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pradaksj · 3 years

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Safety Net || part two (final). (m.)

↳do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

❧ summary ⟶ on new year’s eve, you and jungkook reflect on each other’s entire year together.

❧ pairing⟶ jungkook/reader

❧ genre⟶ enemies to friends, friends to lovers, fluff, angst, pining, smut, boxer!jungkook. two-part series.

❧ word count ⟶ 16,000+

❧ warnings ⟶ descriptions of an anxiety/panic attack, character death (non-major), smut which includes ... passionate to rough sex, oral (female receiving), penetration, fingering, unprotected sex (please have sex responsibly lol).

❧ music⟶ safety net, selfish, stuck on you, exile, +more

❧ a/n ⟶ I am still fairly new to writing smut so sorry if it doesn’t meet your expectations 😭 also to all my people who don’t like smut “*” signals where you can stop reading as the smut is really just a bonus scene at the end. and remember dark purple = entering/still in the past, light purple = present

01 | 02 (final)

“God were we dramatic,” you laugh, glad that the recollection of your big fight with Jungkook was something that could by now be laughed at rather than seen as something you’d dearly regret, “Don’t you think?” you ask Jungkook, concern immediately washing over you once you see the sad look on his face, “Jungkook?”

Jungkook stares blankly at the lake in front of him, surprised at the resurgence of the same heavy feeling in chest he had felt several months before, “Did I—Did I say something wrong?” you worry that you’ve hurt his feelings, that being one of, if not the, last thing you wanted to do tonight.

Quietly he nods his head no, “I just—” he struggles to voice his thoughts, “I was—” he shakes his head and you grab his hand in comfort, giving him a small smile.

“Hey,” you giggle, “what happened is in the past,” you reassure.

“I know but—” he sighs, pushing his hair back with his other hand, “I just still feel bad, you know? I mean we went a whole month without talking…. practically hating one another…”

August 2019.

It had been about a month since your explosive argument with Jungkook, and despite living together... the two of you had never been so far apart. Not only were you not on speaking terms, but it was as if neither of you existed in each other's proper world, completely avoiding each other at all costs.

One would think that because you two lived with one another, you’d be bound to have some kind of awkward bump ins from time to time, but somehow the two of you managed to steer clear of each other. From eating breakfast and dinner at separate times, to talking to Hobi at your own respective times, and of course the first thing Jungkook did the next day after your fight was move his things out of your restroom and into Hobi’s. You weren’t going to lie, it did sting just a little , but you were quick to get over it. The part that made Hobi roll his eyes even further back than they already did, was how quickly you two scrambled around each other whenever you did happen to coincidentally be in the same place such as the kitchen.

Originally Hobi tried any and every method possible to get you two to make up, knocking on doors and trying to trick you two into talking, faking handwriting, stealing personal belongings, and of course begging. Hell, he even tried confronting you two in one of the rare times you guys were in the kitchen at the same time, but all you two did was remain silent and go back into your respective rooms. Not bothering to even spare a glance at one another.

He had given up about two weeks in of trying, deciding that it was up to you two to figure out how you guys would make up. But it wasn’t until this Friday morning when he saw a certain letter stick out of the mail that he found himself loudly sighing.

“Oh Jungkook…” he whispers to himself, shaking his head as he read the letter in front of him. What was he going to do now?

It didn’t take long for Jungkook to get used to being the lone wolf in the apartment again, in fact it was easy for him to completely ignore your existence. It was easy to watch you struggle opening a jar full of kimchi. It was easy to catch a glimpse of you and Hobi watching One Piece on the couch whenever he was making his way out of the apartment to go and party. It was easy to hear you sing along to some new girl group song and not join along whenever he passed by your room. And it was very easy to hate you. Very easy indeed.

Gosh, who was he kidding? It was the hardest freaking thing in the world to do. Especially because he didn’t hate you at all. Pretending to? Yes. Actually? Fuck no.

If he was being honest, any hatred he had felt in the moment of the big argument had been rapidly washed away the moment he slammed his door shut. Instead it had been quickly replaced by the feeling of hurt and sadness. He even found himself sneaking into the kitchen that night to grab an extra pint of ice cream from the freezer and watch some stupid K-drama from his laptop back in his room. Even shedding a small tear when the male and female lead had to break up due to unforeseen circumstances. But of course if you asked him if it was true, he’d deny it in a heartbeat.

