~Series summary- This series follows Jungkook and you in their daily (and nightly) lives as newlyweds figuring out how to balance real life with their very real obsession with each other. From late-night distractions while he’s working, to kitchen counter makeouts, laundry room “accidents,” or teasing games on rainy mornings, every chapter explores little moments that make up their big love.
~Pairing: Husband Jungkook × Wife Y/N
~Genre: Domestic AU, slice of life, comedy, smut, romance, fluff, established relationship
~Warnings- Mirnors dni, 18+
✨
a/n- oh my godd.... Okay!! This is my First(yay) series, cant believe I'm doing this! We are almost near 100 followers 😭I'm so excited and happy and this is kind of a gift for u guys. You guys are amazing🤩, I hope u read more and more and more of my work cuz I love to write for u guyss💋.... So i thought it was now time to like actually post smth good! So here it is. This series actually shows what married to be jungkook feels like. Like u can't resist hhim🤤 he's just so good at not even doing anything, he's such a husband material in this👀. You'll be in love with him! Thanku so much for whoever asked me to write and I'm glad u did and I'm on the second ask rn💅🏻, soon will be posting it. Asks are open, put all ur love and heart on whatever u want me to write.✍️ And tell me if u want me to put u in the taglist. U can comment💬, and I'll just do it for you!!
It’s almost midnight when the living room lights are still on.
Your husband’s hunched over his laptop, lip tucked between his teeth, hair messy like he had been running a hand through his hair a thousand times(he might have), his forearms tensed and veiny as he types. He’s wearing that loose black tank top you hate—because it’s your favorite—and it distracts you more than anything. You peek into the room with the blanket in your hands, barefoot and quiet, watching the glow of the screen dance on his focused face. The gentle clicks of his keyboard mix with the low hum of your heater. You know he’s working, he told you he’d only need "twenty more minutes" almost an hour ago, but...
You're cold. You're needy. And he’s right there, looking so damn good. So you walk over without a word. “Still working?” you murmur, already swinging the blanket open.
“Yeah, almost done, baby. Just need to—”
You drape the blanket over his head and yours, shutting out the rest of the world. He freezes when you crawl into his lap, one knee on each side of his thighs, pressing your chest against his. He blinks at you.
“Y/N…”
“Shhh,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his cheek. “I missed you.”
His hands instinctively find your waist beneath the oversized hoodie you’re wearing—his hoodie, of course. The blanket forms a little cocoon around you both, soft and warm, muffling the clack of the keyboard and the buzz of responsibility.
You feel him sigh, muscles relaxing under your palms. One of your hands glides up to his shoulder, fingers curling behind his neck. “Can’t work forever,” you murmur, brushing your nose against his. He grins. “You’re trouble.” But he closes the laptop anyway. You kiss him slowly at first. Gentle pecks to his lips. Then a firmer press. A suck. A teasing bite. His lips part under yours, and the kiss deepens with a soft sound. His hands slide lower, cupping the curve of your ass, pulling you tighter into his lap so your warmth melts right into him. You can feel him getting hard beneath you already.
And you? You're already breathless. He kisses like he’s starved, like he missed you even though you were only in the next room. His tongue licks into your mouth and your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging the bun loose until strands fall over his forehead. He moans softly when you pull his hair. “Fuck, baby,” he whispers, nuzzling against your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “You just decided to distract me like this?”
“Mm-hmm,” you hum innocently, dragging your teeth along his throat. “Is it working?” His hand slides up your hoodie and palms your breast. “You tell me.”
You moan, gasping when his thumb brushes your nipple through the fabric of your sleep shirt. It’s dark and warm under the blanket. Breathless. Intimate. The smell of him—spicy shampoo, skin, and mint gum—is stronger in the enclosed space. His mouth crashes into yours again, wet and sloppy, with needy tongues and whimpers that you can’t tell apart anymore. Your hands explore him like a map you’ve already memorized. The smoothness of his cheek. The curve of his jaw. The thick column of his neck that flexes when you kiss beneath his ear. And his chest—God, his chest. You push his tank top up and splay your palms over his pecs. Firm, warm, and flexing under your touch. “You really hate this tank top, huh?” he teases, voice rough with lust, pulling away just to breathe. “I hate how much I love it.”
“You love me more, right?”
You squeeze both pecs at once. “Mmm… jury’s still out.” He chuckles darkly before grabbing the back of your head and kissing you hard again. His other hand cups your breast more firmly now, massaging, pinching, rolling your nipple between his fingers until you arch against him. “Jungkook…”
“I missed your sounds,” he breathes, lips dragging down your neck to your collarbone. “You sound so pretty when you’re wrapped around me like this.” He leans you back slightly, so your spine arches into the gentle curve of his arm. He kisses down your chest, then shoves your hoodie up impatiently, revealing your bare breasts to the warm air between you. He groans. “No bra?” he murmurs, licking his lips. “God, you really came here with a plan, huh?”
“I came here cold,” you pant as his mouth wraps around your nipple, sucking hard. “You made me warm.” He pulls off with a wet pop and grins. “Damn right I did.” His hands are everywhere. Squeezing your thighs. Grabbing your hips. One hand slides up your back and fists your hair while the other continues fondling your breast. The blanket shifts slightly, slipping from his shoulder as he shifts you closer. “Wait—” you breathe, laughing as you reach back and yank it up over both of your heads again. “Our warm bubble!”
"Our warm bubble can wait,” he growls, rolling his hips up into you. You feel the heat of his cock through both your thin shorts and his sweatpants, and it makes your entire body buzz.
“Jungkook,” you whimper, rocking against him. He grabs your ass, helping you grind harder. The thick bulge beneath you twitches with every sound you make, and soon he’s rutting up into you like he can’t take it anymore. “Fuck, I need to see you,” he grits, yanking the hoodie off your arms completely. “So fucking beautiful like this. On top of me. Under a damn blanket like we’re teenagers about to get caught.”
Your face burns. “We’re married.”
“So?” he smirks. “Still feels dirty.”
He kisses you again—sloppier, rougher. You’re both panting, your mouths never quite closing. There’s tongue, lip, teeth. He licks into you like he owns your mouth, like it was made for him. His hand cups the back of your head, his thumb caressing your cheek even as the kiss turns messier. You moan loudly when he sucks your bottom lip. “You're so fucking sexy when you come bother me like this,” he groans. “So needy.”
