, I’m in the hospital again. He failed. Failing twice in a subject so close to him feels like a punch in the throat. This is the one thing he should be doing successfully and better than anyone, but he even fails at this, apparently.

The ringing gets louder and louder, so loud that he takes a bold step to get up. The action is more of a reflex but what surprises him is that he can feel his body moving. His muscles tensing up and his prosthetics lifting him to the ground. He feels worried now, how is he standing up if he is in the hospital? It’s time to open your eyes, he commands himself. Something is wrong, Jude. It feels like it takes him days just to lift his glued eyelids back up. The light feels violent, he covers his eyes for a while with his scarred hand and waits until they adapt to seeing, observing life once again.

He is in the Lantern House. He looks around with a huge discomfort in his chest. How is he here, why is he here? He wasn’t supposed to be here, the last thing he remembers is the needle that was inside of his skin and the stroke taking control of his body. Being here made no sense at all.

His mind doesn’t even think about how it could just be a bad nightmare.

His thoughts get distracted by the ringing once again. What he thought were hospital machines beeping was coming from the kitchen table.

Oh, his phone was ringing.

He slowly but surely moves his body towards the kitchen, since he still feels a bit dazed, he doesn’t bother checking the caller and just answers the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi Judy!” the voice that’s coming from the other side of the phone reaches him and suddenly Jude is wide awake, feeling clearer than he had ever felt. He pushes the phone closer to his ear until it hurts and is still shocked by the unexpected voice. Was this a voicemail? Or an old recording he put on a loop to fall asleep? “Dear, I just met up with Malcolm and Sophie at the station, we’ll shortly be on our way. Do you need anything from the grocery store?”

Willem’s voice.

Jude doesn’t even hear the words themselves; he just hears Willem’s beautiful voice on his ears and tears up. Even if somebody is messing with him by playing this sound to him on the phone, Jude doesn’t care. “Willem, is that you?” he whispers to the phone. “Of course, it’s me, Judy.” Willem chuckles sincerely, “Or is there anyone else that calls you 'dear'?”

Jude instantly takes a step back from the phone and even falls to the ground. This conversation has never happened between them and his mind is racing between millions of thoughts on what the hell is going on. He is not sure how long he stayed on the ground, he was so distracted and mesmerized by Willem’s name on the screen. “Jude?” Willem finally speaks once again, “Is everything alright?”

Jude wasn’t alright, he would be crying hysterically if he wasn’t biting on his own fingers to silence himself. The tears are rolling down from his cheeks nonstop and he knows this can’t be real. This is the day Willem dies .

The day Willem went to pick up Malcolm and Sophie seems so far away from now. Just a blur, a lost page on a dusted calendar.

He would laugh at himself if he could, to the fact that he questioned how moments ago his suicide attempt could be a dream. Jude wasn’t stupid, it wasn’t a dream . The nightmares he had to endure, the days that only had ever-lasting pain in them couldn’t be a dream.

But this was one. Hearing and seeing Willem could only be a dream. It always was . They would get rarer and rarer, so much so that he doesn’t even remember which day was it the last time he had seen Willem in his dreams. He inhales sharply and forces himself to sound normal and picks up the phone again, “Sorry,” He says, “I’m cooking at the same time, a bit busy.” He adds. “Oh, I see!” Jude can see the smile that forms on Willem’s face. “So, do you need anything?” Willem asks once again.

Jude smiles faintly. I just need you, Willem. But you’re never going to come back to me.

He leans on the phone, he could almost hear Willem’s steady breathing on the phone, he would never speak and drive so they must still be in the train station. The thought of warning Willem about the car crash sounds so desperate to him. But he is desperate, he is and has always been since this day. The funny thing was, Willem wouldn’t even think of him as crazy, he would nod and say he would make sure to drive a bit slower. But Jude still can’t find the courage to warn him. He takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes so that he can see again, “I’m out of soil for the garden,” He puts his forehead to the wall, he knows there is a flower shop right before the place the car crash is going to happen. “Can you stop by and get me some?” the question is such a simple one without context, so it doesn’t even take a second for Willem to answer, “Of course, the usual store?” he asks for reassurance and Jude nods, “Mhm.” He says, “ Please take your time.”

After the phone call ends, Jude feels himself almost going crazy. First, the seconds don’t pass. He is stuck in a singular moment, thinking of how the conversation went. Repeats every single word Willem just said to him in his head and lives them in his head again and again. Then, seconds pass like sands falling from an hourglass. He wishes for time to slow down but minutes keep passing and passing. Jude is surprised at how childish he is feeling. He thinks that how he is feeling would be the same if he had a normal childhood and if he was waiting for Christmas morning.

When the doorbell rings, he is still in the same spot the phone call happened.

He doesn’t know how to react or respond, he just feels his body preparing to get up and run to the door. Will he see Willem? Is he that lucky in his dream?

Then it hits him, maybe nothing has changed. Maybe it’ll be a police officer standing in front of his house again, announcing what happened to his dearest friends.

Knowing himself, Jude can guess which way this dream is going to go. His mind has never been a friend to him, so why would it this time?

That's why he doesn't move an inch, he stays there and looks at the door. Why was it locked anyway? Couldn't they just enter and save him from the misery? Minutes pass once again, his phone is also ringing now. He slowly gets up and looks around. The kitchen is familiarly strange to him. Over the years after Willem's death, he made small changes but those changes aren't there anymore. Not being able to find comfort in his own house makes him even more anxious. Each step towards the door feels like a journey itself.

When he finally opens the door, he was fully expecting to see an officer standing right next to him to announce whoever got hurt this time.

But he doesn’t see a police officer. What he sees feels just like another day of his everyday life. But a part of him knows this isn’t ordinary. A part of him is sure how much this cannot be real. He looks at the people greeting him by the door, Sophie, Malcolm, and Willem.

Willem.

Jude feels as if he is seeing Willem for the first time in his entire life, all his grace at once. All the days he starved himself just to have a glimpse of him, all the nights he buried his face onto Willem’s shirt, and all the days he used Willem’s perfume on his pillow. Every single day he spent without Willem comes at him like ravenous wolves jumping at their prey. Jude is so overwhelmed that he doesn’t recognize the worry on their faces. Well, technically he does, but he is used to it, so it doesn’t bat an eye.

“What took you so long?” Willem says. The simple, without character words leaving Willem’s mouth sounds like music from the heavens to Jude. He could cry, he wants to cry. But his old habits are also returning him, he can’t do that in front of Malcolm and Sophie.

Jude has always been good at lying, so much so that he could come up with one without even taking another breath. It is one of the greatest defences he built against the world trying to find their way to his secrets. “I got tired from waiting for you guys, so I took a nap.” He explains while looking at the paper bags that are filled with groceries in their hand. “Why was the door locked in the first place?” Malcolm asks. He knew Malcolm probably all of his adult life, he was Jude’s one of the closest, dearest friends. But spending two years without seeing or talking to him is showing its outcomes. Malcolm feels and looks like a stranger to him; someone he needs to trust all over again.

Jude slowly comes back to his senses more and more and as he does, he realizes how monotone the questions sound, how superficial and shallow. Whatever he replies with won’t make a difference to them because the questions are just out of kindness. They have something else in their mind, Jude thinks. “I started getting paranoid lately when it’s just me in the house.” He finally blurts it out, and just like how he thought, they nod and keep looking at him with dilated pupils and unstable breaths. He curses at himself for caring. He wants to be selfish and take Willem into his arms, he wants to touch every single part of him, he wants to bury his nose and smell him, even kiss him. But he doesn’t, he can’t, not when they look so out of character. “What happened to you guys?” Jude asks instead, he is better at lying than them, so he knows they won’t understand how fake his question is as well, just like theirs. They might not know it, but he himself knows. He doesn’t care about what happened to them, he just wants Willem. And that makes him despise himself even more.

“Judy…” Willem exhales, steps into the house, and wraps his arms around Jude tightly, securing him in his place, as if somebody is going to come and snatch him away from them. The moment Willem takes him in his arms, Jude figures out this cannot be real. No matter how real his dreams felt, they never felt this close, this detailed. They were always vague about Willem because no matter how many times he watched Willem's movies or videos, he would be nothing but a blur in his head. How is this real, how are you real?

Willem quickly breaks the embrace, takes Jude’s face into his hands, and kisses his cheek gently. Willem’s lips touching him feels like an award for surviving through all those days without him. “There was an accident.” Willem finally says, “A truck hit the car right in front of us, Jude… Right in front of us. There was blood everywhere.” Willem’s words are disconnected from each other, they had long pauses and it seemed like he didn’t even know what emotions he was feeling, let alone describe them.

He takes a quick small step back to distance himself from Willem. “The driver… didn’t hit you?” he asks while sighing in relief, he almost even smiles, not realizing how stupid and arrogant the question sounds. “What?” Malcolm responds instead, “God no, Jude. Why would you say that?”

He blinks a couple of times and figures he should be surprised, maybe shocked even. But he isn’t, he still remembers every detail, the driver -how could he forget-, his name and what vehicle he drove, what beer company he worked for, and exactly how much money he took from him… “God.” Jude finally speaks and asks the question he already knows the answer of, “How bad was it, Willem.”

Willem. Speaking his name to Willem himself is a paradise he yearned for years. Willem opens his mouth, but words don’t come out of it. Malcolm and Sophie sense his stress and also steps into the house. They all guide Willem to the couch in the living room and Jude goes to the kitchen to take a glass of water for Willem. His steps in the kitchen are so fast, so childishly quick that it doesn’t even take more than ten seconds to give him the glass.

When he has the chance of seeing Willem, any time he spends elsewhere would be wasted time.

“There was a family of four… Two kids.” Malcolm whispers, he is still shaking, “Their poor bodies were all over the ground.”

Sophie shushes Malcolm and looks at Jude, as if Malcolm’s words would affect Jude’s mental state or triggers him in any way. He laughs at Sophie in his mind. I saw all your dead bodies, helped people identify Willem, do you really think some random people would affect me?

“It could’ve been me…” Willem says, he picks his words carefully. He is covering his eyes with his hands, “We stopped at the flower shop on the side of the road,” Willem gives a glance at Jude, “It only took me a minute to get it, Judy. If I didn’t stop there, it would’ve hit us instead.” He says and Jude can feel the tears forming in Willem’s eyes from the way he speaks. Willem doesn’t sound like he is scared he almost died; he sounds guilty. “It could’ve been me…” he had said, but the only reason he said it like that must be because he didn’t want to upset Jude. It should’ve been me, what he was trying to say. He should’ve been the one to get hit, instead of the family.

Soil? Jude thinks, all the horrible, endless nightmare-like days went without Willem was avoided because he was out of a bag of soil? He curses at the universe, or life, or whatever god there may be. Fuck the family who died, Jude thinks selfishly, I already once accepted the fact that I would give up on Malcolm, JB, and Harold all at once just to have you back. And he was back, all because of some stupid soil?

The soil that you asked from him. His conciseness suddenly reminds him. Then the realization comes like boiling water pouring down on his entire body. Was he the reason this happened?

“I’m so sorry, Willem,” Jude speaks, but he is still lying. “How is the driver?” he continues. “The fucker is fine, barely a scratch. Apparently, he was drunk.” Malcolm answers, his words cut like razors, they carry so much anger it almost lits the room on fire, he remembers feeling this same rage once as well. Jude takes Willem’s hands onto his own ones -they feel so tender, rough but warm- “I will see what I can do about this, I promise you…” he comforts Willem, “I will not let him get away with this.”

Of course, these words are nothing but a way to comfort Willem. Jude never went out of his way to work on a case that wasn't introduced to him by the company or colleagues first.

He doesn’t want to act anymore; he wants to care about this family that died. So, he searches into his soul to find the flames he once set on fire, the fire that burned everything that was behind the reason for the car crash. But when you set something tremendous on fire, it doesn't just stop once the job is done. It keeps burning, keeps seeking for more and more to destroy. And what it found next was Jude himself.

He reminds himself of the hatred when he saw the driver's face and how satisfying it felt when he took every single penny from him -and his family- as if it would be enough to buy Willem back from the dead.

He searches and searches, but he can’t find it.

He knows the reason behind it very well; he is simply not angry at the driver, how could he be, after all, he didn’t hit Willem. It wasn’t Willem’s car, Willem was safe. How could he be angry at him? If he was standing next to him right now, Jude might even thank him, “Thank you.” He would say, “Thank you for not picking him this time.”

Who he is angry at isn't the driver anymore. It's himself. He was the reason why they died. And after coming to terms that this was somehow real, Jude feels guilty. 'But Willem is safe,' his mind appears at him for comfort, 'Isn't it worth it, Jude? He is safe and sound. You didn't even know the family.'

It was true, not him or neither Willem knew who they were. But Willem had seen their bodies. All the sorrow and guilt he is going through right now is because of Jude. He is the reason behind Willem's trauma.

The dinner goes awkwardly standard. Conversations die easy and the only constant noise is the forks and knives hitting the plates. Jude tries not to stare at Willem for long periods, to not make him suspicious of anything. Look at your food for 30 seconds, then ask a question to Malcolm that Willem would also answer, then you can look into his eyes as much as you want as he speaks. Finding shortcuts like this was something Jude was good at, so he could fabricate as many excuses to stare at Willem, his home. Not that Willem would mind Jude’s eyes on him, but Jude wanted to act normal. He wasn’t going to reveal what was going on before he finds any clues. That is if he can find any.

Oh, how terribly I missed you, Willem.

In the past two years, he read and memorized Willem’s emails so much so that he could think of how Willem would react in a situation. That was a coping mechanism he figured out a while after Willem’s death. When he sought guidance or needed affection from Willem, he would dive into his mind and let his imagination react as Willem. Willem would do this if he were here, say this and kiss like this. But now, he doesn’t need to do that, or anything similar. He doesn’t need to starve himself to see him or let go of Willem entirely to move on.

Willem is right there, right next to him, and when Willem is next to Jude, he knows he is safe, he knows this is where he is meant to be.

Somehow, none of them realizes there is something wrong with Jude. It is probably because they’re dealing with their demons and struggles right now. This gives some time for Jude to focus on what the hell is going on. But the answers he finds are close to none and the more questions he finds the faster time passes.