He’d often find himself zoning out and replaying the fight in his head. God, was he an idiot. What was he thinking destroying your painting like that? Did he really think you weren’t going to react the way you did? Sadly, the answer was a mixture of both yes and no. Yes, he wanted you to feel as hurt as he did, but he didn’t expect you to go fully ballistic on him. Did he blame you for it? No, of course not. You had every right to be mad at him as he had acted out in completely blind rage. Not bothering to stop for one moment and ask himself, am I okay with the possible outcome of what I’m about to do? Had he known it was going to be this, and well … he would’ve never done it.

It just happened so quick. One moment he was staring at the floor covered with broken pieces of glass and the next he had his fist going through the canvas of your painting, destroying the very thing he convinced you to work on. No wonder you hated him…

You hated him and you had every right to. He just wasn’t sure how long he was going to be able to take it anymore. Having to only catch glimpses of you from time to time and not being able to say anything because he was too ashamed to even look at you was truly killing him. And he could only imagine how you felt having to see him every day and night. Knowing the person you hated most was living under the same roof as you. Hell, if the roles were reversed he probably wouldn’t want you around at all.

Which is why as Jungkook currently stares aimlessly at the ceiling of his room, he knows he’s made the right decision.

The night of the fight between you and Jungkook, you had felt a range of emotions that honestly were quite overwhelming. Whenever you’d stare off into space you’d find yourself feeling very sad and reflective, but whenever you even caught a glimpse of your then destroyed painting on the floor you’d feel the rush of anger return all at once. It was like that the whole night, not even an episode of One Piece could cheer you up. If anything it made you feel even more confused because you were on the episode where (spoiler alert) *** dies, and well not only were you mad at how it happened, but sad because it was happening. Hell, that was probably the best way to describe how you felt about the whole argument.

The first couple of days had been hard to say the least, the dynamic between all three of you drastically changing in the matter of a couple days. No longer were there grocery shopping trips together, nor were there laundry days where you and Jungkook would compete to see who could fold the fastest, and of course there were no longer Netflix movie nights where Hobi would complain because you and Jungkook kept cracking too many jokes during the most intense scenes. Your laughs always echoing across the living room walls thus ruining the buildup of the scene.

You were good at pretending you didn’t care, in fact you were great at it. Maybe because a part of you actually didn’t care. You had long been fed up with Jungkook’s moody antics, and him destroying that painting was the final straw. Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have gone into his room after he specifically told you not to, but you only did because you were worried about him and actually cared about him. Couldn’t he have seen that before he went full on rampage mode and destroyed your painting? He was wrong for what he did, and at the end of the day he had no right to hate you. Right?

These days you found yourself doubting it. It wasn’t like you were in the entire right, you mean you had invaded his privacy … you shake your head, begrudgingly getting out of bed before dwelling on your thoughts for any longer. The re-do of your painting, which currently sat on its easel, serving as reminder that you weren’t planning on talking to him anytime soon.

“Good Morning to you,” Hobi greets, watching you stomp your way into the kitchen, clearly running on an empty stomach. Jungkook was currently out, either working out or …. Hobi sighs recalling what he saw in the letter this morning.

“Good morning,” you mumble, the grouchy mood that Hobi found himself a little too used to making its morning return. In all the years he’s known you, to see you always this …. down …. was very unlike of you to say the least.

Whether you liked it or not, your fight with Jungkook had definitely changed some aspects of your personality, even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself yet. Because no matter how good you were good at faking it, and trust him you were good (a professional indeed), behind that tough wall you had put up in the last month was a person who was hurt. A person who had their heart crushed right in front of them.

Grabbing two slices of bread, you place them in the toaster, preparing to make yourself some avocado toast. You sigh when you hear Hobi’s footsteps getting closer, not wanting to hear the whole “You need to talk to Jungkook” speech this early on a Saturday morning.

Turning around to face him, you’re prepared to protest against his usual lecture, “Hobi I don’t—” the sound of an envelope hitting the counter catching you off guard, stopping you from continuing any further. Furrowing your brows, your eyes glint with confusion. Hobi stares at you with a stoic expression, waiting for you to grab the letter from the island’s counter.

Slowly you grab the white envelope, extremely confused as to what this had to do with. The name on the recipient line reads, “Jeon Jungkook” and for a small second you feel your heart stop, but you’re quick to shake it off.

“This isn’t mine, if you can’t tell,” you scoff, preparing to hand the envelope back to Hobi.

Pushing your hand away, he says, “Read it,” his tone telling you that it wasn’t exactly an option.