“You like it.”
“Love it.”
He grips your hips and lifts you slightly, just enough to slide his sweatpants down. You do the same with yours, giggling when it gets tangled in the blanket. “Fuck it,” he mutters, helping you wiggle out of them. Now your bare cores are pressed together, separated only by the heat of anticipation. He grabs your waist, grinding you down on him again. “I should be mad,” he hisses, teeth sinking into your shoulder as his tip drags against your wet folds. “You know how long I’ve been trying to finish that report?”
“You’ll finish me first,” you whisper, brushing your lips against his ear. He growls. That’s it. That’s all it takes for him to snap. With one hand, he lines himself up. The other fists your hair, tugging your head back gently so he can kiss your neck, your jaw, your lips as he slides inside you—slow, inch by inch. You both gasp. “Holy shit,” he pants. “So fucking warm. Always so fucking tight. Your nails dig into his shoulders. “Jungkook—”
He shushes you with a kiss. "Let me feel you, baby. Just sit for a second." You do. And it’s overwhelming. The way he stretches you, the way his cock pulses inside you as he holds perfectly still, arms wrapped around your back. You bury your face in his neck, moaning softly. “You okay?” he whispers. You nod quickly. “So full.”
“You’re perfect.”
Then he starts to move. It’s a slow, grinding rhythm at first. He thrusts up and you grind down, moaning into each other’s mouths under the blanket that’s now half-tucked around your shoulders. The laptop’s long forgotten. The only sounds in the room are wet kisses, gasps, and the slap of skin. You pull on his hair. He moans and bites your collarbone. He grabs your breast, squeezing while he rocks deeper. “Fuck, I love your tits,” he groans. “Love how they bounce when you ride me.” You clench around him. He feels it and grins. “You like that?” You whimper. His hand slides between you, thumb finding your clit. Your whole body jerks. “Ah—Jungkook—”
“Cum for me, baby,” he breathes against your mouth. “Make a mess on my cock. Wanna feel you lose it.”
You move faster, grinding and bouncing now, as he matches your pace. His grip on your hair tightens and he kisses you messily, biting your lip, licking the whimpers from your mouth. The blanket falls off your shoulders entirely now. You don’t care. The heat between your bodies is enough to keep you sweating. Your walls flutter. Your thighs tremble. Your hands are gripping his pecs now, digging in as you gasp. “I—I’m gonna—”
“Cum,” he growls. “Now.” And you do—shaking, moaning, biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. He wraps both arms around you and fucks you through it, whispering sweet filth into your ear.
When your body goes limp, he lifts you with strong arms and lays you on the couch, hovering over you. “I’m not done,” he whispers. “Good,” you pant. He pushes back in, harder this time, no restraints, gripping your thighs and kissing you like he’ll never get another chance. Your blanket falls to the floor. Neither of you notice.
---
Later, when you’re sweaty and boneless, tangled together under what’s left of the blanket, you giggle against his chest. “That was supposed to be a cuddle.” He kisses your forehead. “You climbed on top of me in nothing but a hoodie.”
“I was cold!” He laughs, rubbing your back. “Next time just say you wanna make out under a blanket.”
“…Can we do it again later?” He tilts your chin up and kisses you soft. “Absolutely.”
When the truth came out that Viper was the one responsible for exposing your identity, the boys were furious.
Furious didn't even begin to cover it.
They were ready to hunt him down themselves.
It took considerable effort to talk them down, reminding them that acting on their anger would only make things worse.
As much as they wanted Viper to pay for what he'd done, the potential consequences weren't worth the risk.
Besides, no amount of retaliation would undo what had already been done.
Eventually, the boys begrudgingly accepted that fact.
You agreed with Thomas that what mattered now was moving forward and face it head-on.
…
Every day, you called home to check on your grandparents, apologizing over and over again for dragging them into such a difficult situation.
Your kindhearted grandparents, however, weren't the least bit angry. They admitted that having reporters camped outside their home and following them around had been a hassle, but they never once blamed you for it.
Thankfully, after about a week, the reporters finally gave up. The constant crowds outside the house disappeared. The security team remained for a few extra days just to be safe, before eventually leaving as well.
…
Although you didn't owe anyone an explanation, you decided to indulge the endless stream of texts flooding your phone. Message after message, you answered questions and satisfied people's curiosity until they finally left you alone.
It was exhausting.
Still, you knew that if you ignored them, they would simply turn their attention to your grandparents. They had already been dragged into enough trouble because of you and you refused to let them endure any more than they already had.
...
You distanced yourself from social media, unwilling to potentially deal with the emotional whirlwind that came with it. Seeing your private information spread across the internet was unsettling enough without reading thousands of opinions from strangers.
Slowly but surely, just as Thomas had predicted, the chaos began to die down.
It didn't disappear entirely. The news lingered, occasionally resurfacing, but you were no longer the center of everyone's attention.
After all, reporters and journalists could only devote so much time, effort and resources to a single person and a single story. Dating Rafayel, a celebrity idol, didn't make you a celebrity yourself. You were simply an ordinary person living an ordinary life. There was only so much information for them to uncover before they ran out of material.
Fans' curiosity had been piqued, then gradually satisfied. What had once been breaking news eventually became old news. The same articles, photos and recycled information no longer generated the same excitement they once had.
New stories emerged. New scandals broke. New rumors spread.
The world's attention moves on.
——————————————-————————
The boys come shuffling into your bedroom, lingering awkwardly in the space of the room, their faces etched with worry and nervous anticipation.
You eye them suspiciously.
“Who did what?” you ask, sounding like a mother questioning children who have clearly been up to no good.
The group exchanges guilty glances.
“Cutie,” Rafayel starts, taking a cautious step forward. “I...we...have something to confess”
But nobody elaborates. They just continue looking at one another as if hoping someone else will do the talking.
“If you had to pick one of us to date, who would it be?” Caleb blurts out.
You blink as your brain struggles to catch up to the question.
“Is that a trick question?” you ask slowly.
“That is not how this was supposed to go,” Zayne sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What Caleb is trying to say,” Xavier continues, “is that...we like you.”
Your brows knit together in confusion.