Next thing Jude knows, it is time for bed. He already prepared the guest room for Malcolm and Sophie, so he just tells them goodnight and lets them settle there. But even then, even after hours of their arrival, he isn’t ready for sharing a bed with Willem, not yet, not this soon. He can barely go on looking at his eyes without having a heart attack, how is he suppose to lay next to him? So, he busies himself with dishes, then reorganizes some of the kitchen shelves. He spent so long without Willem that the house’s interior changed over the years. He is now used to taking the glasses from the third cabin instead of the first one and the plates from the upper shelf rather than the cabinet below. So, he takes them one by one and adjusts them to how he is used to. But Jude also knows that he can’t stay away from the bedroom forever. Willem is still shocked. Sure, he made a couple of jokes as they were eating dinner or told stories about his latest projects, smiled like how he always does, but Jude knows how good of an actor he is and this is nothing but an act. Willem needs help right now, switching the places of plates and glasses isn’t a good excuse to be away from him. Not when he just got him back.

He counts his steps to the bedroom one by one, when the number reaches thirteen, he is by the door. Jude first knocks on the door -he doesn’t want to scare Willem, just in case- and enters slowly. The room isn’t lit completely. Only the lamp that’s next to Willem’s side of the bed is on and he is half laying on the bed, holding a book Jude knows wouldn’t be interesting to Willem’s liking. His eyes weren’t even on the pages, he was staring at the ceiling.

Willem’s eyes change their location and find Jude, and Jude can see how fast they soften, his heart breaks into million pieces all at once. He quickly builds himself back up but it’s barely holding it together. Hold on Jude, he commands himself, you can’t let him see that you’re struggling, not when he is like this. “Judy…” Willem says, his voice carries all the emotions he was holding back throughout the day. “I’m here, Willem.” He quickly walks towards Willem and holds his hand. Willem’s eyes fill with tears and he closes them shut before he starts crying.

Willem holds back Jude’s hand with his left and onto Jude’s shirt with his right hand. He is fighting himself not to pull Jude in but Jude knows that’s what he actually wants, what he needs right now. So he exhales, doesn’t think about his problems, and lets Willems pull him beside him, next to the arms he belongs.

Willem breaks down, “The family’s kid looked like him.” He whispers. Jude knows Willem wants to shout and break and probably destroy the whole house apart. So why isn’t he? Why is Willem still holding his feelings inside, is it because Malcolm’s here? Or is it because of Jude?

“Who?” Jude whispers, covering Willem’s back with his arms and forming a hug. “Willem it’s okay, I’m right here. Talk to me.” He says and Willem inhales hesitantly and blurts a word out, but he can’t finish his sentence. “Hem…” he manages to say, and that is enough for Jude to understand.

Hemming.

Of course, he knows who Hemming is, he has heard his name maybe hundreds of times from Willem’s childhood memories. Willem’s past was never a closed box, Jude has heard snippets of his home, his family, and about his brother many many times. His eyes would lose their focus each time he mentioned his brother as if he is trying to imagine himself there with him. From what Jude knows, Hemming was a good person, yes he couldn’t react or do things like a regular person would do but he gave comfort to Willem and Jude was forever grateful for that.

But whenever he hears stories about Hemming, he feels as if he is learning more about Willem than his brother. How Willem would take him on walks each morning and tell him stories when it was sleep time. He learns it again and again, how kind Willem is, how pure-hearted he must be to take care of his older brother like that, with so much passion. So, each time the topic of Willem’s past comes up, Jude finds himself falling for him all over again.

Sometimes, he wondered if Willem was interested in being friends with Jude because he reminded him of Hemming. That thought occurred more and more after Willem confessed to him. Was he seeing something in Jude that would remind him of Hemming? Was he imagining his brother whenever Jude needed help psychically? After all, Willem helped dozens of kids who had disabilities, and wasn’t that because they reminded him of his brother?

Thankfully, Jude later figured out that wasn’t the case. He tried testing him many times. Just like the time he tested if Harold was one hundred percent sure about adopting him. He sometimes used his wheelchair in the house even when he didn’t need to, he used his legs as an excuse to cancel scheduled important events, would go out of his way to let Willem help with things that Jude would normally be able to do. These things weren’t something he was used to doing, -getting help from others made him feel weak, but this wasn’t getting help; this was to observe- then, he would look at Willem, see the expression on his face. Was it similar to Caleb’s? Was Willem seeing his disabilities, not as his personality but as something that was standing in the way of being himself?

But however many times he looked at Willem, he saw no difference. Not even once, not even if he was tired or angry. It was as if Willem was seeing Jude as a whole, as if each and every single part of his personality was required to be on the stage to complete “Jude”. He was certain of it when he tested him for the last time. They were fighting -Who knows about what, it’s been so long since Willem died that all their fights feel insignificant-, and Jude struggled to take a file he needed to grab from the shelf, he couldn’t reach. Of course, like many times in the past, his legs were aching -they weren’t amputated yet- and Jude just couldn’t grab them.

He tried and tried and eventually gave up, their words were still on the air, arguing and shouting and trying to force their opinions onto each other. Then Willem got up, took the file Jude couldn’t reach, gave it to him, and returned, arguing as if nothing had happened. That’s when Jude understood, it meant nothing to Willem.

If Willem took pity on Jude's disability and stopped the fight once he saw him struggling, then Jude would know how it was just a barrier. But Willem never saw it like that. The struggles that came with Jude were a part of Jude, not something that should be excluded.

In the bedroom, they stay in that position for a while, Willem’s crying slowed down. Tears left their spot for soft whimpers and sobs. Their position changed as well; The hug turned into sleeping in each others arms. Jude feels extremely lucky that Willem is in no state of realizing how fast his heart is beating. Because if he did, Willem would get up and rush him to Andy, assuming Jude was having a heart attack.

But he can’t go on like this either, he missed Willem. Their usual position in bed -Willem hugging Jude’s back- doesn’t feel enough, not when Jude can only see the walls. Jude wants more of Willem, all of him.

So, he does something that he never did before, he slowly turns around -Willem gets surprised as well, but he doesn’t react- and lets Willem’s hands get free of him. He doubts for a second, not because he is afraid he would be unable to, but because he might not handle being this close to Willem after everything. Not now, Jude scolds himself to take action, not when you got your second chance.

They lay on the bed, facing each other for god knows how long. Then, Jude closes the distance, burying his head onto Willem’s chest and hugging him so tight that Willem lets out a soft sound. He inhales, taking in Willem’s warmth and scent -Oh how different and cheap the perfume's smell felt now- but he needs more, he pulls onto Willem even more and their bodies feel as if they are one. It takes a couple of seconds for Willem to react. He first kisses Jude’s hair, then hugs him back. They are both crying silently, but being next to each other is enough comfort for them to know that they are safe and whatever they’re fighting for isn’t stronger than them.

Jude cries and cries and cries. For what he went through these last two years, for having Willem back, and most importantly, for the endless guilt of being the reason for killing a family.

He can tell Willem is asleep now, his breathing is in sync, and Willem’s fingers don’t draw circles around his shoulder anymore. He wants this moment to never end, if he had the power, he would take the chance of freezing and staying in this exact moment forever, sacrificing everything else about his life without a doubt. But he knows he can’t.

He knows that the past two years without Willem wasn’t some sort of an ever-lasting nightmare or an effect of sickness. He remembers reading about a man falling asleep and dreaming an entire life for himself. The man would meet a woman, marry her, and have two kids. After he wakes up the next morning, he doesn’t even realize that the life he woke up to wasn’t the bed he shared with his wife. He had no wife to begin with, it was all a dream.

But Jude knows this isn’t what happened with him. It can’t be fake; the reason he knows this leads to the root of many of his problems; his past. Jude’s past has never been a passive observer, it never waited until Jude gave an opening to attack. They were always on the hunt, trying to break all of Jude’s defence’s at once, jumping and dashing forward, biting every inch of the walls Jude built up over the years. That’s why his past has always been with him, he carries them with him. Every day with Brother Luke and every step he took running away from Dr. Traylor.

It feels like all of the days without Willem emerged into one and joined those monsters, they formed an alliance with the other monsters there and attacked at once. They are all trying to find their way back in, to feed until they can’t do it anymore.

The monsters never came from things that were fake or imaginary, they were always real -except for that one time Jude imagined Harold taking advantage of him, but that was due to a fever- The creature that the past two years turned into is massive, probably way bigger than any other monster lurking around Jude’s head. He knows they can’t be fake or just an imagination of the mind. He is sure of it, they were real.

What he is not sure of is how he is going to go on. How different the events are going to be with all of them still alive? All the time travel movies he has seen in his life often dealt with the “Butterfly Effect”; even a change of something affecting the future drastically. But Jude isn’t worried about that, whatever challenges life throws at him, he knows he can handle it when Willem is next to him.

Then Jude realizes. If he wasn’t embraced by Willem’s arms so tightly, he would even get up from the information his mind just came up with;

He has lived through the worst.

A life without Willem , a life where he disappointed every single person that has ever known and cared for him. A life that took him to the day where he sat on that cold bathroom floor and forced a syringe into his artery willingly. The things he felt back then are what he is feeling now but he is suddenly more self-aware this time.

If how he lived his life the way he wanted it turned out like this -the worst case scenario, without a doubt- then even the smallest difference he would make from now on would only make things for the better.

What if he spoke about his feelings more, or smiled more, or forced to take part in a social event Willem wanted them to join this time? What if he just went to Harold and hugged him -they haven't done that since Caleb-, what if he thanked -instead of apologizing- Andy for all the trouble he has caused him. This and this and this and this and this. What’s the worst thing that could happen? He already successfully killed himself once.

Jude promises himself that no matter what he does from now on, he will not let the same ending happen to him, not again. He doesn’t know what gave him this second chance, he might never even find out, but it doesn’t matter. He has been given one and is not going to waste it.

He spends the entire night watching Willem asleep. His fingers are so curious, touch starved yet so shy that it takes him hours to go from Willem’s shoulders to his chest. It is pitch black, so he can’t see him at all, but he knows he is there, he can hear his soothing breathing and his chest rising slowly. His warmth is radiating, and it feels as if it is creating a shield around Jude’s body. He doesn’t need to fight the demons and monsters all alone now, he has Willem’s strength and protection with him. And he hopes his own warmth is providing the same thing to Willem.

He needs to change, and change seems so easy when Willem is still next to him. Even if the change is the slightest, smallest act, it can’t ever get worse than the ending he got.

The butterfly effect, he reminds himself.

Then, for the first time since Willem's death, Jude St. Francis falls asleep peacefully.

the end.

[AN]

This series... Jude is an amazing character, I think Hanya Yanagihara portrayed the "If you don't seek help, this is what happens" theme very well and this fic is in no way to insult her writing, I'm not saying my version is better or the right ending for the book! I'm just a sucker for characters getting the ending they deserve so I'm putting my own spin on this, in my version of the ending, Jude decides to seek the help he needs.

I hope you liked this!! Writing Willem and Jude supporting each other was SUCH a therapy for me. This book affected me so much and being able to give them some comfort is the only thing helping me accept the ending of the book without making me go through an existential crisis. Thank you SO SO much for taking your time to read this fic. If you enjoyed it, leaving a comment would mean the world to me, I would love to hear your opinions on it!

I'm really not sure if I'll continue this series, I think there's space for one more chapter where Jude meets the rest of the characters. Writing a character that's so beautifully and carefully written was very difficult, I had to pause writing and ask myself if Jude would think like this or if he did, what would be the reason behind it. I hope they didn't feel out of character to you. Thank you!!!

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flowerwrites06 · 3 years

Text

break my mind’s eye VIII — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation

Picturesque day framed by the window of the brightly lit clinic, cool air swirling around them aiding Belle’s anxiety in whatever slight way it could. Fingers gripped at her knitted lavender cardigan, pressing her legs together to somehow prevent more chill to flow through the white floral dress. She seemed to focus on every other little thing while the man in a white coat in front of quickly typed and clicked in his own time.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Jeon.” The doctor smiled as if he just confirmed the happiness of a new family.

Six weeks passed since Belle took the dozens of pregnancy tests haunting her with pink pluses until finally the doctor gave the final verdict. Thankfully with the Spring Line show coming in close to around a couple months, she was able to avoid any conversation of whether the ritual worked.

Ritual. Fucking hell what year was this?

Her silence caused a slight awkward confusion to grip the doctor’s face, almost as if he was inching close to a verdict that something was wrong.

Nothing should be wrong, Belle reminded herself. Happy relationship, remember?

The woman quickly adorned the perfect smile on her face using her glossy eyes as the sparkle of joy. “Sorry…it’s just all very exciting to take in.” She chuckled and thankfully the doctor was immediately convinced giving her a proper smile.

“Of course—very happy news though. I’m sure your entire family would be elated.” His grin stretched from ear to ear like he was related to her some way.

Then again anyone who so much as knew the Jeon family seemed to have that mindset.

“I’ll have your report prepared in just a few minutes, Mrs. Jeon.” He nodded in reassurance while Belle leaned back on the chair.

Gaze moved to the window looking out at the people strolling back and forth living their lives. She wondered how many were living by their own accord. Based on their own needs. Were they happy with where they were? Some rushing in suits trying not to drop their coffees, mothers and fathers pushing their strollers with toddlers skipping next to them and then couples walking calmly in casual clothing.

When she was younger, Belle told herself she would not end up in any of those situations. She would get a car, halt on marriage and kids while focusing on her career entirely until her thirties at the very least.

The naivety of dreams. Dreams of a life no one could ever control. Dreams that were already in the hands of fate.

“Mrs. Jeon?” The doctor addressed for the third time.

Belle finally realized that was her name now, stripping back to reality. Even her name was not under her control any more. Legally she had her original name but people wouldn’t care. Taking the husband’s name was more popular. So now she was officially Mrs. Jeon to society.

Quickly smiling she accepted the envelope handed to her and bowed slightly. “Thank you, doctor.”

Walking out of the clinic into the beautiful day, she spotted Yoongi leaning back against the side of the car with his arms folded over his chest. Raven hair a little longer now hovering over his eyes as he watched her taking a deep breath at the entrance stairs. “So?” He asked, squinting a little in the sunlight.

“What do you think?” Belle mumbled with the envelope heavy in her hand much like the twisted feeling in her stomach. Stepping down to the end of the stairs, she looked around every corner that was visible to her. Scanning for any movement.