Rolling your eyes, you pull out the single piece of paper that’s inside, unfolding the tri-folded letter. Your eyes quickly gaze over the subject line which reads, “Application Approval,” catching your attention. From there you continue to read…

Dear Jeon Jungkook,

We are pleased to notify you that we have received and accepted your application for the lease property of **** Jangsin-Ro, Apartment 32. Your lease will begin on September 28, 2019 and your rent amount is ₩**** for every 1st of the month. Any cancellations will result in a ₩*** fee. I want to thank you for your application and anticipate that you will have an enjoyable living experience in your new home.

If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me.

Sincerely,

Bang Si-Hyuk.

Wait what? Your eyes reread the letter that’s in front of you because clearly you were reading something wrong. Your eyes must’ve been deceiving you because there was just no way…. Looking up at Hobi, you hope this was another of his attempts to get you to talk to Jungkook, but there he stood, straight faced as ever.

“He’s—” your voice whimpers like a little kid, “He’s moving out?”

“Ow!” Jungkook squirms, the feeling of your fingers pinching his arm hurting him, “What was that for?!” he yelps.

“For trying to move out without telling us! And don’t you dare ever pull something like that again,” you scold him, tempted to pinch him again.

Garnering a laugh out of him, you cross your arms like a kid and huff a loud breath of air, “Ah I won’t, I won’t,” he giggles, “Maybe…” he mumbles, but he’s quick to raise his arms in defense once he sees you ready to pinch him once again, “I’m just kidding,” he sings and you roll your eyes.

“Serves you right,” you mutter, letting out the hurt you felt that day to him because honestly, you had never gotten the opportunity to do so…

September 2019.

“Jungkook is moving out. Jungkook is moving out. Jungkook is moving out,” you think to yourself, having to come to terms with the fact that in exactly 48 hours from now Jungkook was officially going to be out of your life … for good.

You were shocked to say the least, when you saw the application letter, not exactly sure about what you felt. You mean, yeah you were definitely mad at Jungkook, but enough to the point where you wanted him officially out of your life? Hell no.

So then where the hell did he even get the idea to move out? It wasn’t like you two were being mean to each other, nor was there blatant hatred being shown on your part. All you two were doing were ignoring each other like two little kids. That should not be cause for someone to move out. Not at all!

A knock on the door catches your attention, “You ready?” Hobi asks, dressed in business like attire. His all black suit made him seem almost intimidating, that was until your eyes landed on his newly dyed cherry-red hair only causing you to stifle a small laugh.

Nodding your head, you look at yourself in the mirror one last time. Tonight was the night of the art exhibition, and you were very very nervous. You had turned in your piece a couple of days prior, but to have to later unveil it in front of everyone along with giving a small speech was nerve wracking. Especially considering you hadn’t involved yourself in the world of the arts for several years now, if anything you were used to constantly talking about accounting numbers and different business statistics.

“It’s either now or never,” you whisper to yourself, not knowing what awaited you.

“I just don’t get it Hobi,” you rant in the car, on your way to the galleria’s location, “he didn’t see me trying to move out when he was being nothing but a complete dick to me those first couple of months!” you pout, still not having accepted that Jungkook was moving out, despite constantly reminding yourself that he was.

Hobi sighs, feeling as if he’s heard you rant about this since you’ve found out … oh wait … you have! “Y/N—” he begins.

“No listen to me Hobi!” you interrupt, “Can he really not stand the sight of me that he feels the need to move out?? Was me going into his room really that big of an issue,” your voice wavers a bit, but you continue nonetheless, “And the fact that he hasn’t even bothered to tell you! So what? He was just planning on disappearing this coming Monday! Thinking no questions were going to be raised? I mean imagine you hadn’t seen that letter, he would’ve left thinking I hate him!” And to that Hobi lets out a scoff.

“What do you mean?” he scrunches his face, “He still is!” Hobi raises his finger before you could talk, “My turn,” he firmly states, only causing you to drop your defensive shoulders and roll your eyes.

“You two have not talked at all since your stupid little argument where clearly both of you were in the wrong!” he rants, repeating what he’s been saying for the last two months, the topic becoming tiresome, “And now one of you is leaving because neither of you can get over yourselves and just initiate some kind of freaking conversation! Just one conversation and I am one hundred percent sure everything will get cleared up and we can all go back to our daily lives, but nooooo both of you think we’re in some freaking K-drama, actually no, even K-dramas make up faster than the two of you!” he ends his rant on an insult, and you’re left there momentarily speechless.