Sylus groans from the back of the group before pushing his way forward.
“Allow me,” he says. “We're all romantically attracted to you and would like to know how you feel about us. Our 'like' is that kind of like, kitten.”
“Oh.”
You rub the back of your neck awkwardly.
“I care about all of you,” you admit. “Equally. But I can't say whether my feelings are the same as yours.”
“Then allow us to take you on a date,” Zayne suggests.
“Separately,” he clarifies. “It may help you better understand your feelings.”
“I don't want to give any of you false hope,” you say carefully.
“We've already discussed all the possible outcomes,” Rafayel admits.
That gets your attention.
“If you choose one of us, we'll accept it. If you choose none of us, we'll accept that too. Whatever happens, it won't change how much we care about you.”
The room falls silent.
Five pairs of eyes watch you anxiously while you consider their proposal.
After a long moment, you finally nod. “...Okay.”
——————————————————————
The first person to take you out on a date is Rafayel.
You chuckle to yourself, imagining how Rafayel had most likely whined, pouted and complained long enough for everyone else to surrender and let him have the first date.
You have no idea where he's taking you.
The drive is short.
An enormous aquarium stands before you.
Rafayel takes your hand and leads you inside.
The indoor facility is massive, allowing visitors to get up close to thousands of marine creatures, walk through underwater glass tunnels and explore countless aquatic ecosystems.
You wander from tank to tank, marveling at the sea life around you.
Some fish are brilliantly colorful, darting through the water like living rainbows. Others look downright ridiculous, while a few seem as though they belong in a horror movie.
Sharks glide through the water. Stingrays drift overhead like floating kites. Sea turtles paddle lazily through the massive tanks.
The touch pools give you the chance to touch sea stars, rays, shrimp and several other small marine creatures.
You stop to read every information plaque.
The ocean has always been one of Rafayel's greatest passions and he eagerly shares facts and stories about every creature you encounter.
To your amazement, you even get to watch a mermaid show.
You lean closer to Rafayel.
“If you ever get tired of being an idol,” you whisper teasingly into his ear, “maybe you should audition to become a merman.”
...
After several hours of exploring, the two of you reach the souvenir shop near the exit.
You browse the shelves before spotting a glitter globe.
Instead of snow, shimmering glitter swirls around inside. At its center rests an open clam shell and perched upon it is a little mermaid.
...
Next, Rafayel leads you up several flights of stairs to a restaurant located on the aquarium's rooftop.
The restaurant is packed with guests, but Rafayel had reserved a table ahead of time.
As you stare at the feast spread across the table.
“This feels kind of illegal,” you say, lifting your glass toward Rafayel. “We literally just spent hours looking at live fish.”
Rafayel raises his glass.
“Oh well.” You say, happily digging into the seafood.
...
Rafayel drives you back to the villa, but neither of you goes inside.
Instead, you're walking along the shoreline.
Eventually, the two of you settle onto the beach, wrapped comfortably in each other's arms as you watch the sunset in comfortable silence.
Slowly, he lifts a hand and tilts your chin upward with a single finger.
When his lips meet yours, you find yourself smiling against his lips before returning the kiss.
The kisses become more heated as you both fall backwards into the soft, warm sand.
——————————————————————
Sylus doesn't tell you where he's taking you for your date. The only hint he gives is that you should wear something comfortable and easy to move around in.
You cling tightly to him as his motorcycle glides through the city streets.
When he finally parks and you remove your helmet, your eyes focus on the bowling center before you.
“I've always wanted to go bowling!” you exclaim, clapping your hands together excitedly.
Of course, most people simply rented shoes and picked a bowling ball from the rack.
Not Sylus.
Sylus has brought his own equipment. For both of you.
He leads you to your assigned lane. As you sit in the booth to change your shoes, you notice your names displayed above the alley.
“I'll go first,” Sylus announces, picking up his bowling ball. “Watch how it's done, kitten.”
After a smooth run-up, he releases the ball.
It glides down the lane and crashes into the pins.
Strike.
Sylus turns toward you with a smug expression.
You're smiling brightly at him.
“Are you that happy to watch me score, kitten?”
You lean back against the booth, draping an arm across the backrest.
“Actually,” you drawl, “I'm quite content just watching you play.”
You punctuate the statement with a wink.
Sylus throws his head back and laughs - a deep laugh that rumbles from his chest.
Then he extends a hand toward you.
You grab your own bowling ball. You realize it's heavier than you expected.
He positions you in front of him as patiently he walks you through the proper technique.
When you're finally ready, you release the ball.
It rolls down the lane and three pins fall.
“How about a challenge?” you suggest knowing Sylus loves challenges.
“If I win, you teach me how to ride a motorcycle.”
“I would've done that regardless if you'd asked, kitten.”
He chuckles. “But sure.”
Then he leans closer. “And if I win…” His voice drops lower. “...I will teach you how to ride…me.”
A thrill runs down your spine.
You suddenly aren't sure whether you want to win or lose.
Lifting your chin, you meet his sharp gaze.
“Deal,” you say confidently. Then a teasing smile tugs at your lips. “Although, I don't really think I need the lessons.”
…
Sylus wins.
By a lot.
A staff member approaches you to inform you your food is ready.
The two of you head toward a table near the entrance.
Waiting there is an assortment of diner-style comfort food - burgers, fries, onions rings, milkshakes and more.
“This isn't exactly gourmet dining,” Sylus says. “But I know you've been craving it.”
...
Later, you're back on the motorcycle, your arms wrapped securely around Sylus's waist as he cruises through the city at a leisurely pace.
At a red light, several motorcycles pull up beside and behind you.
The riders begin exchanging hand signals with Sylus.
“What do they want?” you ask through the helmet's microphone.
“This area is notorious for biker gangs. They're challenging us to a race.”
His voice carries an unmistakable hint of amusement. “What do you say, kitten?”
Your grip tightens around his waist. “I say let's show them what you've got.”
The instant the light turns green, every motorcycle launches forward.
Sylus accelerates smoothly, effortlessly with confidence.
It’s obvious this isn't his first race.
He weaves through traffic with practiced precision while the other riders struggle to keep up.
Soon, their headlights are nothing more than distant specks behind you.
You laugh loudly and punch a fist into the air.
...