“No peeping in the bushes, don’t worry.” The older male reassured, pushing off the car and opening the door for the new mob queen. Even though he would never use that term in front of her without risking a kick on his foot.

Strolling to the other side of the car, Yoongi couldn’t help but mimic Belle’s scanning and ended up seeing a figure lurking in one of the alleys. Not that he was proud of it but Yoongi pretended to reach into his coat for a gun which evidently caused the figure to rush out to the streets.

“Fucking reporters.” Yoongi muttered under his breath before climbing back into the car and driving them back to the mansion.

Being invited to Sangria House during the day had not been on Taehyung’s to-do list but here he was anyway being driven to the establishment, by Kim Seokjin’s personal request.

The establishment exuded a different aura during the day as they parked to a halt in front of it. Flowers adorned the entrance in an arch matching the blossom trees behind the building creating a beautiful frame, most of the angels strolling around with their customers linked in hand while a lot of the juniors were simply having picnics under on the ground like it was their own paradise rather than people who entered.

As he walked into the makeshift garden, white coats welcomed him with a bow and led him into the private room with a brief statement of having a full days’ appointment with the best angel in the House.

Full day. Seokjin seemed to know his way around apologizing, he supposed.

Even on the inside things were so much more different. Customers were eating food normally instead chortling the whole way through; they were genuinely having good conversations with the red and lavender coats as if it was not going to lead anywhere. Purple drapes were replaced with more floral arrangements in strings trailing across the walls and he could have sworn butterflies passed them a moment ago.

The white coats stopped down the hallway to a familiar door knocking politely first.

Taehyung already had an achingly strong hope of who to see on the other side of the door.

And thank god, luck was on his side today.

The door opened and gracing him with her presence stood Angel in a different attire. It was still golden but a more casual hanbok with intricate floral designs on the overcoat that shimmer in the light against the silk. Less extravagance but more quality. Taehyung could immediately recognize who designed the dress.

Angel’s heart swelled finally being able to see the man again especially after the horrid way he was dragged out. She could still remember all the things he told her…all the things that haunted him now slowly taunted her.

Once the door closed behind Taehyung, the golden lady padded closer to the male.

Eyes moved around his body before she took a leap to cup his cheeks. “You’re okay.” A bright grin spread across her lips but her forehead knitted like she was close to crying. “Come in.” Gently Angel took his hand and walked to the table.

Taehyung couldn’t help but feel his entire body relax into her touch, leaning slightly into her touch before happily holding her hand. “You did full day appointments too?” He would have asked for that package in a heartbeat.

Angel smiled as they sat next to each other this time, shoulders brushing together. “No this is not a normal thing. Mr. Kim just wanted to apologize for the inconvenience caused last time.” She reached out and gave him some rice cakes. “I know you probably don’t want our tea right now so…I asked them to make these.” She pulled apart one rice cake in half and took the first bite to ensure him that it was safe to eat.

Warmth spread across his chest watching how her cheeks puffed when she ate, hiding her mouth and smiling, trying to stay elegant but still enjoy the taste. Taehyung had the strongest urge to press little kisses on her adorable cheeks.

The golden lady held up the other half of the cake to his mouth, giving him a reassuring smile that it was okay to eat.

Taehyung was not proud to admit that it did not matter if she offered him literal poison, he would still drink it just so the last thing he saw was that fucking smile. Though the cake did smell heavenly. Opening his mouth slightly he waited until Angel brought the cake so close that it brushed against his lips before he took the treat into his mouth. As soon as Taehyung bit into the soft texture, a burst of warm sweetness burst through and he felt a small lump in his throat.

How long had it been since he was able to really taste something properly? The man could never tell whether he was healing or not in the process of vomiting, taking medications and other methods Taehyung deemed boring or painful. It was only now at this incredibly simple moment of recalling just how tasty a rice cake was. How much he loved it in the years before.

“Is it bad?” Angel noticed the smile faded from his face. “I could go get something else.” She tried to get up but Taehyung softly touched her arm.

“No I’m just—” Taehyung chuckled after swallowing, eyes a little glossy as he met her gaze. “I haven’t had rice cake in a long time. It was really nice.”

She relaxed once more sitting next to him allowing a comfortable silence to seep through the air for a few moments.

Eventually the curiosity peeked far too much for her to control. “So…how was the wedding?”

A boulder seemed to drop and crash onto the hope of relaxing in this session now the question lingered. Taehyung could not blame Angel for being curious as she probably had been working the whole time it was happening.

But now he was reminded of the things other than the actual ceremony. The fake vows and calculated kiss under the blossom trees was more for the press.

Taehyung learned the hard way that the real ceremony was behind closed doors. He only found out after it happened because every relative from the Jeon family wanted to chat with him giving him no time to go and check on his sister. Now he wished he just pushed past all of them and ran to her.

It was too late though. By the time Taehyung got the chance to see Belle in the early morning, she was already in tears and shaking beyond belief before jumping into his embrace. She did not say a word to him or anyone for that matter. The whole two nights they were there, his sister stayed quiet merely smiling to the people who didn’t matter. When he found out about the secret ceremony Taehyung did the same.

With Jungkook, he didn’t even bother smiling. Every time he came close his fingers automatically curled into a fist conjuring up all the ways he could just get rid of him.

Now more than ever Taehyung grew aware that his baby sister was going through pain beyond belief while he healed. Aside from the heart clenching sadness, he grew determined to see an end for Jeon Jungkook.

“Taehyung?” Angel placed a hand on his arm gently before pulling away quickly. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer.” Her fingers played with the fabric of her dress with her head hanging.

Taehyung jumped back to his current state and shook his head quickly. “No—” He shifted closer until his hand rested behind her. “No it’s okay. Please ask me anything you want.” He gave her a reassuring smile trying to meet her gaze again.

The golden lady’s eyes flickered up see him so close that the warmth of his body radiated onto her.

“The wedding—” He sighed. “The wedding was beautiful…in a sense, I suppose.” Taehyung spoke with bitterness touching his tongue, pursing his lips together. He wondered for a moment if it were too much to speak these things out. Were these walls thick enough the hold the dark thoughts in his head long enough? Was it worth it show a side of him to Angel that he despised? A side of him created as soon as Belle told him, holding a teary smile that she was going to marry a monster and bear his child for his own benefit.

It turns out that part of Taehyung didn’t care who saw or heard him. “Do you ever have that situation where—you despise someone so much—because they’ve hurt you or someone important to you?—a hatred that runs so deep, the mere thought of them—” He huffed out a breath to somehow to cool down the anger erupting inside him. “Makes you thinks things unimaginable.”

Angel’s chest rose and fell slightly as her eyes now grew glossy. In a rush of painful memory, she remembered those words rushing in her own mind at some point. “Yes.” She muttered immediately pressing her lips together. All the nights of hiding in a bathroom and covering her ears hoping that her ex-husband would just pass out drunk. The way she trained herself to zone out every time he climbed on top of her.

Eyes shining and vision blurring just a little but enough to see Taehyung’s welcoming features so she could feel at ease. “You end up stripping them down to being nothing but a human. Not someone powerful…or someone with status that you can’t touch…Just a human. Vulnerable…soft…if you just grabbed a knife and stuck it at the right place. They’re nothing but meat.”

Taehyung’s expression softened hearing such a composed woman speak out the unimaginable things in his mind already. “What if that powerful person is Jeon Jungkook?” It was not something he didn’t think about before. There were dark points in his time living in that place knowing the man was just sleeping soundly in the room with no one really watching over him.

“You can’t do that.” She shook her head.

“But you said—”

“No, Taehyung—your sister is now a Jeon.” Angel raised a hand to ensure that the man listens to her every word. “If you sister is widowed in the Jeon family, it won’t bode well on her. She’ll be tied down to the family until her death. If Jungkook is doing something then there needs to be a divorce.”

“How do you know all that?” His brows furrowed.

“Seok—Mr. Kim told me a story that Jeon Boyoung was a widow…she had to marry someone arranged by the family a day later. It’s a terrible life, Taehyung, remarried widows are not given any kind of respect in the family. The new husbands are allowed to be unfaithful to them or abusive to them without any consequence. The only reason Boyoung is doing somewhat well is because she is a Jeon by birth. Belle isn’t.” Concern riddled her expression hoping to the high heavens Taehyung understood what she was saying. “Jungkook cannot be killed while they’re still married.”

Taehyung shifted in his position feeling a slap of clarity right across his face. “Seokjin—how does he know all these things?” He shook his head. “And how does Belle get a divorce? That family controls everything.”

“Not everything.” Angel whispered so low, she had to lean closer to him. “Belle needs someone to support her alibi. Someone just as powerful as the Jeons. It’s not just them that controls everything, there are other influential people in the city.”

“How am I supposed to find someone just as powerful?”

Sighing shakily, she glanced around the room before moving to stand on her feet. A quick smile tugged at her lips almost as if this whole conversation never happened. “Would you like a take a stroll with me, Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung nodded before trying to return her smile, standing up as his mind filled with nothing but confusion.

By the time they reached the mansion the envelope in Belles hand scrunched up as if it has been read a million times already. She tried smoothing it out a little when the car parked but it still look just about as messed up as her mind orientation. Crinkles mimicking a drought riddled land and light stains of foundation remnants from her fingers.

Yoongi climbed out of the car first as the two guards from the front walked a bit closer. Standing on her side now, he waited for her to take a break to breathe before opening the door and watching her step out. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be waiting just outside the room.” He muttered as they moved to enter the mansion.

Guards as usual welcomed them with a bow and Belle had the urge increase her pace towards the second living room, her heart racing at the same speed. Fingers shook, body burned from her toes to her head and her legs moved slower than normal at the lack of concentration. She hated wearing a lavender cardigan today because the colour looked far bright for her actual mood.

Looking over her shoulder, Belle saw Yoongi standing with his hands in his jacket, giving her a reassuring nod.

She couldn’t hide it for too long. At some point it was going to get difficult to avoid everyone on the truth. Especially Jungkook.

For a moment Belle paused again hearing muffled voices on the other side of the office door. A usual sound now for the past few weeks. Padding closer to the wooden barrier, only one voice stood out like a teacher scolding an empty classroom. It would be easy to just turn away with the excuse that Jungkook was too busy but no one should be too busy for this. At least in her mind.

She stood close to the door that someone might mistake her for kissing it. Closing her eyes, Belle knocked twice before opening the door just enough to walk inside.

“Move the surviving associates to the other dens, fucking fight back next time!” Jungkook growled slamming the phone down so hard that she heard a crack. He stepped away from the phone, rubbing his face with a frustrated sigh padding through him.

Belle stood inside the room, immediately regretting that she entered but it had be done now or the courage would never arrive again. “Jungkook?”

“Not now.” He muttered without even giving her sideways glance.

Anxiety faded a little; the same heat but it ignited a different kind of fire in her belly. “Yes now.” She spoke firmly, lips pursed together.

Slightly reddened eyes met Belle’s gaze as he padded over to the table once again more, leaning on the edge, dark curls falling over his face. Jungkook tried to control his heavy breathing but it only seemed to get worse when he started thinking about it. “Belle, I’m not in the mood for any more drama today, alright?” He shook his head slowly, hands nearly trembling with fury.

Belle sighed to calm the fire down somehow as the envelope grew so heavy in her hand, she worried her grip would relinquish without her knowing. “This is important.” She took a step forward but quickly jumped back.

Jungkook knocked the phone off the table with the back of his hand, harsh thuds and broken rings echoing throughout the room. “Important?! What could be so fucking important that you can’t give me a moment of peace?” He stomped across from the table almost leaving steam behind him.

“My entire goddamn empire is breaking apart into pieces!” He threw his hand towards the fallen phone as his feet nearly stepped over hers. “I’m sure whatever you have to say can fucking wait.” Hot breath brushed against her already warmed up face.

“It can’t fucking wait!” Belle shouted back despite her mouth feeling incredibly dry, the heat around them collecting and making her a little dizzy. “This—” She jabbed the envelope at his chest not really caring whether it caught or not as it dropped to the ground. “This is what your screwed up family wanted, you got it.”

Eyes burned with tears once again, stomach clenching and her head spinning abnormally. “You won.” She smiled sadly. “Congratulations.” She seethed turning on her heel and stomping out of the door, slamming it so hard that it echoed through the whole mansion.

Stomach twisted in such a way that it almost meant to give Belle as much pain as humanly possible making her wince while tears forcibly streamed down her face. She rushed across the second living room completely ignoring Yoongi who tried to call out her name.

It didn’t take a genius to see that breaking the news had been worse than he expected. The family wanted the damn baby so why did he have to see Belle running out with one of the most heartbreaking expression he had ever seen on the girl? And Yoongi had seen a lot, much to his own discontent.

Yoongi tried to open his mouth to say something but Belle already flashed past leaving the gust of wind behind with her speed. If he knew what happened then it would be easier, right now nothing but confusion and a little sadness gripped his face.

“Get my car ready, please.” Belle announced to one of the guards who immediately bowed and rushed off to do her bidding.

The older male lurked at the edge of the second living room and watched a young looked guards who he remembered was called Jongho. One of Belle’s regular guards who usually kept an eye on her the most. The amount of influence this woman had in the entire Jeon mansion honestly could frighten even Yoongi. Every guards seemed to lose their composure and give her a sad look as if wanting to comfort her in her time of need.

Jongho leaned in a little to hear her whisper, possibly about her location because it had to be known to someone just in case. The young guard nodded and opened the double doors for her.

Yoongi would have rushed to the girl and provided some comfort but if she purposely ignored him then it was clear that her intention was to be alone. All he knew was no woman should ever come out looking that fucking upset after trying to tell their husband she was having their baby.

Jungkook tightened his jaw as the sound of the door still rung in the air. Roughly raking his fingers through his hair as if he was pulling it from the roots, gaze flickered down to the discarded envelope. Crouching down Jungkook picked up the slightly crumpled paper and ripped it open letting the little pieces drip carelessly to the ground.

His heart began to race when he saw a doctor’s pregnancy test report details. Forehead knitted reading through the report until the word ‘results’ caught his eye.

Then in big capital letters, his mistake came crashing down harder than a bag of bricks to his head.

POSITIVE.

All the anger faded away quicker than Jungkook prepared for as it replaced with a painful clench in his chest and the whole world momentarily crashing down on him.