“You are so—”

“I’m what?” Hobi glares at you, and you only narrow your eyes at him in return.

“You are so wrong,” you state, refusing to now look at him, instead looking out the window.

“I’m right and you know it,” you mumble something under your breath in response, “You invaded his privacy after he repeatedly told you not to, but for some reason you just felt the impulsive need to go into his room and find out what he was hiding. You know, I’m sorry Y/N but if Jungkook’s the biggest dickhead in existence then you my friend are the pushiest one,” he complains, finding his grip on the steering wheel becoming tighter. God, did the two of you get his blood pressure boiling up.

“You don’t get it, I had to go into his room,” you mutter, not exactly happy with the fact that Hobi is reading you for filth.

“No you didn't,” the two of you begin to go back and forth, voice raising with every sentence.

“Yes, I did.”

“No you did not.”

“Um yes—”

“Um n—”

“Yes, how else was I going to be able to find out what was hurting him?” you interrupt, turning to face Hobi, feeling the migraine in your head about to pop.

“And why would you need to know that?”

“Because I lo—” you quickly catch yourself before you could complete the sentence, crossing your arms and pouting. Like hell you’d confess in front of Hobi.

Hobi looks at you knowingly, “Because you what,” he taunts, knowing exactly what you were going to say,

“Just drive,” you mumble, your attention back to the window beside you, focusing on the view of the city streets.

“Ah Y/N, there you are!” Jimin greets you and Hobi, having barely walked in from your argumentative car ride, “You’re on in like ten minutes,” he nervously chuckles, worrying only minutes ago that you were going to be a no-show.

“That quick?” you ask in complete shock, barely having taken off your dress-coat. The churns in your stomach begin to make you feel physically sick and there’s now a certain dryness to your throat that you could only accredit to the tension you were now feeling. Your palms were even beginning to get a little sweaty. Why were you doing this again? Oh yeah … Jungkook.

“Come on let’s go and get you set up,” Jimin tugs at your hand, pulling you to follow him. With your other hand, you attempt to look for your flash cards, wanting to remind yourself of the specific points you needed to cover.

“What the—” your heart drops, unable to feel the flimsy piece of paper anywhere near the coat that hung against your arm, “Oh no,” you murmur to yourself, not wanting to panic Jimin, “No, no, no,” you repeat to yourself.

“Okay here we are,” he stops you two in front of your draped-covered painting, pulling out a lapel mic from his pocket, clipping it onto the collar of your outfit. Now that you weren’t moving, you were now barely taking note of just how many people filled the galleria, and it was a lot. There had to be at least 200 people, minimum. Each and every one of them slowly looking around at the already unveiled art pieces, their eyes doing the judging for them.

“Jimin I don’t know—”

“Hey, you’re gonna do just fine, it’s just a bit of stage fright I’m sure,” he reassures, and though you appreciate the gesture, coming from him it just didn’t mean much. You see, Jimin has always been what's called an optimistic person, similar to you in a way. Always trying to find the good in the bad. But in order for his words to really have some effect, it would’ve been better if he was a pessimist, someone who always saw the negative in everything because then to hear that you would do just fine would come more as a shock rather than as something expected, someone like—

You shake your head,“I’m just,” your outfit suddenly begins to feel as if it's squeezing the life out of you, “I’m really nervous,” you whisper to him out of breath, watching as people begin to crowd around your area. Were the walls closing in or was it just you?

He begins to test the mic, “Jimin—” you repeat his name, a cry for help, “I can’t—” but it’s too late.

“Hello everyone,” he speaks into his own microphone, and you scan the audience to see if you can spot Hobi. When you do, you notice the look of panic he has on his own face, probably aware of your distressed state, knowing that there was nothing he could do about it, “This artist I’m introducing to you, has been a personal friend of mine for years. I’ve known her since my first year in college, and I can vouch for just how talented she is,” Jimin glances at you, unaware of just how truly panicked you were, “So without further ado, y/n take it away,” he steps away, leaving you under the sole spotlight.

Remaining silent for a moment, you stare at the several pairs of eyes that had their gaze solely focused on you. “H-Hello,” you stutter into the mic, glad that it wasn’t a handheld one as you were sure that you would’ve been a jittering mess, “Um my name is y/n l/n,” you nervously smile, trying to find something to focus your attention on. Originally you planned on staring at Hobi the whole time, only to find out it made you even more of a stuttering mess. God, was it getting hot in here.