Sylus eventually parks on a dirt hill overlooking the skyline.
You remove your helmet and glance at him. “You're not going to murder me up here, are you?”
Sylus shakes his head, laughing quietly. “No. But I am going to kiss you breathless.”
Before you can register his words, his lips are claiming yours.
Unlike Rafayel’s colorful, educational date or Sylus’s adrenaline-filled challenges, Zayne’s date is quiet and comforting.
He takes you to the largest bookstore you’ve ever seen.
Shelf after shelf stretches endlessly, lined with thousands upon thousands of books.
“Is there a limit to how many I can buy?” you ask, still staring in awe.
“Not per se,” Zayne replies slowly. “However, the car is only so large.”
But before he can even finish, you’re making a beeline for the nearest shelf.
...
The two of you wander through the aisles together, occasionally pulling books off the shelves to inspect them more closely.
You stay close to each other, never drifting too far apart.
You glance sideways at Zayne and a small idea forms.
You pick up a random book and open it, holding it up in front of your face as you walk toward him.
You "accidentally" bump into his shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to get his attention.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you say quickly. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
Zayne looks at you with confusion at first. Then he gazes at your playful smile.
A faint smile tugs at his lips.
“It’s alright, miss,” he says, playing along. “Though I think you’ll enjoy the book more if you read it the right way up.”
You glance down and sure enough the book is upside down.
You cough lightly to hide your embarrassment.
“So…” you continue, “do you come here often?”
Zayne’s eyes glint with amusement.
“Occasionally.”
“In that case, can you recommend something?”
“Depends,” he replies. “What are you looking for?”
“Something like…how to ask a handsome man with glasses and a very nice smile on a date.”
The tips of his ears turn pink and you just grin.
...
At the counter, Zayne watches as the cashier scans the towering pile of books you’ve gathered.
His gaze shifts to you.
“There’s no such thing as too many books,” you say innocently, batting your lashes.
He doesn’t argue and pays without hesitation.
...
Later, you both go upstairs to the café where every dessert is inspired by a popular literary character that looks almost too beautiful to eat.
Unsure what to order, Zayne simply orders one of everything.
By the time you’ve eaten your way through far too many desserts, you're in a state of a sugar high.
Your teeth are probably cursing at you,
Neither of you cares.
Back in the car, Zayne glances at you.
“There’s one more dessert I’d like to try,” he says quietly.
The kiss is soft and unhurried, carrying the faint taste of sugar and pastries still lingering on his lips.
——————————————————————
When Caleb drives you to a towering skyscraper reminiscent of the luxury hotel Sylus owns for your date, you can't help but feel confused.
This kind of setting seems much more like something Sylus would plan than Caleb.
Your confusion only grows when he leads you to the rooftop.
Then you see it.
A sleek black helicopter sits waiting on the landing pad.
Your eyes widen.
“I know you're okay flying in planes,” Caleb says casually, “so I'm hoping you can handle a helicopter.”
“Are we really flying in that?” you exclaim.
Caleb grins and nods.
You glance around the rooftop.
“I don't see the pilot.”
“The pilot's right here.” He points at himself with a boyish grin.
“You mean…” You stare at him in disbelief. “You know how to fly this thing?”
Caleb grabs your hand and gently tugs you toward the helicopter.
He helps you climb inside before circling around to the pilot's seat.
After making sure your seatbelt is secure and your headset is fitted properly, he settles into his own seat.
His voice crackles through your headset.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.”
You start giggling
“The weather is perfect for flying today and I hope you enjoy your flight.”
Caleb pulls on the controls and slowly, the helicopter lifts into the air.
...
You spend most of the flight glued to the window.
The city looks completely different from above.
Buildings that seemed enormous now look miniature. The late-afternoon sunlight breaks through the clouds, casting everything in gold.
“Agent Double 02, target spotted ahead," you suddenly announce into your microphone.
Caleb doesn't miss a beat. “Copy that, Agent Double 01. Approaching target.”
“Ready missiles. Fire on my signal.”
“Copy.”
“Oh no!” you gasp dramatically. “We've been hit!”
“Affirmative,” Caleb says. “We're going down. I repeat, we're going down. Requesting permission for emergency landing.”
“Negative!” you bark. “We can't let them escape with the briefcase. The country is depending on us.”
Caleb's shoulders begin shaking. “What are your orders, Agent Double 01?”
You narrow your eyes at the imaginary enemy. “If we're going down, then we're taking them down with us.”
That finally breaks him. Caleb bursts out laughing.
...
After the helicopter ride, Caleb drives you to the next part of your date.
By evening, you're sitting in the back of a pickup truck on a pile of blankets and pillows at an open-air cinema.
“ I can't believe drive-in cinemas are still a thing,” you admit.
“Makes sense, honestly,” Caleb says beside you. “Most places can't rely on the weather enough. But we live on a tropical island where it's warm most of the year. Perfect conditions.”
After several minutes of comfortable silence, Caleb speaks again. “Do you have a bucket list?”
“Of course I do. What about you?”
“I do,” he says. “Actually, there's something on it I'd like your help crossing off.”
That catches your attention. “Oooh?”
You turn toward him. “And what would that be?”
A smile slowly spreads across Caleb's face.
He gently nudges you backward onto the blankets.
He hovers above you, mere centimeters from your face.
“To kiss the girl I like during a movie date.”
You laugh at his ridiculousness, giving into his request.
——————————————————————
The last date that awaits you is with Xavier.
He takes you to an arcade - another place you've always wanted to visit with friends someday. Now, you finally get to experience it with him.
Xavier exchanges a generous amount of cash for the arcade's golden tokens. He returns carrying a bucket full of them.
You begin with a zombie shooting game. Side by side, you blast through waves of undead enemies. Xavier's reactions are frighteningly fast, but you manage to keep up.
Next are the motorcycle racing simulators. Sitting atop the plastic bikes, you grip the handlebars and speed through the virtual tracks.
When the race ends, your name sits proudly as the winner.
You guess all those rides on Sylus's motorcycle paid off.
The claw machines prove far less forgiving.
After several attempts, with a single win, both of you admit defeat.
The two of you move on to Whack-a-Mole.
When your round ends, you gently bonk Xavier on the head with the foam hammer.
“Missed one,” you tease.