The ritual worked.

‘You won’ she said.

His family won.

The walls of his mind closed in on itself tightly not knowing whether to spread elation or guilt through his body. Instead a deadly mixture of both feelings pumped in his veins making his fingers tremble for a whole different reason.

Jungkooks’ biggest den had been infiltrated by the police, once again with the mayor’s direct orders and the speculations of his hand being involved grew stronger by the day. He knew with all his heart how important it was to keep his business and empire safe but now…

What was more important now?

Something wet dropped onto the paper soaking through the ‘I’ and ‘E’ of the word ‘positive’ bringing him back to reality. Jungkook sniffled quickly, wiping away the tiny trickles of tears escaping down his cheek before opening the door.

“Where is she?” The question posed and everyone’s eyes were on him now, even the maids paused in their tracks to look at him. Could they notice the tears gathering in his eyes? Once again Jungkook had to succumb to feeling like a lost boy who didn’t know what to do without the guidance of his family.

Hair over his face managed to cover most of his distress but Yoongi only had to glance down at the paper clasped tightly in the younger male’s hand to know why.

“She drove out.” He nodded towards the entrance.

Jungkook did not utter another word before practically rushing out of the second living room but immediately paused when Yoongi stood in front of him.

He raised his hands in defense seeing Jungkooks’ glossy eyes burning into him at the disrespectful action. “Sorry, sir but—I believe your wife wanted to be alone right now.” Yoongi attempted to explain in the most careful way possible. Though his mind conjured much more colorful words. The last person she wants to see is the dickhead who impregnated her against her will.

Anger burned to his very core seeing Yoongi speak to him so casually. “Do you even know where she went? What if she gets into danger?!” Jungkook growled making the maids jump back and frantically continue on with their work.

Fortunately Yoongi had been significantly numbed to acts of intimidation. “I know where she is and she’ll be as just as safe there as she would be here. You don’t have to worry.” He shook his head, trying to keep his voice calm and collected.

“But—” Jungkook held up the paper pathetically, sighing shakily.

“I know…I went to the clinic with her.” Yoongi nodded. “She’s okay. She just needs a little space, it’s completely normal.”

It’s not normal and she wasn’t okay but he really just needed to live right now.

Jungkook had the strongest want to keep fighting and just push past to find her but where would that even lead? Ever since that night, Belle couldn’t even look at him properly. Honestly he didn’t have the courage to look at himself either. All his life his parents taught him that the family customs existed for good reasons. Reasons which kept them alive for so long. As a naïve child he found himself never finding anything wrong with these customs.

Until he had to go through them. Along with dragging the woman he grew to care about into it.

Turning away from Yoongi, Jungkook dragged his feet towards one of the couches in the second living room and slumped down.

“I made her think it wasn’t important.” He stared at the paper, reading the same word over and over again. “My father would always tell me how happy he was when my mother told him she was pregnant.” Jungkook scoffed, his vision blurring a little. “He picked her up and twirled her around right in front of all his men not giving a care if he would look weak.”

Yoongi pursed his lips together leaning on the wall behind him.

“Family makes you stronger, he said. Nothing stronger than family.” Jungkook pressed down the inner corners of his eyes with his index finger and thumb, shutting his eyes tightly to stop any more tears from flowing.

“Anyone can pretend to be happy at first.” Yoongi spoke plainly. “It’s what you do for the next twenty years that actually counts.”

Jungkook licked his trembling lips not completely convinced but it wouldn’t be the first time he succumbed to the alluring beauty of a lie.

Clouds spread out to welcome the heavenly blue and golden warmth as Belle padded across the entrance gardens of the Sangria House. For a second, a few people stopped with their usual activities to stare at her, twist of recognition on their faces. With a sigh Belle hugged her cardigan again being the only comfort for today despite the colour being so harsh on her tired eyes.

Through the entrance doors, she looked around the area like a slightly lost puppy. The lobby used most of the natural light making it look like a beach hut of some sort as the warmth was now replaced with fresh cool air.

Belle hoped with all her soul that the person she wanted could just appear right here out of luck. Unfortunately luck was not a trustworthy friend in recent months.

More eyes now fixated on her presence and a figure even padded towards her; tall with lines adorning his face, tattoo peeking out from his shirt and a smirk playing on his lips.

“Are you open?” The man’s gaze trailed up and down her body. Waft of cologne and tobacco swirling around his aura as he moved closer.

“Excuse me?” Brows furrowed but before she could channel any more of her frustration, a red coat rushed over to her side.

“Sorry, Mrs. Jeon…” The red coat bowed in a meek tone even though it was not her fault in the slightest.

The rude customers’ smile immediately disappeared into a look of despair and fear, widened eyes staring back at Belle. “Mrs. Jeon…” He bowed so low that he almost vanished from her line of vision. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

“Would you have continued on with your shenanigans if I wasn’t Mrs. Jeon?” She glared down at the male.

He gripped at the fabric of his trousers tightly, still bent down as if ready to be flogged.

“I assumed too quickly, Mrs. Jeon. Please accept my deepest apologies.” His voice shook slightly knowing the smallest word to Jungkook about this behavior would end in a whole lot of limbs being lost.

Belle sighed lightly, averting her gaze. “It’s alright. Just make sure I don’t find you doing it again.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jeon…” The man smiled giving repeated bows as he backed away. “You are most kind.”

The man now led away by the red coat, Belle was being hosted by one of the white coats who asked what she needed today.

The previous aching in her stomach seemed to get worse despite getting the fresh air while even the mildest rush of heat from the day increased tenfold when it reached her skin.

Oh god…not now.

“Park Jimin, please. If he’s free.” Belle spoke, her strength wavering a little as every part tried to suppress the pain in her chest pushing something up to her throat.

Giving her another bow the white coat led her off to one of the private rooms.

Once again her feet seemed drag across the floor like the world moved too much to catch up properly. More swirling around in Belle’s head, the bitterness in her throat erupted with cruel strength, forcing her to grip on the edge of the door to steady herself.

“Mrs. Jeon? Are you okay?” The white coats’ hands hovered over her to prevent any dreaded fall but distant enough for manners.

Belle gave her a shaky smile through she still held onto the edge as if her life depended on it. “Just a little queasy…” Stomach clenched again and her mind grew stubborn, only thinking about something heavy being pushed up her throat almost choking her. “Is there a—” She tried to swallow it down but it seemed to get more violent. “Is there a bathroom anywhere?”

Her eyes widened before quickly nodding and gesturing towards the private room. “This has a bathroom, madam.” The younger girl tried to gently lead her inside where a small door stood closed.

Passing the little empty table, Belle felt saliva flooding inside her mouth until drool almost leaked out of the sides forcing her to burst open through the door without waiting for the girl and throwing herself in front of the toilet.

Knees ached against the cold wooden floor, chest lurching painfully as the contents of her stomach spewed out in the form of a burning liquid. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes struggling to breathe, a small part hoping it was over before her stomach lurched again.

She vaguely heard footsteps coming closer before her hair was being brushed back gently and her back soothingly rubbed.

Belle coughed feeling a harsh burn in her chest but finally being able to breathe easy as the nausea faded albeit taking its sweet time. As soon as she turned to the side, a hand towel gestured her way. She accepted it with a rush of gratitude as she wiped off her mouth still letting out small painful coughs.

Glossy reddened eyes flickered over to the side, seeing a familiar pair of sultry eyes and pouty lips look back at her with an expression of concern.

“You okay?” Jimin whispered, hand sliding from her back to her shoulder, squeezing it a little as a form of comfort.

Belle sighed before pursing her lips, more tears threatening to flood out if she continued to speak. So the woman merely shook her head, chin trembling and heart crumbling into pieces. The action alone held more truth than anything she ever forced herself to say.

His expression softened not needing any type of explanation as to why Belle looked so upset. Jimin saw the whole thing with his own eyes. No one could ever come out of that and still feel the same. All he could truly do was pull her close and wrap her into a warm embrace, allowing the woman to sob into his shoulder.

Fingers curled into the lavender fabric, sobs now pushing out of her as Jungkooks words replayed over and over again. All the smiles, laughter and kisses. All of them were fake. Nothing was real. Now more than ever Belle had been forced awake from the fantasy that began to thicken far too much. It stripped down to the harsh reality. When her whole future was taken away in one night.

They embraced until their legs fell asleep before eventually moving over to the main private room. Jimin’s hands still on Belle’s arms carefully guiding her to a seat.

Once the new air brushed in, the nausea slowly fizzled out allowing her to breathe in without feeling like a nasty potion being conjured in her throat.

As the pair sat across from one another a moment of silence lingered. Whether to consolidate the memory of their embrace or just time to adjust to their usual setting, both of them were not quite sure.

Then she spoke in a raspy and exhausted voice.

“I always thought I’d feel like the happiest woman in the world when I got pregnant.” Belle said with her head hanging, tears still freshly formed and a heart that could not seem to stop clenching into itself like it hid from something. “Every time I saw a baby smile…I’d always think…I’m going to have that one day with the man I love and he loved me.” She shook her head before scoffing at the naivety. All those stupid dreams of a happy life filled with love, loyalty and trust. Everything replaced by deceit and manipulation.

Jimins’ could feel the burning behind his eyes watching the broken shell of a strong woman speak out thoughts of a time when she was whole. Fingers twitched wanting to embrace her again but the moment for that passed. Now they both had to come to terms with speaking the truth. “You–you can still be happy…” He winced a little at his own words. “Arranged marriages can—” He swallowed hard. “—they can work out through time.”

Not this kind of arranged marriage. At least some arranged marriage gave the couple a chance to say agree or disagree on things. Here Jungkook merely took a fake girlfriend, then he and his family proceeded to do whatever they needed to her for their own benefit. All she had to was sit there, smile and take it.

Belle smiled at the lavender figure as if to reassure him that she appreciated his help. “It’s—complicated…” She chuckled, a small droplet trickling down her cheek. Averting her gaze, she wiped away her tears quickly with a light sniffle. “I supposed I shouldn’t complain. You probably have it worse.”

Jimin hummed in disagreement, shaking his head. “I feel safer here than anywhere else.” His brows furrowed lightly. “Seokjin—” He stammered a little accidentally calling Mr. Kim by his name. “I know he has a reputation but he’s a good man. Really. Never gets angry unless it’s at customers which is rare. He’s always keeps us safe.”

Eyes flickered to meet his, blinking slowly as her curiosity now peeked more than she ever felt it before. “But…what he did to Taehyung…” Belle gestured towards the table before them which had a half-drunken glass of water near her.

He leaned in and spoke in a whisper. “To protect Angel.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Taehyung didn’t do anything. Why would he get punished like that?” Belle kept her voice soft but loud enough for them to hear. As her words became consolidated in the air and in their memories, something struck in her mind that seemed to muffle everything out for a moment.

Jimin paused thinking over what to say before slowly taking a breath. “His… methods are little—”

Calculated. Planned.

For the first time in too fucking long, Belle could see past this thick veil of confusion. It wasn’t all just cruel fate. Her heart raced so hard it tried to crash through her ribcages and even her toes began shaking from the rush of adrenaline pumping in each vein.

Taehyung wasn’t drugged so Angel could be safe.

Tears dried up and a new rush of determination touched her broken form. Belle leaned in, gaze fixated on his, speaking in a firm tone. “Is there any way I could organize a meeting with Seokjin?”

Taehyung tried his best to suppress the intense heat on his cheeks feelings Angels’ soft hands interlock with his slightly rough ones. Through one of the backdoors, they were welcomed by the bright light of the beautiful day and the beautiful blossoms in all their glory.

Pink, red and purple petals falling to the green ground or continuing to fly through the wind to their own personal freedom. Subtle scent of jasmine and lemons touching his nostrils despite the actual plants being situated all the way at the end of the large backyard. A few angels both red and lavender wore more comfortable clothing rather than extravagant while entertaining their customers. Some of them danced in front of the picnic set up or simply sat with them engaged in light-hearted conversation.

He almost forgot the purpose of their visit to this slab of imaginary heaven as Angel led him past the laughing the patrons and towards the jasmines hanging on the fence just facing all the lemon trees. Taehyung wondered if this was what they used for their tea recipes. The small wonder momentarily halted when he felt himself being pulled under one of the lemon trees.

Subtle scent now became potent in his nose, the heavenly jasmine and citrus mixing with Angel’s sweet vanilla perfume. It would have been overwhelming if Taehyung had not lost his focus when meeting the golden ladys gaze.

Her grip on his hand loosened a little but a few fingers still struggled to depart from one another. “I wanted to say this to you in more privacy. The rooms are always watched.” Angel whispered with a light smile. “I’m so sorry…I was the one who put the drug in your tea.” She hung her head. “I didn’t know it was going to make you sick.” The usual composed walls around her once again opted to fade away when standing so close to Taehyung. “I—I thought it was going to make you feel more relaxed and calm—I didn’t…” Angel paused in her shaky words when she felt his hand cupping her cheek gently.

Taehyung watched her beautiful eyes getting glossier every second she continued speaking, each second his heart sunk deeper into a pit. “Did Seokjin ask you to do it?”

Angel pursed her lips, blinking frantically to get rid of the tears forming. “Yes.”

He scoffed averting his gaze, rush of heated fury erupting in his belly. “They’re all the same.”

“No…” She shook her head immediately holding onto his arms. “Taehyung, look at me.” The leaves rustled in a gust of wind causing her hair to flow over her lips a little. “Seokjin isn’t the man you think he is.”

Taehyungs’ brows furrowed searching her expression to find some sense of delusion or lack of surety but the woman looked collected as normal. “What kind of a man is he then? Who drugs their own customers for intimidation?” He seethed more so directed at Seokjin than the beauty before him.

Angel glanced quickly to the side ensuring that nobody was close to listen in. “The helping kind. Taehyung, if he was anything like Jungkook you’d be dead by now or he’d never allow you to see me ever again.” Her own heart jumped at the very mention of the idea. “Seokjin would never do what Jungkook did to your sister.”

He tightened his jaw as his stomach twisted and leaped causing an ache in abdomen. “What?”

“I know about the deal.” She whispered. “Seokjin told me as soon as you walked into Sangria House.” Angels’ bottom lip trembled moving one of her hands to caress his cheeks.