“So um I think we should um reveal the painting first,” you sputter out, signalling to Jimin that it was time. Slowly he removes the drape, the sound of clapping providing you a bit of a soothing effect. People liked it. People freaking liked it. It felt as if a brick or two had been dropped from your shoulders.

You gulp continuing with your speech, “So I um—” breathe y/n, “I call this piece safety net,” you turn sideways towards the painting, ready to explain, “I call it that because as y-you can see in the painting,” you mindlessly point to it as if the audience couldn’t see it themselves, “There’s the um the figure falling into what I call a safety net of flowers and—” you stare at the painting along with them, finding yourself getting lost in your own work, “well I painted this after—” you pause, the room completely silent, “after finding myself wanting to be someone’s safety net,” you mumble to yourself, a certain person coming to mind.

There’s an awkwardness to the room, the kind of stiffness you only find in tense moments. You weren’t sure if it was because the audience was trying to be respectful or you were just making a complete mess out of yourself, but either way Jimin awkwardly coughs, “So um we will now take questions from the audience,” Jimin hesitantly says, by now noticing the extremely panicked state you were in, but unsure of what to do.

A woman raises her hand, a volunteer for the galleria handing her a mic, “Hello,” she politely greets, giving you a warm smile, “So I was curious as to why you chose two colors that don’t conventionally go well together, I was wondering if you did that on purpose or…” and though you know her question means no harm, the voice in your head was convincing you that this was some kind of an attack.

“I um—” your breathing becomes heavier, “I—” Just speak, you keep telling yourself. Tell her that you chose two colors because they represented two different personalities. Say something you freaking idiot. “I um c-chose—” you begin to hear the sound of people murmuring all around you, their voices echoing loudly through your head. What were they saying? Did they hate your painting? Did they think it made absolutely no sense? Was it really that bad? What were you thinking when agreeing to do all this? How could you have been convinced to do this? You didn’t paint anymore for this exact reason.

With every thought that races through your mind, the sudden sense of impending doom only becomes stronger and your rapid breathing becomes louder. You had to be sweating because God did it feel like a fucking sauna in here. The tightness in your throat wasn’t helping at all as well only making the feeling of nausea further overwhelming. You needed to get out of here. Now.

And so without thinking… you run.

You yank out the mic and begin to run to God knows where, ignoring the shouts of your name along with the small number of gasps that could be heard.You needed to breathe again, and you desperately needed this feeling of danger to be gone.

Trying not to bump into too many people walking the dark city streets of Seoul, focusing on the sound of your heels clicking against the pavement, tuning out everything around you. “Just run,” you tell yourself, “Run until no one can find you.”

Soon the sound of your heels clacking against the pavement becoming the sound of your heels crunching against leaves. The pitch blackness of your surroundings causes tears to begin to well up, the trembling of your fingers along with the chills running down your spine making you feel as if you were running in an endless loop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

You come to sudden halt, pushing your arm against a nearby tree, desperately trying to catch your breath. You were alone now, isn’t this what you wanted? So then why did you still feel as if the world was crashing down on you. Why couldn’t you breathe? Why were hot tears spilling from your eyes? What the hell was wrong with you?

By now your sobs are in full force, your heaving chest only adding to its force. Because of your crying, you fail to hear a voice, “There you are!” Jungkook catches his breath, surprised at how fast you could run in heels. For a small second he thought he had lost you in the chase, with the way you maneuvered around everyone, he was thankful he hadn’t.

“Y/N,” he calls out, expecting you to turn, but he’s met with silence. You were having a panic attack, a bad one at that. Making his way closer to you, he’s careful in how he approaches you, grabbing your hand before you could run any further, “Y/N,” he repeats, this time turning you to face him, but you continue to cry in hysteria, your vision blurred by just how fast tears were falling from your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me y/n,” he cups your face with his hands, a worrisome but firm look on his face, “I need you to breathe with me, okay?” your chest continues to heave, the rapid breaths of air coming from your mouth at an alarming rate, “Y/N!” he shouts, causing you to go silent, “Y/N…” he softly repeats, knowing he’s gotten your attention. You stare at him in silence, “One,” he inhales a big breath of air, “Two,” he exhales out, “Inhale,” he repeats his actions again, “Exhale,” he breathes out.

Slowly you begin to follow. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

In no time, your heartbeat begins to slow down, your mind focused enough on the task at hand that you begin to forget why you were ever panicked to begin with. “Hey,” Jungkook whispers, caressing your cheek with his hand, “You’re doing great,” he reassures you, providing you the words of comfort you so desperately needed to hear right now.