The electronic dartboard goes horribly.
Most of your darts miss the board entirely, bouncing across the floor.
After a while, you decide it might be safer for everyone if you retire.
The dance machine, however, is the most fun.
Xavier and you move perfectly in sync.
It isn't until the song ends that you realize a crowd has gathered around the machine and the spectators break into applause.
Of course, you can't forget the photo booth.
Every pose grows sillier than the last.
Hours later, after trying every game the arcade has to offer, you finally make your way to the prize counter.
The staff member feeds your mountain of tickets into a counting machine that sounds similar to a paper shredder.
The total is enough to claim one of the top prizes.
“Go ahead and pick,” Xavier says, noticing your hesitation.
Your attention is drawn to a young boy standing nearby clutching a small bundle of tickets.
“If you could pick any prize, what would it be?”, you ask him
“That's easy.” He points. “The keyboard.”
“I'll take the keyboard,” you tell the employee.
The staff member nods and removes the last keyboard from the display.
You take it, kneel and hold it out to the boy.
“Here you go.”
His eyes widen. “C-can I really have it?”
“It's yours," you smile gently.
His face lights up, hugging the keyboard tightly against his chest. “Thank you, miss! Thank you, thank you!”
He bounces excitedly in place before running off.
“You're a lucky guy to have such a kindhearted girlfriend.” The employee says to Xavier.
“That I am”, Xavier agrees, looking at you with hearts in his eyes.
….
All that gaming has worked up an appetite.
Xavier leads you to a restaurant a short walk away.
“I used to come here often when I was still a student,” he explains while opening the door. “They have an all-you-can-eat menu.”
A cheerful man greets you. “Welcome!”
His smile falters the second he notices Xavier.
“Xavier,” he says slowly. “Long time no see.”
“Hello,” Xavier replies politely. “Do you still offer all-you-can-eat?”
“We...do.” The owner hesitates. “But the time limit is sixty minutes now instead of ninety.”
Xavier leads you to a table before heading for the buffet, bringing plate after plate of food back.
The realization hits all at once.
The owner's horrified expression.
The shortened time limit.
The mountain of food currently occupying your table.
You burst out laughing.
“Xavier,” you manage between breaths, “I think you've eaten this place out of house and home.”
Shaking your head, you stand and walk around the table.
Taking the seat beside him, you gently cup his face and kiss him.
——————————————————————
Five guys.
Five dates.
Five choices.
Even though none of the boys had pressured you for an answer, you knew they deserved one.
You clasped your hands together.
“Each and every one of you put so much time, thought and effort into our dates,” you begin. “Every date was completely different, but I loved them all.”
“If I had to pick a favorite…” You shake your head. “I can't.”
You lowered your gaze. “I know I'm being unreasonable. I know I'm being unfair. And downright greedy.”
Your heart is pounding. “But, can I choose the option of not choosing?”
You press forward. “So…”
You offer them a pleasing smile. “…Can I offer my love to all five of you?”
The silence stretches as the boys look at one another. A silent conversation seems to pass between them.
Five different expressions softened as they looked at you.
A weight lifts from your stomach when the boys confirm they are okay with your decision.
Relief washes over you, the tension melts away, replaced by warmth and happiness.
hunger games!au ellie williams fanfic.⌇ARC I⎯SOUGHT
summary. from each of the twelve districts, two people are reaped to be declared tributes in the 74th annual hunger games. among them is you, who was born and raised for this very moment. nothing expects short of bloodshed is expected from you. that is, however, until you form relationships with your fellow tributes⎯thus complicating things beyond comprehension.
warnings. violence, death, torture, mutilation, impending rebellion, physical & mental trauma, panic attacks, etc⎯its a hunger games au, expect the worst.
total wc. 215 475
ARC I : SOUGHT
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𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦 - 'seen and unseen' › 10k.
reaping day. something ellie is rather indifferent towards, wanting only to return back to the warm embrace of nature. meanwhile you're the complete opposite, today being one that'll determine your fate, as well as your placement in your family.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦𝔦 - 'moths are fucking ugly' › 5k.
to give a final goodbye to someone you love is generally the last thing anyone would ever wish to do. though, when being shipped off to your death, it's the equivalent to being given a final meal whilst on death row.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦𝔦𝔦 - 'masks' › 10k.
a train ride to one's demise alongside an addict and a capitolite. only to be followed by a flowery attempt at beautification as to be flaunted like cattle to your soon-to-be butchers. what a lovely way to go, though, right?
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦𝔳 - 'imbued gentility' › 13k.
the capitol, what a lovely place. however, as humanity's story goes, the most captivating sights have the darkest secrets. capitolites crawl around the city like vermin, teeth bared like daggers ready to sink their teeth into the newest tributes. good thing they have a few days to train.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔳 - 'the sentience of stars' › 11k.
as the trainings go on and people become more acquainted, certain relationships become tangled. and not in an intimately intertwined way, in a knotted messy way.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔳𝔦 - 'evaluations' › 10k.
our tributes are to be rounded up, judged by the gamemakers, and ranked 1-12 on skill. what with all that took place the night prior, this should be fun!
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔳𝔦𝔦 - 'feeble disguise' › 11k.
makeup, dresses, parties. rebellion, addiction, riots. two sides of war, yet they overlap so much so that one person is easily split between the two. split in half between morality and greed.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔳𝔦𝔦𝔦 - 'ego in check' › 7k.
the capitol wishes to get to know the people that they're sending into the arena. they wish to connect with them just in case they return victorious. needless to say, they get to know them. well.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦𝔵 - 'survive' › 7k.
the night before the arena, everyone is wracked with nerves. between the impending doom of what's to come and the burning desire to just get it over with, you struggle to find a place to drop the burden from your shoulders.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵 - 'the arena' › 9k.
do you think cattle feel dread as they approach the slaughter house, or do they mindlessly deem it their salvation? regardless, their endings remain the same - pain, misery, then demise. so, looking back, would it truly matter? Would any of it matter?