“How much did he tell you?” Taehyung swallowed down hard.

“Everything. He always does.” She smiled sadly, brushing her thumb over his temple. “I’m glad you’re okay.” Her smile quickly disappeared however as she halted her actions. “But your sister isn’t.”

“What can I do?” He muttered leaning in closer with the guise of being secretive but really he desperately wanted to close the distance between them. “Please tell me.”

Door opened gently by Jimin who quickly bowed as soon as they walked inside. A rush of cold air flowed through even Belles’ thick cardigan gushing from the air conditioner swirling with the soft linen waft of cologne. Seokjin sat at his table in the middle of writing something out on a paper before he peered through his glasses to see the two figures walk into the room. A calm expression across his handsome features as per usual despite clearly being disturbed in his work.

Belle padded further inside, fingers intertwined with each other and her posture at its perfect stature determined to look her most composed.

Seokjin quickly stretched a smile across his plump lips before standing up as a sign of respect. “Madame Belle, it’s always nice to see you.” He gave her a nod. Eyes flickered over to Jimin who stood politely in the corner looking a bit confused as to what he was supposed to do. “Thank you for escorting our prestige guest here, Jimin.”

It was a kind but clear sign that the lavender adorned male could leave the vicinity for their private conversation.

“Jimin can stay.” Belle glanced towards him before facing Seokjin. “I trust him if you do.”

Silence plunged into the room as both males still attempted to figure out just what Belle was trying to do or say. However Seokjin had to suppress a smirk at a few theories conjuring in his mind. He gestured for the two of them to sit at the vacant chairs.

Jimins’ confused gaze flickered from Belle to Seokjin before quickly closing the door of the office and following the woman to the chairs, sitting down as soon as she did.

Belle brushed away any creases on her dresses as she situated herself on the chair, the chill creating goosebumps on her bare skin.

Seokjin pushed away his blazer careful not to crease the ends as he sat down. Sighing happily, he smiled at the both of them leaning back on the chair. “What can I do for you, Madame Belle? Has Jimin been doing something inappropriate?”

The lavender males’ heart jumped frantically looking over at Belle with wide eyes.

“No. In fact the reason I wanted him here is to thank him…for helping me answer a question I could never wrap my head around.”

“And what question is that?”

Belle searched his expression, heavily impressed with how he could keep such a composure. Deep down she almost worried that her theory might sound silly at the end. “Why would a man with such a heavy security system in his facility—and security guards the size of buildings feel the need to drug a potential threat?” She squinted lightly.

Silence plunged into the room like a welcomed disease as Seokjins’ smile appeared back again even wider. “Well…I have less than glorious methods sometimes but it’s all to protect my beloved angels. Especially my wife.” He explained in the most rehearsed way possible even though they both knew it was merely a dialogue recited many times for people more gullible.

“Angel was never in danger.” The corner of her lip twitched as her goosebumps dialed down through the warmth radiating inside. “Your angels are always safe. At all times. The second something goes wrong, the guards are there in seconds.” Twitching turned into a steady smirk that for the first time Belle did not have to think about or force. “You knew that.”

“Knew what?” Seokjin asked, much to Jimins’ confusion, the man looked utterly pleased with the exchange.

“You knew Taehyung would never do anything to hurt Angel.” Belle shook her head. “You just needed an incident…the perfect incident to get anyone who could carry a simply vial to the Jeon mansion.” She chuckled softly at her own gullibility despite her cried out eyes burning in the harsh cold wind. “The most foolproof infiltration. Make Jungkook’s beloved girlfriend think her brother was terribly sick and sneak a police officer in to play the medic just at the right time.”

The older male grinned brighter than Belle or Jimin had ever seen it. Clearly this was not a dark secret he meant to keep from the woman otherwise the conversation would have turned into something a lot more different. “I must say, Ms. Belle…” Seokjin leaned in and rested his elbows on the table. “I’ve been at this for years now—possibly longer than Jungkook has been leader. Never once did anyone decide to question me or my involvement in traitorous behaviors. Why do you think that is?”

“Because you’re a powerful man.” Belles’ smile faded away for a moment. “They won’t question anything you do even if they know it’s wrong—because you can make them lose everything with a flick of your fingers.” She pursed her lips together. “I’ve already been one of them once…I’m not doing it again.”

Seokjin nodded slowly, noticing how her gaze mended from shattered shards to the woman who was ready to pick all the pieces up and mend herself together. “And who are you now? Mrs. Jeon Jungkook? Kim Taehyungs’ sister? Or Madame Belle?”

It always came down to this, didn’t it?

In a series of mind breaking and heart clenching events, one rushes out of the woods to find themselves wondering if they were the same person who entered in the first place. Was she still the same little sister who desperately wanted her brother to get better? Was she the perfect wife for Jungkook? Or was she the designer striving to be as successful as Saito herself?

Maybe Belle was all of them combined. Or none of them and this was all a sick dream playing out in her head but it couldn’t be.

The path in front of Belle now split into two; a fork awaiting her to step into to lead into a future that might make more sense than this one.

This felt too real. It didn’t feel good or satisfying nor did it make her feel relaxed.

This was real. It was time for her to wake up and draw the curtains on this fantasy.

Sun began moving over to the other side when Belle drove back to the mansion after feeling a significant brush of relief in her body.

For the first time she walked through the door with an air of both confidence and a little fear when her hand caressed her belly. You’re not going to be born in this mess. I promise. Padding across Belle smiled at Jongho who waited politely just at the entrance before returning a smile of his own with a nod.

Inside the main living room, Yoongi paced around biting down his fingernails mostly trying to stop himself from drinking something at the bar. Not that it would help since it was full with fucking apple juice. He wished he bought a coffee earlier but in his past experiences a boost of caffeine almost never helped with stress.

Footsteps made him pause in his tracks. A rush of calm pulsed through him when Yoongi saw Belle walking towards the male. “Jesus fucking Christ…” He whispered padding closer. “You okay?”

The woman stayed silent, completely dried out of tears and Jimin comforted more than enough. Now the only thing left was that feeling of exposure when the truth finally revealed itself. She felt naked in front of it but free from the lies. “I just went out to the Sangria House, I was safe.” Okay was a difficult word to associate with her right now.

Yoongi nodded fingers curling into themselves before he repeated the same action at the payphone.

“Taehyungs’ there too, I’m told.” Belle didn’t get a chance to catch him but she now knew that Seokjin had no intentions of hurting him in the first place. “Where’s Jungkook?”

He gulped, averting his gaze and gesturing towards the stairs. “He—read the report. Hasn’t come out of the room yet.”

Stomach started doing leaps again, fear rising that she might have another episode with her head over the toilet. Belle hummed mulling over her thoughts before leaning into his cheek and pressing a chaste kiss. One couldn’t even truly call it a kiss, just a light press of her soft lips against his burning skin. When she pulled away the woman smiled proceeding to cause more heat to bundle up inside him. “Thank you.”

Yoongi merely breathed out a sigh unable to speak as Belle gently walked past him up the stairs.

He felt the guards’ eyes on him, some of them judging his reddened cheeks while others smirking. Quickly clearing his throat Yoongi bolted towards the guestroom.

In the same gentleness Belle did earlier, opening the door with care peeking inside briefly before completely entering and closing the door behind her. Turning around Jungkook sat at the edge of the bed just as she was the first time they came into the mansion. His head hung, dark locks forming a slight curtain while his hands rubbed his face, light sniffling riddling the air mixing in with the strong stench of tobacco.

Gaze flickered over to the study table to see a few used cigarettes including one still exuding smoke almost halfway used.

The woman winced accidentally taking a big waft when she tried to breathe in causing her to cough and break the silence.

Jungkooks’ head shot up hearing the sound, quickly jumping off the bed and rushing to the study table. Picking the cigarette he roughly pressed it against the ashtray waving the smoke away from the woman. “I’m sorry.” He muttered in a slightly shaky voice.

“For what?” Belle padded towards the bed to her side, placing her bag on the nightstand before carefully sitting at the edge. Her legs melted into the soft surface finally being able to rest physically at least. Lazily she swung them over fully onto the bed after taking her shoes off, shifting back she rested her back on the headboard.

Jungkook leaned on the edges of the table before hanging his head again. “For everything.”

The vague answer was always the easiest.

Belle reached out for the throw blanket and placed it over the bare parts of her legs providing extra comfort and warmth. “You were stressed, I should’ve waited.” She replied simply.

“You shouldn’t have to wait to tell me something like that.” He shook his head finally turning around to face her. “Six weeks.”

“Six weeks.” Belle gulped, fingers beginning to tremble a little. “I had to make sure.”

Jungkook blinked slowly before nodding as he padded over to his side of the room, pushing off his shoes. Sitting against the headboard the male let out a small sigh as he unbuttoned one more button on his white shirt to feel less constricted. “How big would it be right now?”

“Probably the size of a peanut.” She looked down at her belly and instinctively caressed it.

He immediately flickered down at her belly, still unable truly to understand how a human was going to grow in there. Despite the things Jungkook had seen in his life this was going to be the most surreal of them all. “You’re important to me, Belle.” He reached out and placed a hand over her belly. “Both of you.”

Belle moved her fingers over his and caressing the back of his hand slowly.

“Everything’s a mess right now I can’t—” Jungkook sighed leaning on the side of his head against the headboard. “I can’t think straight.” With his biggest den taken down, one after the other like a cruel domino effect his empire seemed lose each of its pillars. At the same time he had to try and pick all the pieces while protecting the standing pillars making his mind curl up into itself. As if a survival mode to get away from extreme stress.

She shook her head, patting his hand. “It’s okay.” Belle whispered knowing the word lost all its meaning a long time ago.

Jungkook tilted his head to search her expression watching the dull sunlight shine onto her locks making them look golden. Like a sailor being allured to the siren, he leaned in and pressed a kiss on her cheek and another on just on the corner of her lips. “I want you to be happy.” Nose nudged against her cheek.

Belle closed her eyes momentarily feeling his hot kisses against her skin, heavy remnants of tobacco on his breath forcing her to breathe through her mouth for a while.

Pulling away, the male shifted to lay his head on Belle’s lap facing her belly and blanket covered thighs used as a pillow. Finger traced at the little creases on the dress from her sited position as Jungkook relished in the scent of her perfume hopefully masking his cigarette riddled one. “It doesn’t matter what happens to the empire.” He whispered, gaze fixated on her belly. “So long you’re both happy…I’d give everything else up.”

Her heart swelled for a brief moment as Belle allowed herself to succumb back into the comforts of his words. His beautiful lies. “Do you promise?” Shaky hand moved to brush through Jungkook’s hair.

His gaze flickered up to meet her glossy one, giving her a soft smile. “I promise.” Jungkook looked back down at her belly caressing her skin through the clothing. “I’ll always keep you happy.”

Belle bit down her bottom lip to suppress the sob being forced out of her, closing her eyes shut tightly to stop the tears but they merely created constellations on the womans’ lashes. Letting out a small sigh she relaxed into his touch, struggling to swallow down the lump in her throat.

Quickly for one of the final times Belle forced herself to stretch a smile across her lips.

I’m not happy.

Cheeks finally cooled down as Yoongi leaned back on the chair of his temporary bedroom, dark as the thick curtains perfectly shielded him from the sunlight. Fingers scratched at the fabric of the armrest not thinking of anything in particular but merely drowning in an empty zone away from reality just for a few moments. He grew accustomed to this feeling after seeing one too many dead bodies of children.

Two knocks rapped on the door before it opened to reveal the senior maid, Nana. “Hello, Master Osamu.” She smiled closing the door behind her and walking further inside to do her usual cleaning starting with fixing his bed up.

Yoongi made it himself but unfortunately not the way that it was usually designed to fit the aesthetic of the house since most of the fancy cushions were on the floor. “Sorry I’ll—” He tried to get up from the chair.

“No no it’s okay. This is my job after all.” Nana chuckled picked up all the cushions and threw them onto the bed to make it easier for her to organize them.

The younger male smiled and relaxed back onto the seat with a light sigh.

“You did well. Helping Mistress Belle like that.” She muttered placing all the bigger pillows close to the headboard then the medium ones just afterwards.

Yoongi chuckled nervously observing her actions and how effortlessly she put everything in place when it took his entire soul to neaten the blanket. “What’re friends for?” He pressed his lips together in a thin line.

Nana smirked, fluffing the larger pillows. “Just friends?”

Eyes widened at the sudden change of tone from the older female making him stammer a little as he spoke.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, boy.” She continued speaking casually while wiping off the collected on the side lamp. “This isn’t just an undercover mission anymore and you know it.”

Yoongi could have sworn his core shivered hearing those words so easily fall from Nana’s lips without a damn care in the world. Glancing over at the door of his bedroom, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “How did you—”

“I raised Jungkook, you think I wouldn’t be able to see a rat under my nose?” Nana continued to keep her gaze anywhere but the younger male pretending like they were either having a regular conversation or none at all since Yoongis’ tongue seemed to lose its purpose. “Don’t get so scared. I don’t rat police officers out, you’re doing the right thing.” She neatened up Yoongis’ things on the nightstand. “Every king needs to be taught that they can crumble just as easily as a servant.”

Once everything stood in order, Nana stood in front of the male with a bright smile. “And every servant knows when to help the right people. I clean Jungkooks’ office too.” She gave him a bow and turned on her heel to leave the room.

Needless to say Yoongi was heavily reminded of how Namjoon and him were not the only ones who wanted an end to Jungkooks’ reign.

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#jungkook #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook mafia au #bts mafia au

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randomfandomimagine · 4 years

Text

Heal My Heart (Cloud Strife x Reader)

Characters: Cloud Strife

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Tags: Reader Insert, Gender Neutral Reader, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Injury, mentions of blood, sexual/romantic tension

Word Count: 2,2k words

Requested by anon: Hi :) may I request a Cloud Strife ficlet in which Cloud gets hurt in a battle and the reader patches him up and it's all very charged and filled with tension (since Cloud has to be shirtless and all)? Or it can be the other way around and the reader gets hurt and Cloud awkwardly but tenderly tries patching her up and is very conscious of being close/having to touch her body?

A/N: I was really excited about this one, and although I struggled a bit until I fixed some things I wasn’t happy with (big shoutout to the lovely @xionroxas for helping me with it!) I now love the result and I hope you do too!