It had been so long since you’d gone through having a panic attack, almost forgetting just how bad they could sometimes get. But for now staring into Jungkook’s eyes and practicing some breathing exercises was enough to remember that no matter how bad they got, you’d get through them.

His fingers gently graze your cheeks, continuing to mumble small phrases of reassurance while you were getting control of yourself. “Has anyone ever told you,” you place a finger to the corner of his eye, quietly breathing your words out, “you have very round eyes,” you say and Jungkook lets a huffed laugh out in response.

He scrunches his nose and smiles, “Yeah, a lot of people have actually,” he laughs, a toothy grin spreading across his face while he uncups your cheeks, feeling a sense of tranquility wash over him as he knew you were going to be just fine, “I’ve been told they look like a doe’s eyes,” you quietly nod your head yes, agreeing with his statement, a warm smile on your face.

“Come on,” he intertwines your fingers, gently pulling you to follow him and leading you to a park bench that was near. But the thing was, it wasn’t just any park bench, it was the park bench from the night Jungkook was drunk and the two of you had gotten into the fight with that drunk man. What were the odds? You hadn’t even noticed that you ran this far till now...

He exhales a large breath of air once you two sit, allowing a neither comfortable nor awkward silence fill the air. Despite the heartwarming moment that happened only minutes ago, there were still things that needed to be talked about. Things that simply couldn’t be forgotten. It was the sole reason he had gone to the art exhibition because he wanted, no, he needed to talk to you.

He just hadn’t expected to see you running out in complete panic right as he walked in. The tears that were slowly rolling down from your eyes, causing him to feel a sudden sense of heartbreak. For the only reason you’d ever cry would be if your hard work were to be destroyed, whether physically or emotionally. It was the same despaired look you had given him that fateful day he decided to throw everything good that was becoming of his life out the window.

And so to see the scene in front of him play out had definitely caused both a mix of anger and sadness to boil within him. His urge to defend and protect you, almost overcoming his need to go out and make sure you were okay. That was until he found himself running out the door, signalling to Hobi that he’d handle it.

And so now here the two of you were, quietly sitting on a park bench with your hands being the only things physically touching, a comfort of its own for the both of you. It didn’t feel weird nor did it feel wrong because if anything it just felt right.

A part of you thinks and hopes it could remain like this forever, scared that if it didn't, you’d have to return back to the world where you and Jungkook were nothing more than strangers who were once friends. The world where acting as if one or the other didn’t exist was completely normal. The one where you’d find your heart selfishly longing for him despite stubbornly not wanting to. And so whether it be for a small second, a minute, or an hour, for now at least you just wanted to savor the moment because who knew what would possibly happen if he decided to leave and never come back.

“Y/N…” he begins.

“Shh,” you whisper, your puffy eyes softly gazing at the view of the trees in front of you, the silhouettes of trees as well sound of the wind softly pushing against the branches, a view you were once so scared of, not so scary anymore, “Just one more second,” you close your eyes, taking in one final breath of air. Jungkook feels his heart swell at the sight, remembering the scene from only months ago where it had been you doing all the staring. You pull his hand when you’re ready, your soft gaze now directed towards him.

“I just—” he begins to stutter, “I wanted to—” he feels his eyes get watery, the rush of emotion he was beginning to feel almost overwhelming him, “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” his voice slightly cracks, “for everything,” he whispers, allowing a tear to fall from his eye, feeling the weight he had been holding onto his shoulders now falling. The small leaks of vulnerability that you had occasionally seen now completely flooding through his walls of defense, that single tear becoming several, until soon you hear a sob emit from his mouth, but by then you have him wrapped in a hug, the sound of his sobs being muffled by your shoulder. Slowly you caress his hair, gently stroking and twirling the locks of his wavy hair in between your fingers, deciding that this time around silence was the best way to go.

“I’m so sorry,” he hysterically cries, holding onto you tighter, as if you’d go anywhere. He begins to shake his head, struggling to find the words that’d best describe how he felt at this current moment, “I’m—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” it’s your turn to say the words, gently pushing him off you so he could meet your gaze, “I know,” you reassure, “and I forgive you. The same way I’m sure you’ve forgiven me for snooping around your room like that,” you jokingly assume, and he smiles despite having red bloodshot eyes, “We were angry, and we said and did things that we shouldn't had but that doesn’t mean we have to hold them over our own heads for the rest of our lives,” you grip his hand tighter, “you made a mistake, and I made one as well. And rather than explode on one another and ignore each other, we should’ve talked about where we went wrong, and yeah,” you repeat your words from months ago, “maybe we didn’t get to do this as early as we hoped, in fact we’re quite late,” you giggle, “but we’re here nonetheless. And so let’s talk,” you say, ready to listen to the boy you had fallen in love with.