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔦 - 'smoke and ash' › 13k.
the arena doesn't get easier as night fades to day. nothing gets easier, none of it. if anything, the pain of it all only grows worse as reality begins to settle into the air like a heavy weight.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔦𝔦 - 'dead animal my ass' › 10k.
as time trudges on, living becomes increasingly more difficult. as the tributes struggle to keep their heads afloat, thousands of sadistic fucks watch from their homes as they slowly die off.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔦𝔦𝔦 - 'i know you' › 10k.
flowers wilt, humans die, and empires fall. this chapter alludes to each of these inevitabilities; all equally agonizing, all equally unavoidable.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔦𝔳 - 'to glisten' › 8k.
amid all the terror, trounce, and trepidation of the games, an oasis is stumbled upon. a much needed place that provides refuge to all of who necessitate its intangible bastion. though it need not be forgotten: good things are as temporary as loose sand against the shore.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔳 - 'flickering firelight' › 9k.
"trust is a fickle thing, hollow in all but name. human beings rely on it when forming relationships, friendships, kinships. they’re fucking idiots, all of them. you’d always assumed you were above that—the idiocy it takes in order to trust someone. yet here you are."
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔳𝔦 - 'antivenin' › 6k.
pain is a rather needy thing, grabbing its captor by the chin and dragging them into a state of agony. like a psychopomp who hates their job, pain hasn't any patience for goodbyes or negotiation.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔳𝔦𝔦 - 'feels like gold' › 12k.
trust is a fickle thing, remember? a thing that does naught to pillow the pain of the inevitable betrayal that it causes. in other words, ellie gets burned again.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔳𝔦𝔦𝔦 - 'two faces' › 5k.
as the gamemakers grow bored with the show, they begin to stir chaos among the tributes. separation, suicide, and slaughter.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔦𝔵 - 'not that lucky' › 10k.
how does that one saying go? 'you only miss the sun when it snows'? yeah, ellie would know all about that.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔵 - 'never a before' › 11k.
a new pair of friends, yet shrouded by the same old cynicism that's kept you alive thus far. meanwhile, rebellion ensues—albeit covertly
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔵𝔦 - 'canned toy cars' › 6k.
to live is to suffer. and yet, nobody seems keen on death. in fact, all anybody inside of the arena wants to do is live. why is that, if not to suffer? are they all masochists, or do they truly believe in themselves wholeheartedly? or, perhaps, the love they hold for others is simply that consuming—enough to forget about their own agony.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔵𝔦𝔦 - 'ouroboros' › 5k.
with four tributes remaining, the stakes have never been higher. you cherish your final moments with ellie as the audience drinks in every kiss, every confession, every touch. that is, until they run out of intimacy to swallow.
𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔵𝔦𝔦𝔦 - 'no less dangerous' › 9k.
"because, while you may no longer be in the arena, the players are no less dangerous."
Summary: Growing up in an all girls Orphanage during the 1940's was hard. I grew up faster than I needed to, becoming a protector to my younger sisters from the quiet cruelty than ran the home. Magic came a lot easier to me. By the time of my final year at hogwarts, I carry the weight of abandonment and guilt. For constantly leaving my sisters with that awful women. But what happens when my sevenths year at hogwarts brings me a terrible realisation. One that will change who I am forever.
Word count : 4.6k
Part 1
Warnings: mentions of abuse, abandonment, angst, slight fluff, eventual smut, possible character death, violence, bullying, self doubt, self pity.
The unforgiving roar of London was what woke me up. The hundreds of cars crawling on the roads below softly pulled me from my dreamless sleep. The soft glow of light peeking through the curtains fell over my face, reminding me to begin my day. The first thing I felt was the ache, pulsing throughout my arms and legs. It felt like a hydraulic press was pushing down on my body. The second thing I felt was a small 80‑pound body falling on top of me. I begrudgingly opened up my eyes to find a very energetic child staring down at me. My eyes drifted over to the clock on the wall; it read 5:27 a.m.
She squealed and rolled over me, lifting up my duvet to find the warmth underneath. I heard her release a soft sigh and soon felt her small hands grab my arm. I smiled and turned over to swaddle her into my chest. Most of the time, my days begin like this. I don’t know how this girl has so much energy in the mornings. She looks up at me, and that small evil smirk creeps up onto her face. I laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes, though. We sat there for a while, just basking in each other’s presence. The only distraction from the peace was the Londoners of 1940. Very busy people they were. However, our time together was bound to get ruined by someone soon, so for now I’m going to savor it. I almost drifted back into my deep sleep when I felt her shoulders begin to shake lightly. My heart dropped, and I closed my eyes, pulling her even closer.
“Please don’t go.”
I sighed and felt my lip begin to shake. It took me back to when she was younger, when I was younger. I know that I have to stay strong because if I break down, then I won’t be able to leave her.
“Baby…”
I began to console her when the door swung open, almost flying off its hinges. Light poured into the room, soon followed by the harsh smell of smoke. You would think that I would be used to it after enduring the thick smog for seventeen years, but sadly not. I always say that you should pray to have eyes that see the best in people, but with this woman, it’s very difficult. Jean Munsch was the lady of the house at Earl Grey Orphanage for Young Women. And she was a monster. Upon first glance she seemed like a modest woman.
Metallic grey hair, always politely pinned back into a small bun. The same old‑fashioned dress that covered almost her whole body. And black plimsoll shoes. She smelled like a strange mix of linen and smoke; it was the kind of smell that made you wrinkle your nose in disgust. She also always had the same exact look on her face. It was almost ineffable, just a pure look of hatred, like she was constantly looking down at you, embarrassed. Marie, the fragile little girl in my arms, burrowed closer to me. I instinctively wrapped my arms tighter around her, giving her a big squeeze before I sat up and turned to face the lady of the house.
“Good morning, Mistress,” I softly spoke the words, fearful of aggravating her.
She stood there, analyzing Marie and me. Her facial expression was so difficult to read. I desperately wanted to look into her mind; then again, I wasn’t quite sure if what I’d find would be good. I still had hope that this woman had some good left inside her; she just made it very hard to hope. Her eyes trailed up and down my body, and I could see that her eyebrows began to furrow. I prepared myself for a verbal beating, wondering if it was my unbrushed hair or ripped clothing that was causing the distressed look, but again, with Munsch, it was very hard to tell. She huffed and spoke with a disapproving tone.
“You leave at six.”
Her words didn’t mask the condescending manner in which they were intended to be said. She knew that after I left, I wasn’t allowed to come back. You see, once a girl turns eighteen here, she no longer has to house them; they are kicked out to fend for themselves. I turn legal age come winter. After that, I will not be able to protect my sisters from the wrath of Mistress Jean Munsch.