Your first battle together had been very different from what you imagined. It was a strange point in your relationship with Cloud, past the friendship that used to bind you yet not quite reached the romantic part that you both seemed interested in. Hence, all your encounters were slightly awkward with the romantic tension repressed between you.

After lots of insisting on your part, Cloud had finally budged and accepted to let you come with him on this encounter. Your arguments, he had to admit, were strong and valid. No matter how capable he was, Cloud wasn’t invincible and as you predicted, he was outnumbered. Luckily, you were there to have his back. Even if he was worried that you would get hurt, which you did.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment now” You scoffed, noticing the tight wrinkle on his brow. “You got hurt too, didn’t you?”

“I told you it would be dangerous”

“Yeah, and I knew that already”

He still didn’t say a word as you both made your way back. Just the thought of putting up with a silent seething Cloud made you exhausted. Or maybe it was the injury that you were hiding from him even as your ankle and knee throbbed under the fabric of your clothes.

Comitting to his brooding demeanor, he silently opened the door to his room. You sneaked in before he could close it in your face and leave you to the loneliness of your own room.

“What are you doing?” He scowled at you as you followed him inside.

“Someone has to patch you up, right?” You tiredly pointed to the tear in his tank top, there where a small amount of blood still seeped through his stomach.

“You’re so stubborn” Cloud only replied, resigning himself. His eyes watched you as you closed the door behind you and went to get the first aid kit.

“Yeah, yeah, like you’re any better” As you faced your back to him, you paused for a moment. A sudden lump formed in your throat and tears stung in your eyes. In all honestly, you hated to feel this harshness between you.

Hanging your head low, you told yourself that he wasn’t the warmest person. Even on your best moments, he had never been openly affectionate... but he could be very sweet and tender when he wanted to.

When you heard the sound of his sword being leaned against the wall and the springs of the bed complain as he sat on it, you forced yourself back to reality. Clutching the first aid kit in your hands, you turned to him.

It was then when you realized where his wound was. And that you needed better access to it in order to properly treat it. Cloud frowned, staring at you, and you just hoped you weren’t blushing at the words you were about to say.

“Take your shirt off, Soldier” You dryly said, even if your voice shook a bit.

“Ex-Soldier” He corrected as usual, but didn’t move at first.

Exasperated, you rolled your eyes at him and tilted your head. Cloud sighed and obliged, removing his tank top over his head and carelessly throwing it on top of the bed.

Your breath hitched at the sight of his bare torso and you couldn’t help but to stare. There was a scar on his chest, right above his fresh wound. Despite his pale skin tone, he was slim and his muscles were defined. You gulped, having to remind yourself what you were doing.

“Any problem?” He asked, noticing your hesitance.

“N-No” You hurried to kneel down in front of him to hide yourself, being careful with your injured leg. “It’s just worse than I thought”

Your hands worked fast as they drenched a piece of gauze in alcohol and quickly applied it to his wound. Cloud groaned in pain at the sudden movement, and his hand flew to yours. He had taken his gloves off at some point, so it made direct contact with your skin. His palm lingered over your hand even as you looked up at him and locked eyes.

“Sorry” You could barely hear your low voice over the drumming of your heart. “I’ll be more careful”

He gravely nodded, slowly letting go of your hand. Immediately you missed his touch, his warmth, the rough texture of his calloused hands. You parted your lips, ready to tell him to do it again, to touch you, to forget the coldness that hung in the air and hold you. Until you remembered that you needed to treat his wound.

Resigned to your metaphorical distance despite your physical closeness, you sighed and carried on with your task. You gingerly pressed the gauze against his stomach. This time he didn’t flinch.

“What is it?” Cloud’s voice broke the heavy silence that had established.

He had noticed your inner turmoil. After all, he knew you as well as you knew him. You took a moment to reply, refusing to voice your genuine thoughts. Instead, you asked something that was starting to weigh down on you.

“Are you still mad at me?” You piped up after several more seconds.

Cloud sighed himself, averting his gaze when you glanced up at him again.

“I was never mad at you” Was his reply, still refusing to look at you.

You knew him far too well to realize what this meant. Angrily picking up a bandage to cover his wound, you shook your head at him.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this, it was my decision” Even if your tone held anger, your fingers continued to be gentle. “And I’m fine, just a few scratches here and there”

“Right” As soon as you were done patching him up, Cloud tugged at your arm.

Surprised that he was pulling you up, you gasped. He was strong and determined, and effortlessly pulled you to your feet as he stood himself. Mustering all self-control you could, you repressed the grimace that wanted to occupy your expression as you were forced to stand on your injured ankle. Despite your efforts, however, you stumbled forwards a little with a yelp.

Cloud was quick to hold you by the hips, keeping you in place. You stared at him, surprised that he seemed so ready to catch you. Almost like he knew you would stumble.

“Head rush” You lied, and Cloud frowned in response. Your gazes locked for several seconds.

Feeling closer to him in every way, you opened your mouth to say something. He broke the instantaneous connection. Not saying a word, he moved you so you swapped places with him and carefully shoved you down onto the bed, taking the spot he was sitting in just a moment ago.

“Cloud?” You asked in confusion, watching as he carefully picked up your foot. His grip around your ankle was loose and yet it brought a pang of pain. “Ow!”

“Hurts?” He solely asked, and heat immediately flushed to your face.

“You’re really strong and...” Watching how he delicately propped your leg up on his knee, you interrupted your poor excuse. “What are you doing?”

“You were limping” Going along with his raspy voice, his eyes were severe as he peered at you. It was now your turn to avoid his eyes.

Cloud didn’t say anything else, shielding in the silence as he gently rolled your pants up to reveal your ankle. When his bare fingers delicately traced up your skin, you couldn’t help but shiver. He carefully put pressure in different spots, and although most of them hurt, you never wanted him to stop. The invisible barrier that was always between you had finally broken and his touch was tender and more wonderful than you could ever imagine.

“It’s nothing” He muttered, forcing you to look into his eyes as he stared into yours. “You’ll be fine if you don’t strain it”

“Thanks, doctor” You joked, standing to your feet once more.

Again, Cloud reached out and held you by the hips when you inevitably stumbled. Your faces were suddenly extremely close, and you could see a faint blush appearing in his cheeks. The heat on yours betrayed the same flush.

When Cloud rearranged his hold on you, however, you yelped out in pain. He gasped before he could ask anything when your hands met again with his.

“Oh” You breathed in relief, remembering about the mild wound you had nearly forgotten about. “Just a scratch, a bullet grazed me”

Cloud’s brow furrowed as he frantically moved, carefully sitting you down again and going to take a look at it. His fingers, however, stopped at the hem of your shirt.

“Uh...” He gulped, shyly taking ahold of it. “Can I...?”

Wrapping your fingers around his hand, you pulled at it and lifted your shirt just enough to reveal your wound. Cloud focused his gaze on it, relaxing his shoulders at the realization that it was nothing grave even if his eyebrows lingered on their frown.

His touch was still gentle as he prepared the gauze and pressed it, drenched in alcohol, against your wound. It smarted, but you refused to complain. Instead, as Cloud treated the superficial injury, you observed him. It was hard to miss how he was careful not to let his fingers touch your skin if he could help it. Nonetheless, his cares were tender as he covered the wound for you.

You smiled to yourself at his face of concentration, and especially at the reddish tone his face had acquired. It made you remember all the reasons why you had feelings for him, even if you had unknowingly pushed them away after your argument.

“Did I miss something?” Cloud asked, putting everything back on the first aid kit.

“Yes, heal my heart” You replied without thinking, your gaze following him as he stood to his feet. You did the same, holding on to his shoulders to support yourself.

“Y/N...” When you regained that closeness, Cloud moved his head to the side.

“Just play along...” You begged, hoping that he would for once. It was exhausting that every time you tried to make a step forward, he took two steps backwards.

The brief silence that followed made the tension in the air all the more evident. It was not an angry one like before, yet one filled with unspoken words, sweet nothings that were never pronounced.

“How?” He said after heaving a resigned sigh.

“Give me hope” You wrinkled your forehead, feeling frustrated tears arriving to your eyes. “Say something, anything...”

He didn’t. Cloud stayed quiet as usual. Tense and uncomfortable.

Letting go of him, you dropped your head in defeat. You gave up. Tears started rolling down your eyes. You had been convinced that you were in the same page, that you had feelings for each other despite the walls you both built around them. Maybe you were wrong, maybe you say something where there was nothing. You thought Cloud cared about you, but maybe he was just resigned to your attempts. It was so tiring, and so painful...

“It’s useless...” You whispered to yourself, feeling your shoulders convulsing with sobs. Trying not to let him know, you tried to repress any sounds, although some small strangled noises left your throat as more tears blurred your vision.

Ttwo arms suddenly envelopped you, urgently shoving you against his bare chest so tightly that it made sense that you couldn’t breathe. Utterly shocked, you just stood there, arms by your side, without even realizing you could return the hug. The tears froze in your eyes and the tightness that had arrived to your chest lessened.

“When you screamed and I saw you fall, I was terrified” Cloud whispered, nuzzling your neck. “That what you wanna hear?”

A nervous yet genuine bout of laughter escaped you. Just then, your arms finally moved and wrapped around him in return. His skin was soft and warm.

“I’ll take it” You replied, relieved that he tore down his walls. At least, some of them.

Cloud chuckled against your ear, and you heart skipped a beat at the wonderful but unexpected sound. Pulling away, you looked up at him.

“Is that a laugh I hear?”

“No”

His arms left you, but you weren’t going to let him win this time. You smiled, and to your surprise you saw a glimpse of his smile before you put your arms around his waist and hugged him again.

“We should rest” All the accumulated tension left you as you pressed yourself against his chest. “I think the worry got to your head”

He scoffed, even if his arms returned around your frame.

“The pain got to your head” Was his response, which made you smile. That was the Cloud you knew and loved.

Despite your words, however, none of you moved to get some rest. Instead you stayed there, holding on to each other. You stood there, with your hands leaning over his bare built chest, with his hands resting over your hips in the small bit of skin exposed under the rolled up shirt. You both stood there, claiming something you craved and that you hadn’t allowed yourselves to have. Until now.

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @anxiouslyreckless / @xionroxas / @dancewaterdance02 / @little-faerie-artist / @x-joie-x / @honeybunhanbin / @legallyblindgamer727 / @goodmorningawfulbye / @trunks-kiwi / @ron-sparky-speirs // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, let me know!! // Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

#rfi writings #ficlet #cloud strife x reader #ff #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #ffvii #final fantasy vii ficlet #ffvii ficlet #cloud strife #cloud strife ficlet #reader insert #requested #faves

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stucky-ficrecs · 3 years

Note

theres this stucky fic and i read it years ago basically i think steve quit the army and lived in a small town and started this sculpture and everynight the new part of it would talk to him and when he finished it becomes real and steve sculpts bucky

Try these Pygmalion AUs!

let life so transform me

nerddowell

Again Pygmalion kissed him; and he felt his breast; the ivory seemed to soften at the touch, and its firm texture yielded to his hand, as honey-wax of Mount Hymettus turns to many shapes when handled in the sun, and surely softens from each gentle touch. - Ovid, Metamorphoses 10.vii

exquisitely painful

dottie_wan_kenobi, Madara_Nycteris

Based on the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea.

She reaches out and caresses his cheek. “You’re a good one, Steve. That’s why I’ve brought you here.” His brows furrow but he doesn’t interrupt as she moves and sweeps an arm in the direction of the man. “This is James. He doesn’t yet live, but he will one day soon. And you, my dear, you will be the one to make him.”

“What?” Aphrodite wants him to, to what? Give him life? Steve can barely take care of himself, much less create life and possibly take care of it for any amount of time.

She regards him with the air of a queen, of a goddess. “Consider this a mission, Steven Rogers. I want you to build me a statue that looks like this man, that is this man down to the smallest details, and then I will reward you. Do you accept?”

Salt & Stone

tumtatumtum

AU- A modern retelling of the myth "Pygmalion & Galatea", where Steve is a veteran who goes about sculpting as a form of therapy.

Only to fall in love with his statue and wish desperately it would come to life.

#artist #mythology #Anonymous

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anobscurename · 4 years

Text

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART VII — masterlist

concept: a drunken game of never have i ever leads to a failed skinny dip and high sexual tensions, as well as some cuddling and late night confessions. the slowest of slow burns, part eight of many. can be read solo.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: strippin', mild alcohol abuse, sexual tension, aNgSt

author's note: by far my favourite chapter so far, i'm so in my feels about this one. the thing at the end is a more or less direct quote from one of chris' interviews, adapted slightly to fit the story. now if you'll excuse me, i'll be crying in the corner :) prepare for an emotional rollercoaster—

Never Have I Ever was a dangerous game.

Never Have I Ever, mixed with truth or dare and maybe a touch too much alcohol? A lot worse.

The rules of the game were simple: propose something you've never done, or had always wanted to do, and if the other person had done it, they'd drink. But there was a catch: should the person who had done it wish it, they could dare the other to do it. If they refused, they had to do another shot, and the game would continue.

There were three things responsible for why you were outside in the chilled night air stripped down to your underwear.

The first to blame was Chris.

You could still remember his ever-so-cocky proclamation, already pouring out a shot for you to take. "Never have I ever gone skinny dipping."

Any doubt he had in his mind of whether or not you had – his assumption unfounded and vaguely unwarranted, but no less true – was immediately banished by your exasperated sigh and your taking of the shot glass from his fingertips.

Which led you to the second thing to blame: alcohol.

Alcohol had you loosened up and far too familiar around him, more bold and daring than sobriety would care for. You always prided yourself on being able to speak your mind, but around Chris, you were often rendered speechless. Or at least a bit more censored.

And so it was alcohol who set you up for the third to blame: yourself.

The shot went down easy – it was the fancy stuff, with a smoother texture than anything you'd ever consumed before, often only being able to afford the cheapest shot on the menu (often reminiscent of rubbing alcohol) when going out with friends – and was followed by an undaunted request slipping past liquored lips. "Alright, well, I dare you to go skinny dipping."

It didn't sound like you, but it was entirely you. And once the words were said, there was no taking them back.

An unidentifiable look crossed Chris' face, gone almost instantly, replaced by the furrow of his brow in mild confusion, before morphing into a lopsided mischievous grin. "Only if you come with me."