Jungkook stares at you in silence, a million thoughts racing through his mind, wondering how you always knew exactly what to say at the exact moment, “I,” he hesitates before continuing, “I need to start from the beginning,” he says, wiping any residue from the tears in his eyes, ready to open up the book he had kept closed for so long.

You nod to him, signalling that you were listening, “When I was a kid, I um,” he gulps, “I guess you could say I had a knack for boxing. Originally, my dad had taught me as a way to protect myself if I ever came across a situation that’d require me to defend myself,” his fingers begin to fidget within yours, a sign that he was nervous. Quick to soothe him, you rub small circles on the palms of his hands, his gaze occasionally avoiding eye contact.

“But I also think it was because my dad, who once wanted to be a boxer himself, saw me a way to vicariously live out his dream. Because soon he noticed that the knack I had for it was more of a talent,” a small smile appears on his lips, “and well by then he had begun to seriously train me… I remember always coming back after school and dulging right into practice, waking up on weekends and running laps at the park with my dad in order to gain stamina, and just,” he exhales a breath, “and just thinking to myself how proud I wanted to make him,” uncontrollably a tear falls from his face once again, and he tries to gain his composure before continuing, not wanting to begin the sob fest too early, “Once he thought I was ready, my dad had begun to sign me up for amatuer competitions, and well I did amazing,” Jungkook laughs.

“And soon boxing would become the sport I’d find myself building my life upon, but one day—“ he sighs, knowing the conclusion to his own story and well this was only the beginning, “one day during high school we had this um career day I guess you could call it, and well long story short after going around and listening to how passionate some of spokespersons were of their careers, I remember thinking, is boxing something I was doing for myself or for my father?”

A sad smile appears on his face, “I think the most confusing part for me was that I wasn't exactly passionate about anything else but I also just knew deep down in my heart that boxing wasn’t for me, you know? To this day I don’t know what exactly it is I'm passionate for,” he laughs, “and I certainly don’t see myself making coffee and flipping pancakes for the rest of my life,” he jokes around, an attempt the make the atmosphere a little lighter, “but I think with the help of someone I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s okay to be a bit of a late bloomer,” he winks at you, “one day I’ll wake up and just know…”

You give him a small reassuring smile, happy to know that he’s learned his own lessons along the way, even if it required a bit of pushing.

”But back to my story,” he awkwardly laughs, the small feign of happiness gone, “Though I had realized it already… maybe it was because I was scared, or maybe it was just—” he shakes his head, unable to find the words, “I just,” he sighs, “I just couldn’t tell my dad because for me telling my dad would feel as if I was telling him that all the years of hard work were going down the drain. That the endless nights of working out and exhausting ourselves to sleep were all for nothing. And so when my dad told me that managed to get me a spot at some training camp in the states, I took it. I mean it wasn’t like I had anything going for me here in Korea, and well I needed to guarantee my own future,” he shifts uncomfortably, remembering everything a little too vividly.

“I did pretty well for a couple years, slowly began climbing the ranks, and the natural talent I had for the sport was beginning to really shape itself, even catching the attention of prominent sport reporters. Long story short, I’d find myself surrounded with nothing but yes men and leeches who wanted nothing more than a piece of my so called success,” he gazes off to the distance, ashamed of the ego that had been built as a result of such people, “and well when you get told that you’re the best, that no one can stop you, that you’re untouchable, you truly begin to believe it,” he lets out a chuckle, “so when Brandon Star, a man who was nearly out of my weight class, began to provoke me for a fight on television after winning some match and I kept hearing from my so called friends that it’d be an easy match or that it was a guaranteed win, how could I say no? Of course at the time I didn’t know that they would be betting against me… so I said yes.”

A momentary silence fills the air as Jungkook had never told this whole story to anyone, the revealing of everything somewhat freeing for him, “A part of me knew I was way in over my head, it was like a gut feeling, you know? But I needed someone, anyone, to tell me the truth and to confirm what I was thinking. I needed someone who was going to criticize me instead of nodding their head yes and pretending that everything was going to be just fine. I think that’s why when I first met you, you reminded me so much of the people who were around me in the states, faking a smile in order to spare my feelings.” Sadness clouds his features, ashamed of how he took everything out on you when all you were doing was simply being the person you always were... kind. For that, he was truly sorry.