Hogwarts allows students to stay during term breaks, and I would have loved to. Hogwarts, when there are no other students, must be magical. The grounds alone are breathtaking, the thought of basking in the lonesome solitude, not having to worry about protecting the ones I love… but I don’t like to allow myself to think of that. I have to come back, or Mistress Munsch would unleash her violent anger on my baby sisters, and I won’t allow it. Unfortunately, after my eighteenth, I won’t be able to stop it anymore.
See, Jean portrays herself as a poised and polished woman. But what a lot of people don’t see is the bottled rage that builds inside her every day. I take pity on her; even after everything, I don’t believe that people are born wicked, rather, they have wickedness thrust upon them. Whatever happened to Jean Munsch must have changed her forever. I’m snapped out of my thoughts as she turns on her heel, slamming the door closed as she makes her exit. I finally release the sigh I have been holding in, and it seems so does Marie. I know that if we begin to have a normal conversation and act like everything is okay, then we will both break down. So I look at the clock again: 5:41 a.m. She, too, looks, and no words need to be said.
After Marie leaves, I pull the trunk onto my bed. With most of the packing already done last night, I just have to check that I have everything. Glancing outside, it seems that the weather reflects my very mood: grey and cold. Clouds form a roof of darkness over the city. As it is the first of September, the mornings are still light, so in the distance, just out of the city, bright beams of sun shine through breaks in the clouds, reminding me that although life right now is rotten and miserable, I will soon be at my real home.
With a sorrowful sigh and a long look at what once was my home, I give myself a small moment to reflect. Walking up to the window, I peer out at the city, letting myself imagine how every person out there has their own life, family and problems. I sometimes feel selfish for feeling the way I do. I was given food, a home, sisters whom I love deeply, and a bed to sleep in. Some people don’t have any of that. It breaks my heart imagining what other people may have been through. I was given the gift of magic, being able to lift objects into the air without touching them, and being able to transform and create things from my very imagination. And yet I was not given the gift of knowing my parents, or knowing why they did not want me.
My focus soon shifts and I stare at the girl I see every day, a reflection of who I am. My plaid dress, brushed hair, clean face, and dark, dull eyes stare back at me. That’s when the guilt hits that I am leaving these girls forever. The babies who I took care of when no one else would. Who would take care of them now? I clench my fists and allow a tear to slip slowly down my cheek. The clock now reads 5:57 a.m. I pull my coat on and pick up the heavy trunk.
As I am walking down the hall to make my way out, I am met with soft snores from the girls’ rooms. My hand wraps around the handle to Marie’s room. She shares with five of the other girls; they will take care of her. Marie has fallen asleep again, her chest softly rising and falling. I pull out a letter from my pocket, placing it on the side table next to her. My last goodbye. With one final kiss to her head, I take my leave, down the stairs and out of the door.
The orphanage was about a thirty‑minute walk to King’s Cross, so I kept my head up and began the trek. 1940s London was sad. Smoke from the factories filled the sky, giving London a constant grey cast. Everyone was either on their way to work and too bothered about their own lives to care about being kind to others, or the very few who let themselves be too kind and were suffering the consequences. Being kind was something I tried to implement into everything, not for beneficial reasons, but for someone.
I, too, had someone I looked up to the way Marie looked up to me. Margaret; she never got adopted either. So when the time came that she turned eighteen, I never saw her again. She had gotten an amazing job in the United States, one she couldn’t possibly turn down. But before she left, she gave me something very dear to me: a small necklace, with a gold locket that, when opened, reads, “Have courage and be kind.” I haven’t taken it off since the day she left, five years ago. She does not write to me; she promised she would. I don’t tend to think or dwell on it, as it tends to make me conjure thoughts of terrible things happening to her.
What if she had been killed? Or taken? The sound of a train leaving its tracks pulls me from the thoughts. The big and beautiful building of King’s Cross stands before me. The corners of my lips can’t help but perk up. After navigating my way to Platform Nine and Three‑Quarters, which wasn’t hard as it’s almost second nature now, I find myself on a crowded platform of children ranging from eleven to eighteen, most surrounded by their families hugging them goodbye. One girl, maybe eleven years old, is crying and clinging onto her mother. Another family is laughing and joking. It all begins to feel like too much. My head hangs low as I try my hardest to blend into the crowd.
Making friends has always been a bit of a struggle for me, so eventually I just gave up. Growing up with the absence of boys made it very frightening when I moved from my all‑girls grammar school to Hogwarts. They were like a whole new breed to me: immature and obnoxious. Which, granted, was mean but true. So I was embarrassingly friendless until I got paired with a strange blonde girl, who would soon be my best friend.
Her name was Luna Lovegood. She didn’t have many friends either, but she was a talker, and I was a listener. We just sort of clicked. I lift my head up to try and search for her but to no avail; I cannot find her. With the train soon departing, I step on in the hopes that she has already made her way on.
The train was just as crowded as the platform, if not more, due to the confined space. I began to slowly make my way to the last carriage. It’s usually empty, a small space with single seats and pull‑out trays attached to the seat in front. As I walk down to the end of the train, I try to keep to myself as best as possible, to not disturb other people and to attempt to stay in the shadows. Most students of Hogwarts did not know me, let alone know I existed. Yes, it was a pretty big school.
My theory was correct this time; however, Luna was nowhere to be seen. I sighed and hoped that she might have found solace in another compartment. Luna could almost fit in anywhere. Not that people would necessarily accept her, but the aspect I envied most about the sweet girl was that she did not care what people thought of her. Luna could find the best parts of anyone, no matter how deeply buried they might be. I try to be like her as much as I can. She is the brightest light in my life. And when you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light. Tired from the walk to the station, I made peace with her absence and found a spot towards the rear of the carriage. Placing my trunk in the compartment above my head, I stand there for a moment, I breathe, then I slide down onto the seat and pull out my copy of Murder on the Orient Express. The train began to vibrate as it set off. I didn’t let myself look up at the platform, knowing that it would only bring me sadness. Instead, I allowed myself to dive into the world of Poirot.