And so there you were, half naked and shuddering in the breeze that toyed with the ends of your hair.

"You were being serious?"

Chris had come outside to join you, and you found a hint of annoyance at the fact that he was still fully clothed.

"Deadly," you managed to get out past the chattering vibration of your teeth.

"You do know that skinny dipping means fully nude, right? Otherwise it doesn't count."

"I know," you bit back. You had your arms folded over yourself, suddenly self conscious under his heavy gaze.

He made no effort to disguise his appreciation, alcohol clouding his better judgement. Heated blue eyes raked over your figure, languid, slow. The tip of his tongue darted out to swipe across his lips.

His lids were hooded, easily dropping into a cheeky wink.

There was something about his hungry gaze on you that ate away at all inhibitions, and you dropped your arms, revealing yourself fully to him.

The way his breath caught was almost entirely inaudible, but you heard it nonetheless as you stalked forward, adding a confident sway to your hips. "Take off your shirt."

The command was so assertive, you surprised even yourself.

He didn't hesitate, immediately shedding the article of clothing and tossing it carelessly to the side.

His eyes were fixated on you, his breaths heavy and stuttering. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears as your heart rate picked up.

As you drew closer, his eyes became more visible. The pupils were blown out – consuming almost every and any hint of blue – and there was something unmistakably feral lurking in the depths.

You were practically chest to chest, so close your breaths mingled, carrying the taste of liquor, so close you could feel his erratic heartbeat syncing to your own.

A tentative hand raised itself, finding purchase on his chest. His skin was searingly warm against your cold fingertips, and it was either their chill or something entirely else that caused the shiver to run unbidden down Chris' spine.

"I need you to do something for me," you whispered. Your voice had taken on a sultry tone, one that had Chris' eyelids fluttering.

"Anything." His voice was husky, low. Intoxicating. "I'll do anything."

His head was ducking lower, his attention solely dominated by your lips, the way the lower one was caught between your teeth in an almost shy nibble, such a stark contrast to the assuredness of your voice and actions. When you spoke, your voice was a honeyed hiss. "Don't fight it."

And then you pushed.

So preoccupied with you – everything about you – he had been, that the push into the awaiting water of the pool wrenched a strangled yelp of surprise from him.

Your laughter was loud in the still night air, a stillness that was broken also by the sudden splash and the many more to follow as Chris floundered in the water.

When he resurfaced, he was livid.

"That wasn't fair."

"Fair was not on the books, Evans." Your apologetic smile was entirely negated by the amused lilt in your voice.

"Come on, help me out." He waved you over to where he was standing, somewhat dangerously close to the edge. Almost, but not quite, within arms reach of you – you stood just beyond his grasp. His hand was extended expectantly, eyebrow cocked. "These jeans aren't chlorine friendly."

"Sorry to spoil your wardrobe, Captain Armani, but how stupid do you really think I am?"

You had seen it a thousand times before: someone asks for help to get out of the pool, only to have the naïve saint fall victim and pulled into the icy depths. You were no saint, and you certainly weren't going to fall victim. Specifically not to Chris Evans, and his adorable pout, and those oh so enticing ocean eyes.

He sighed, disheartened, slapping the water to splash you.

The squeal that tore itself from your throat was nothing short of hilarious as you dodged the droplets.

Chris waded to the edge, propping his hands on the side of the pool.

The very act of him pulling himself out of the water was sheer hypnotism at its finest. Water rolled off him, glistening like a thousand stars in the moonlight. The rippling water – lit by the lights in the pool – cast waving patterns all along his back, the dents of his muscles being lost only to be highlighted again.

You watched him, mouth slightly ajar in awe, as he hoisted himself out of the pool, twisting his body to land, sitting on the edge, jean clad legs dangling in the rippling water.

The sound of wet denim slapping on the pool tiles from him sitting was enough to snap you out of it.

He was breathing heavy, the shock of the water still working its way out of his system as he gazed up at the sky, hands running through his dirty blond hair to slick it away from his face.

He looked beautiful. He looked beautiful, and suddenly, it registered to you that you had been about to kiss.

Was that why you had pushed him? Panic? Sheer unholy panic at the prospect of a drunken kiss?

You swallowed thickly and reached a shaky hand to his shoulder. You were so close you could feel the warmth radiating from him, but you weren't touching him. Not yet.

When he spoke, his voice was strained. "What are we doing?"

At his words, your hand dropped to your side. His shoulders tensed momentarily – almost as if they had sensed your closeness and coiled in anticipation – before they slackened. He slowly turned to face you.

By the time you recognized the look, it was too late.

You hit the water, breath crushed from your lungs as you struggled to reconcile sudden wetness with the events that occurred.

With lightning quick efficiency, Chris had grabbed you and all but thrown you over his head, face first in the water.

You sputtered as you clambered for purchase, finally finding somewhere shallow enough for you to stand.

No sooner had you broken the surface, Chris had leapt into the water again, sending a fresh wave over you.

You splashed him directly in the face. "It's not funny, asshole."

"Oh, on the contrary, sweetheart," he grinned. You almost wanted to punch yourself for the way you melted just a little at the pet name. You were angry, not whatever this was. "It's hilarious."

——————

After a considerable amount of time had passed, you both dragged yourself from the water, laugh drunk and not anywhere close to sober in spite of the shock the cold had introduced to your system.

That was evident enough in the way Chris caught you as you almost tripped on your way out of the pool.

"Woah, hey, easy now," he chuckled.

Your thanks was a playful shove of his shoulder before you staggered over to your clothes. You groaned, shivering in the night, your underwear doing nothing to preserve heat. Your clothes were wet; an unhappy side effect from all the splashing and messing around in the pool.

You sighed, pretty sure your lips were already turning blue.

That was when Chris merely – but oh so sweetly – extended his discarded shirt to you in offering.

A silent exchange passed.

You shook your head, he raised his brow. He waved the shirt insistently. You rolled your eyes, plucking it from his water pruned fingers, and quickly pulled it over your head.

It smelled like him, and you almost deluded yourself into thinking it was still warm from his body. If anything, it was just a much needed layer against the cold.

After you had collected your things, you both darted inside, almost visibly relaxing in the sudden wave of warmth.

Dodger, who had remained unconcerned with your late night swim for the most part, raised his head in acknowledgement before flopping back down in his bed to go back to sleep. It was almost laughable to think of him as the energetic furball he was earlier that day, but then again, he had every reason to be exhausted.

Chris silently excused himself to his room – wet feet slapping loudly on the ground, jeans heavy with water and dripping – and you quickly slipped off your bra in his absence, worried it would soak through his shirt.

It had already begun to smell more like chlorine than him, and you felt an inconsolable – and, in the grand scheme of things, highly minuscule – loss.

You sank down on the couch, waiting for his return. He had only managed to get you out of the pool with the promise of a movie to wind down the night, and he had even given you the highly sought after privilege of choosing said film.

"Oh, so now you decide to put on a shirt."

Chris had come back, clad in soft grey sweatpants and a white short sleeve that must've been a size too small by the way it clung to his muscular frame. "And you've still neglected to put on pants. Typical."

You rolled your eyes, shifting to give him some space on the couch.

"So," he started, almost apologetically. "I know I said you could pick the movie but we have a rule in this house – Disney movies only, so you'll either have to be very persuasive or have to endure my singing..."

———————

You were a lot of things – avid film fanatic being one of them.

You could safely boast having watched all Harry Potter films in one sitting, dashing to the bathroom only between end credit sequences, and ordering takeout – perfectly timed to the end credits as well – and consuming cereal as your main forms of sustenance.

You weren't going to call it healthy, but it certainly was impressive.

So why, only halfway through The Little Mermaid, were you feeling the onset of drowsiness beginning to claw your eyes shut?

It must've been the alcohol. You could still taste it on your tongue, thick in the back of your throat.

And although you tried to fight it, your eyes were drifting shut with every passing song, every one of Chris' adorable performances and–

You woke to your cheek pressed against something warm and... moving?

You opened your bleary eyes. At least you tried to – you were still on the precipice of falling back asleep. Your pillow stirred, and suddenly, you were wide awake and fully aware of your surroundings.

You were in the lounge, on the couch, where you had fallen asleep on–

"Hey."

Chris greeted you softly, the warmest of smiles on his lips. He had been idly scrolling through his phone as the credits rolled, the movie having finished not a minute before.

Through the windows, darkness stretched towards the sparkle of the inner city, and in your clouded head, you registered Chris' hand carding gently through your damp hair.

You heard the distinct sound of Chris' phone locking as he set it aside, attention fully on you now. It was almost instantaneous, the way his face lit up seeing you.

"I..." Your tongue was still heavy with sleep as you tried to untangle yourself from him to no avail. Exhaustion was still thick in your body, and it was obvious to him, too. "I'm sorry, I must've fallen asleep."

He shushed you, the rumble of his voice soothing you. "Don't worry about it, just go back to sleep..."

It didn't take much convincing on your part.

At the recognition of his consent, you all but fell back down onto him.

You were almost grateful; the weight of his legs – entwined with yours – was somewhat reassuring and near impossible to extricate yourself from in your current state. Not that you even wanted to.

He hadn't the heart to tell you that one of his legs had gone to sleep about ten minutes ago. Not with you lying on him, looking so calm and at peace. Something stirred in his chest.

And a full blown heart attack was almost brought on by what you murmured next, muffled by his chest but no less audible.

"Hey, Chris?"

He hummed in response.

"Why me?" You were fighting the sleep that was slowly claiming you again, and that question had been nagging at you since you had first moved in. You just never had the courage to ask it, but with more alcohol coursing through your system than blood...

You didn't need to elaborate. He knew what you meant. Why you, exactly.

"I live in hope everyone has these experiences, whether it's someone you met and spent the whole night with, or even a meeting that lasted five seconds at a train station. Moments that were so personal and so special, it was hard to explain to somebody else."

Emotion was thick in his voice, but it was almost entirely lost on you. You nodded slightly in understanding, encouraging him to finish.

"I decided that I wanted you in my life, and when I saw you again, it was almost like the universe was giving me a second chance. It was like it was telling me to not let this one go."

And he didn't. At least not until morning.

#dina writes #i'm fifty shades of SOFT #chris evans #chris evans fluff #chris evans angst #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans/you #chris evans/reader

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years

Text

The Last Night Part XVIII

(A/N at the end)

Parts I-XVII:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

.XVIII.

“Oh for Raziel’s sake,” said Cordelia to James, both of them out of breath after escaping out of the Institute’s staff quarters to avoid a run in with any number of visitors coming and going out of the Institute. James led Cordelia into the back gardens; through the thick overgrown hedges to the back of the barn where the rumbling and sputtering of an automobile sat spilling out black smoke from a pipe behind one of the four wheels. Lucie stood with her fists planted on her hips while Matthew lay half inside of the exposed engine that reminded Cordelia of the inside of a clock with a number of gears and parts moving at once to give the machine life. Cordelia brushed some leaves from her hair and said, “He really does have an automobile.”

James grinned with a smudge of dirt across his cheek. “What did you expect?”

“In all honesty, I’m not sure what I expected,” said Cordelia, just as the car omitted another wheezing cough and cloud of black smoke. “Is it safe?”

“Most of the time.” James raised a dark eyebrow.

Cordelia was not reassured. “What does it run on?”

“Matthew’s sheer will and determination, apparently,” said James and started towards the car again. He looked behind them to be sure no one had seen or followed. The last thing Cordelia’s mother needed was to see her injured daughter climb into an unreliable, unbelievably loud automobile after being in a magically induced coma for the past week healing from demon poisoning— amongst other things she could not remember— with the man she’d ruined her reputation for. She recalled the hope in her mother’s eyes at seeing James and her standing together in the sitting room, even if Lucie and Matthew were not far away. And after seeing James’s wrists free of Grace’s bracelet, she couldn’t deny the small, however incessant, pang in her chest that admitted she might harbor some hope herself. He hadn’t made any admissions of his affections for her that lead beyond friendship and camaraderie, but unless she was terribly mistaken, there had been a look in his eyes when he walked into the Institute and found her standing there with Lucie that went beyond relief.

But she’d been so very wrong before. Perhaps Grace asked for the bracelet back again after the incident in her bedroom. It was entirely a possibility; one that made Cordelia burn red. If that was the case, she possessed half the mind to find Grace Blackthorn and hit her over the head with a flower vase for not seeing what stood in front of her, offering his love and devotion freely, while she toyed with his emotions like a petulant child unable to make a decision at an ice cream parlor.

She turned to James just as a lofty wind picked up and blew the thick tendrils of dark hair away from his face. She recalled what it felt like to run her fingers through his hair, the texture like fine silk and color deeper than onyx. The smell of sandalwood and fighting leather gripped her senses. How she ever thought leaving London would erase or ease her feelings for James Herondale, she wasn’t sure. It would take so much more than time and distance to eradicate him from her mind.

“Brave Cordelia,” teased James with a smirk. “Are you afraid of an automobile?”

“I was not aware I gave the impression of being afraid,” said Cordelia, adjusting her stance.

“You have a look.”

“A look?” She scoffed. “I’m a lady. We have a plethora of looks that could mean a number of things, all at once, and have nothing to do with what we appear to be looking at at the moment.”

James’s grin softened. “What are you thinking about then? If not the tragic death of four Shadowhunters that have met their end in a fiery accident. If it’s not too bold of me to ask.”

“It is,” said Cordelia, but smiled despite herself for James knew she didn’t concern herself with the proper and improper rules of society. Much to her mother’s chagrin, she’d always led herself with more sensibility than sense.

“You must forgive me then,” said James. “I will keep my assumptions of what a lady thinks to myself.”

“But you so often get it wrong!” laughed Cordelia. “However will you survive in society?”

“I have Matthew to guide me,” he said, just as Matthew released a string of profanity inside the engine of the car; several of which insulted the integrity of his mother. James grimaced. “That was incredibly poor timing.”

“Or was it perfect timing?” Cordelia nudged him with her shoulder. “It is a wonder you two have survived this long.”

She felt James look over at her, but kept her attention on Lucie as her friend climbed behind the wheel of the automobile and grumbled while following Matthew’s instructions on which pedal to press and release with her foot and how to move the long gear shift. She reminded Cordelia of one of the suffragettes that her mother both despised and admired on the covers of the mundane news articles. Women dressed in trousers riding around on bicycles and learning to drive automobiles.