As we got closer and closer to the Scottish Highlands, my presumption was correct. Beams of vitamin D radiated onto my skin, warming me and bringing me comfort I had been missing for a while. It’s moments like this that I can breathe; all of my troubles are temporarily forgotten, and I can just let go. I don’t have to think or feel anything. It’s pure bliss. Trains give me such comfort, the views of Scotland especially. That slow gradient of gloomy London to this beauty is almost a sign of peace. I have a couple more hours of the journey left, and I’ve almost finished the book.
The passing of greenery completely entrances me, pulling my attention to it like a siren. It’s a shame I don’t have a radio; the sound of music would make this moment oh so much more amazing. I had believed that I figured out the murderer very early on in the novel, but to my dismay I was proven wrong. It took me a lot longer to finish than I had initially expected. I think that may be due to my constant pausing in disbelief as the mystery unfolded. Having understood the motive to kill, I still found it hard to comprehend how anyone can inflict so much violence on another. I certainly never hope to feel such rage. Life is a beautiful gift given to us; it’s not only our job to protect ourselves and others, but also the great green earth that homes us.
My way of thinking is probably why, at eleven years old, I was placed in Hufflepuff House. I couldn’t imagine it any other way. Awaking to the quiet yet calmly warm common room, and being able to roam and interact with the various plants scattered across the large room was something so blissfully ineffable. The room is warm in a way that seeps into your bones and wraps around your body in a hug. Everything feels lived-in, armchairs sag slightly in the middle, and the rugs are worn from years of people padding across them barefoot. The massive windows circling the room allowed for views of the Highlands, and when caught at just the right time, formed a breathtaking floral colour in the sky.
The way of the sky changes the whole ambience of the room, pathetic fallacy at its finest. Marie had told me about that English writing technique when she had learned it. I cannot teach her anything I learn, as it’s against the Ministry of Magic’s conduct, so instead, she teaches me. It makes her feel older, more mature. Half of the time I never really know what she is talking about. She may know what she is trying to portray; however, she’s not the best at getting it out.
The room itself feels more like a burrow, or a cabin in the middle of a vast enchanted wood, than a hall. With round doorways and soft, golden light spilling from lamps tucked into the walls, it’s a completely different place from the rest of the school. Although having never been to the other common rooms besides Ravenclaw’s, I’ve heard descriptions of others, and quite frankly, I believe that they just don’t beat mine.
I reopen my eyes, smiling to myself as I remember that the train will soon arrive. September 1st has chosen to fall on a Saturday this year, meaning that school will not start immediately. It gives the lovely Miss Luna and I a chance to catch up after the summer; we have been so nervous about starting our seventh year. The thought of having to leave this beautiful castle for good just brings copious amounts of sorrow to my tainted heart. The people, I’m not so sad to leave. Yes, granted, I have not made the biggest effort to expand my range of friends, but why should I when I love the people I surround myself with now? Besides, I do often like to be alone, just to sit and organise my thoughts, let my imagination run wild.
That brings me to the friends—well, not really friends. More like a temporary acquaintance that I sometimes sit with and grow too shy to converse. Poppy Sweeting. She, like Luna and I, has a very small number of friends. So when my thoughts begin to consume me, I make my way through the castle and into the grounds. It is there that I find Poppy, either taking care of a wild hippogriff or another magical creature. We work in tandem, in silence, just grateful to have someone who shares the same love for these wild creatures as the other. Poppy does not get heckled as much as Luna does, mainly because, like me, she moves in the shadows. It’s comforting, not being the only one hiding in the darkness.
I hope that for my final year, I get a place in the same dormitory as her. It would be pleasant to finally converse with the girl who doesn’t realise how much she helps me. Not that the majority of the girls in my house aren’t sweet. Most of them don’t know who I am, again, probably because I don’t really announce myself too much. Deep down I think it’s because I’m scared that whoever I present myself to, they won’t like what they see. The more people that you let into your life, the more can just walk right out of it. I feel the same way about relationships.
The thought of letting someone look that deeply into your soul, letting them know everything about you petrifies me in a way that it really shouldn’t. Having a long list of lovers on my résumé was not something that I was particularly worried about. Only in some rare and vulnerable moments do I dream of a lover. A soulmate. Someone who loves me for the way I am, fully and completely. Those types of thoughts are the ones I put on hold and store in the deepest parts of my mind. I do believe that there is someone out there for everyone; I have yet to meet my person.
There are about forty minutes left of the journey, and the sun grows weaker, slowly making its retreat towards the night. The sky is flooded with a warm hue, glistening off the numerous lakes and rivers we pass. I decide that it’s time I change into my school robes. Thankfully there is a restroom located at the far end of the locomotive. Reaching for the trunk above my head, I lower it down and search for my robes. After successfully finding the flood of fabric, I begin my short walk to the single cubicle. It’s cramped yet not incredibly stuffy, as the only person to have used it today was me. The task of changing is challenging, but without the pressure of time I remain calm.
After my robes are on, I exit the small room, entering the same empty carriage. Yet something pricks my attention. The trunk that I had left closed on my seat was now open, lying on the floor. It looked like someone had rifled through it, desperately and frantically searching to find something. I stand still, a confused yet cautious look forming on my face. Moving my feet, I take a few steps forward. From a quick glance, nothing seems to be missing. Maybe the train had shaken and therefore caused it to fall from its resting place. But I remember buckling it up before leaving; it had been unbuckled.
Not wanting to scare myself too much, I put it down to tainted memory and closed the trunk back up. However, I cannot seem to shake this weary feeling. Digging the ends of my fingernails into my palms, I slowly sit down. It was a bad habit that I have never been able to defeat. I stay still for a while, only snapping out of it when I feel the train begin to slow. With a big swallow and a long intake of breath through my nose, my legs stretch, and I stand. Grabbing my trunk and taking one last scan of the carriage to make sure I had not left any of my belongings behind, I made my way to the exit door.
Stepping out onto the platform calmed my restless emotions. Seeing the swarm of students, varying in ages and gender, I allow myself to relax slightly. My shoulders fall, and the vice grip I had on the handle of my trunk loosens. The sigh I didn’t know I was still holding slips from my lips. Finally, I allow myself to walk to the carriages ahead.
The best part about reading a really long book series is when a character that you haven't seen in a long time shows up and you start hopping up and down like a little kid in excitement