“What of the children?” cried Sona as she threw the article in the trash.

Do they not have fathers? wondered Cordelia to herself, but did not dare upset her mother further or she’d risk having her entire day ruined with a lesson on proper, respectable women in society— even Shadowhunter society. One could come home covered head to toe in demon ichor, but to sit on a bicycle or drive an automobile was entirely out of the question.

“You’ll have to assist me then,” said James. “Lest my assumptions continue to be incorrect.”

“I have no doubts that they will,” said Cordelia just as the car lurched forward with Matthew still half inside. Lucie screamed, but managed to stop the car again, which sent Matthew’s dangling legs into the air.

“Are you trying to kill me?” He yelled as his pale head of hair emerged from the car’s engine.

“We’d better go,” said James.

Cordelia agreed. “It would appear so.”

“The beast moved, did it not,” said Lucie, her grip white around the steering wheel. “Was that not the objective?”

“Not while head first in the engine,” said Matthew as he combed sweat and hair away from his face and walked around to the driver’s side of the car. “Slide over before you damage him beyond repair.”

“Him?” said Cordelia as she and James approached the squabbling pair. “I know ships are usually given the pronoun she. Is this not a type of ship?”

“Cordelia meet Algernon,” said Matthew as he adjusted his driver’s gloves.

“Algernon,” said Cordelia and looked to James. “As in?”

“Do not get him started,” said James as he climbed onto the bench behind the driver’s side and made room for Cordelia beside him.

“Where to?” asked Lucie. “Do make it someplace sweet, Matthew, not the local pub.”

“I know a place,” said Matthew and cleaned a smudge off the glass shield in front of him with his elbow. “Everyone set? Cordelia, are you comfortable?”

While the plush leather seats were rather comfortable, she suspected that was not what he meant. “Let us finally settle the debate of which is the better form of travel.”

“Hold tight to your coronet’s, ladies,” said Matthew as he forced the stubborn gear shift down and pressed his foot to a pedal. The car lurched forward sending Cordelia gripping the front bench with her hand. James sequentially did the same when his hand covered the top of hers. He didn’t remove it right away, whether to give off the impression that he had done it on purpose or because he simply didn’t want to, Cordelia wasn’t sure, but she found herself glad for it.

Matthew drove them through the city until the buildings and cobblestone roads transformed into countryside with rolling green hills and tiny cottages with smoke drifting out of the chimneys and acres of sheep that would bleat and scatter whenever the car would cough. Cordelia watched out the window as the landscape changed again and she could see the faint blue line of the ocean in the distance.

“What do you think?” James leaned into her, his mouth brushed against the crown of her ear so that she could hear him over the sound of the engine and the wind. The small touch sent goose flesh across her shoulders down her arms.

“It’s really not so different from a carriage,” said Cordelia, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. “It does seem to be a bit of a faster form of travel and more efficient than readying horses and carriage.” They hit a bump in the rough dirt road that shot Cordelia into the air and back onto the bench nearly careening into James that had her clutching her still tender ribs.

James took notice of this and pulled himself forward from the bench in front of him to tell Matthew to slow down.

“Don’t worry yourself,” said Cordelia, still clutching her waist and bursting in a fit of laughter. “I’m fine. Honest.”

“Your brother will both have my head if I don’t return you in better form than when we left,” said James as the car shifted to a slower gear.

“Are you afraid of my brother?” laughed Cordelia. “He has a bad leg now, so I’m sure you can take him on. Besides, it’s my mother you should be worried about. I can manage Alastair, but my mother will have both of our heads if I return injured.”

“Your mother adores me,” said James, as he rested his arm on the back of the bench behind Cordelia and turned on his hip so he could face her.

“Quite confident of that, aren’t you?” said Cordelia, aware of each time the car jostled her shoulder into James’s chest. “Oh, but she wait until she learns the truth.”

Cordelia meant it to be teasing and hadn’t thought about the implications of her statement before she said it, but it didn’t take long after when James removed his arm from behind Cordelia and turned to face forward again. His expression turned solemn and thoughtful as he looked to the horizon where the sky and the sea split in two different shades of blue in a clean even brush stroke.

It took her a moment to realize what had caused him to withdraw and felt instantly dreadful. “James,” she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“It is still I who should be apologizing to you, Cordelia,” said James, and his eyes met hers with a sincerity that stole her breath and made her want to look away. “What I did— there is no excuse or explanation—“

“You needn’t say anything else,” said Cordelia, holding his gaze. “It is forgiven.”

Matthew parked the car on the side of the road as close to the shore as he could manage without getting the wheels stuck in the sand, but they still had quite a ways to walk to get to the water.

James offered Cordelia his hand as she exited the car and then his arm as they trudged up the sand dunes and through the thin bursts of green shrubs towards the sound of the waves breaking against the shore. Noisy seabirds squabbled on the breeze around them. Lucie and Matthew walked a ways ahead; a blue diamond shaped kite with a white ribbon tail flew over Lucie’s shoulder as she walked.

Cordelia held tight to James’s arm as she managed to uneven terrain in impractical shoes. She wished she had her training boots on rather than the laced boots her mother chose for her. His hand rested on his stomach, drawing her attention back to the vacancy of his wrist.

It seemed a personal thing to inquire, but she’d told him a bit of her truth in the weapon’s room, but he hadn’t had the chance to tell her his.

“It’s not my business to ask,” said Cordelia, gathering her courage. “But what happened between you and Grace? You’re no longer wearing her bracelet.”

James looked down at his bare wrist. “You noticed that, did you?”

She nodded. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I understand.”

“The water is just over this way,” yelled Lucie over her shoulder from the top of a sand dune. Pieces of her hair came loose and floated around her face in the breeze. “Oh, it’s absolutely beautiful, Cordelia. You’ll love it.”

James started up the hill, helping Cordelia along the way, except when both of their feet sunk into the sand. “It occurred to me that night, after you left, that I couldn’t wear the bracelet with the same intentions as I had done before.” He climbed up a few feet and turned around to offer Cordelia his hands. She took them and let him pull her up until she was beside him.

“When I left you were still madly in love with Grace Blackthorn,” said Cordelia, careful to watch her footing and not look at James.

“Possibly,” said James, “but she was not in love with me. I’m not even sure that she liked me to be honest.”

“Impossible,” said Cordelia, helping James this time as they both approached the top of the dune. “You’re very likable.”

James grinned. “I’m pleased you think so.”

They reached the top of the dune. Cordelia looked out at the endless miles of water and Lucie ran down the beach with the kite behind her while Matthew held the line; their shoes abandoned on the dry sand. Cordelia took a deep breath of the salted air.

The last time she’d seen the ocean she was just a young girl on one of their family trips to London. Her mother never did care for the sand everywhere and the wind, but her father loved the ocean. He loved it so much in fact that whenever they had the chance to go, he’d bring along a bijou glass vial and fill it to the cork stopper with sand and water to take back with them as a souvenir. He had all kinds of souvenirs like those glass vials in his office at their home and a story for each one. She never understood why until now. Some moments needed more than just a memory to remember them by. Some moments needed a tangible thing so that one can look at it and be instantly teleported back.

“So you removed the bracelet? Why?” Cordelia asked, her eyes locked on the kite that Lucie managed to finally get airborne. She felt James’s gaze on her, but willed herself to not return the look in fear that it would reveal something of herself that she was not yet ready or willing to reveal to James— not until she knew more.

How she wished she could reach into his mind, to know his innermost thoughts. It seemed an awfully violation of one’s privacy that she wouldn’t want to inflict upon anyone, but even now James kept the truth tucked away.

Before James could answer, Matthew appeared beside them. His mane of wild golden hair, usually perfectly coiffed was now wind thrown away from his face. His cheeks were bright pink with the crisp wind and bits of sand stuck to his skin like freckles.

“You should come fly the kite with us” said Matthew. “The water is bloody freezing, but you grow accustomed to it after a few minutes. Lucie is trying to manipulate me into looking for seashells.”

“James was just telling me about the bracelet,” said Cordelia.

“Oh that wretched cursed thing,” said Matthew. “Can you believe it, Cordelia? The entire time it was the bracelet forcing James to be in love with Grace through some kind of spell. Bloody brilliant that you’re finally rid of it.”

James grimaced as Cordelia gasped. “I hadn’t gotten to that part yet.”

Matthew looked between the two of them, and promptly turned forward again, dusted the sand from his trousers and pointed at Lucie. “I’m just going to see if Lucie needs help with the kite. It can be quite temperamental, and she has such delicate hands.”

James began to explain, but Cordelia already started down the side of the dune towards the beach. Careful not to jostle her tender ribs too much as she slid down the loose sand. James said her name, but she was too angry to stop and listen. And how was she to know if he were telling her the truth anyway or just some version of it that he manipulated to be suitable. And why, after everything Grace had done would he still be lying to protect her?

She resisted the urge to pick up a handful of sand and throw it at him.

On the beach, his hand encased her arm, slowing her enough that he could get in front of her. “Please, let me explain.”

Cordelia crossed her arms across her chest. “How will I know you’re telling me the truth or just some lie you’ve conjured to protect her?”

“I wasn’t trying to protect her,” said James with a desperation unlike himself.

Cordelia scoffed and made a feeble attempt to move around him. But James was too fast. He side stepped back into her path and moved a step closer. “I was protecting myself. When you left that night, I wanted to rip that bracelet off of my wrist and throw it into the fire. I wanted to run after you and beg you to stay. But I was still blindly in love with Grace and I didn’t want to hurt you anymore than I already had. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be in love with two people. I still don’t. And I thought I was being selfish asking you to stay, but I think internally my head and my heart were battling Grace’s spell. Fighting to reveal the truth to me, but I wasn’t strong enough to take it off myself. I wasn’t strong enough to go after you. And I will forever be ashamed of that, Cordelia, I will never forgive myself for the pain I caused you. I didn’t want the bracelet to be just an excuse for what I’d done. I wanted to earn your forgiveness myself. Instead, I just seem to keep making a mess of things.”

The shadow of a smile lifted Cordelia’s mouth. “It truly is a wonder that you have survived this long.”

James took a step closer. “I meant what I said that night you left… I don’t want to lose you. Now that I have you back, I am trying to do everything I can to convince you to stay.”

The wind had moved the clouds back in, blocking the warmth of the sun, and the first drops of rain fell around and on them. Yet a warmth filled Cordelia as his words registered in her mind. He wanted her to stay. He was no longer tied to Grace Blackthorn and he wanted her to stay.

“Cordelia! James!” Lucie cried from up the beach. “Come on! Mathew won’t let us get into his car wet!”

Cordelia looked from Lucie back to James. She closed the space between them, her hands braced against his chest as she leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm against her lips and she felt him stiffen and shutter underneath her palms. The rain on his skin brought out the scent of sandalwood and his fighting leathers.

His hands held her waist.

“Thank you,” she said. James’s cheeks had colored. “For being honest with me about everything. I would very much like to stay and help defeat Belial in whatever way that I can.”

“And after?”

“In the event that we survive and he does not successfully possess… anyone,” Cordelia shrugged. “Well, we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

The sky seemed to open up around them, pouring down rain and shaking the ground with a distant thunder.

James opened his jacket with the audible snap of buckles. He swung it over his head and moved to invite Cordelia underneath with him as they ran back to the car where Matthew and Lucie were waiting with the cloth hood pulled up.

The rain followed them back into London. The inside of the car filled with laughter and conversation and song from Matthew who seemed to only remember a fraction of the lyrics in which James would help guide him back onto the right track. Cordelia’s cheeks and ribs hurt from the incessant laughter as the automobile wheezed and coughed into the back of the Institute.

Lucie ran in first, her boots splashing through the mud and puddles before she disappeared through the staff entrance door.

James exited the vehicle before Cordelia and held his jacket over her head. They both said their goodbyes to Matthew and ran through the downpour towards the house, James’s jacket doing little to stop them both from being drenched.

Once safely out of the way of the automobile, Matthew drove away into the night. They reached the small porch outside the entrance door but before they went inside Cordelia asked the question that had been bothering her since his confession on the beach.

“Why?” She asked, even though she’d thoroughly convinced herself of the answer, she wanted to hear it from him.

Rain drops slid down his face and coated his thick, dark eyelashes together. His eyes narrowed at her sudden outburst. “Why what?”

“Why do you want me to stay?” Her breath swirled around them in the cold, London night. She began to shake from the cold. “And if you tell me it’s because you feel guilty and have this great need to repay some favor to my family, I—”

James closed the diminutive space between them.

His mouth touched hers. A small tender kiss to start. Then another kiss, a little higher up. She stilled from her shaking. He pressed another kiss near her jaw while her fingers slid down to his chest to feel his heart pounding against his leathers.

She scooted closer to him until they were pressed against each other as he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue between her lips and twining it with hers. The taste of him... she moaned. In response to her, he immediately wrapped his arms around her, pressing her fully against him.

Cordelia slid her hands over his shoulders and up into his hair and tugged on it. He gave a low groan of approval and his tongue pushed back, pressing into her mouth and plundering it. His hands began to slide over her curves, caressing them possessively.

Cordelia could feel her heart begin pounding and gasped against his mouth as he continued to kiss her. He nipped at her lips. She felt...golden. She’d been longing for him for so many months. Dreaming of kissing him again. She never let herself believe that it could actually be real.

A flood of light covered them both as the door was wretched open.

Cordelia, still enveloped in James’s arms, turned and blinked in confusion at the silhouette standing in the doorway.

“I’ll kindly advise you to step away from my sister,” said Alastair with disdain and reached out to pull Cordelia inside.

(A/N: Good evening! It is 11:30pm, so as long as I post in the next half hour, I will have met my deadline. I am sorry for the wait, but I hope it was worth it. I had a ton of fun on this chapter. Especially the second half when things get a little bit spicy. I hope you guys enjoy reading it. As always please give it some love, reblog for others to read, and comments are always read and appreciated. Please be safe out there, stay healthy, and I’ll see you all 10/18 for the next update. It’s 11:45, I made it!)

#the shadowhunter chronicles #james x cordelia #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #jordelia fanfiction #the last night fanfiction #cassandra clare #chain of gold #the last hours #Matthew Fairchild #lucie herondale #james and cordelia

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