“Anyways,” he continues, “that night of the fight, the feeling I had in my stomach was overwhelming. I told my dad, who was helping prep me backstage like he always did, that I felt nervous. That I was scared,” his voice cracks and he closes his eyes, remembering the scene as if it was yesterday, “and my dad well...he’s always struggled with separating being a father and being a trainer,” Jungkook tries to contain the sob that’s begging to come out, “but at that moment I just needed my dad. I needed him to tell me that win or lose everything was going to be fine. That he’d be proud of me no matter what,” he finally cries, and as you’re about to pull him into another hug, he vigorously shakes his head, stopping you from doing so.

“No, I need to finish thi—”

“Jungkook,” you softly interrupt because it wasn’t that you didn’t want to hear anymore, you just weren’t sure if you could hear anymore without at some point sobbing yourself, “you don’t need to, especially if you’re not ready,” you stare at him with a sad look on your face.

“No, you deserve to know,” he firmly states, “you deserve to know,” he quietly repeats to himself. You nod your head in understanding, waiting for him to continue as he wipes away his tears with the sleeve of his shirt, composing himself.

“He told me that I’d do just fine, that the son he’s trained so long for wouldn’t fail him now,” he mumbles, the words of his father still echoing in his mind, “When you go and box, you’re supposed to enter that ring with no concerns of the real world, you’re supposed to put any negative or anxious thoughts you had outside the ring to rest. Because the moment you let just one of those thoughts seep through, you might as well hang up your gloves right then and there,” his expression hardens, “I went into that ring knowing I was going to lose…”

“From there I don’t remember too much,” he bitterly lets out a laugh, “I just remember being on a gurney and feeling the heaviness of Star’s punches beginning to weigh down on my chest, clearly having done some damage to my ribs,” he sighs, “but the moment I remember so clearly is my parents trying to make their way to me, doing their best to push their way in an effort to see me. I don’t know if it was because I was just so mad at myself,” his voice shakes, “or because I confused the look of sadness on my dad’s face with disappointment, but at the time—“ his voice falters again, “At the time I thought how ashamed he must’ve been of me,” he fights through his tears, trudging through the story, “And so as I was being lifted into the truck, I kept yelling how this was his fault, that it weren’t for him I wouldn’t be in this position,” Jungkook lifts his head up, combing a hand through his hair.

“When I got to the hospital, I refused to let my parents see me, I was just too—“ God, did he sometimes wish he could go back in time and change everything, “I was too stubborn, too ashamed with myself to even look at them. So I ran,” he says, catching you by surprise, “I needed time alone so I ran,” he repeats, “I ran before they could find me, I just got up and ran,” there’s a haunting emptiness that lingers in his voice, one that brings chills down your spine.

“I called Hobi, and I told him that I needed to redeem a favor,” your mind flashes back to the night Hobi told you what he knew, “And I thought this is what I needed. That I’d be okay with starting anew, and that if I could firmly plant my feet in Seoul then I could visit my parents in Busan, and tell them how sorry I was without them having to worry too much about what the future would hold for me… and explain to them what happened, what I felt, and why I ran. That was my plan,” his voice cracks, “I was reaching a point in my life where I felt so content, so happy. I’d wake up to see you and Hobi making breakfast while imitating some random girl group dance and think to myself how things had managed to turn out so well for me despite my failure in the states. Or when we binged on One Piece episodes that whole night while stuffing our faces in tubed ice cream and I just felt like a little kid again without a worry in the world. But then …”

Jungkook feels the heavy feeling in his chest grow, “He passed away,” and just like that Jungkook feels as if the air has come out of his lungs, the same way it did the night he found out.

You feel your heart break at his words, recognition dawning over your face as everything was beginning to make sense. “My mom had managed to find my number in order to tell me there’d been an accident, and I just couldn’t believe it at first,” he attempts to hide his grief by stifling a sob, “I didn’t want to get up from bed at first because getting up would mean facing reality, it’d mean accepting that it wasn’t some kind of twisted fucked up nightmare but that it was real. That the last sight my dad saw of me was on some gurney,” his face twists, “that the last words I ever said to him were so—“ he breaks down, sobbing once again and this time you feel your own hot salty tears fall from your eyes, wrapping in such a tight hug that you weren’t sure if it was for his or your own sake.

He cries a sound so raw that it was almost as if the wound was still freshly cut, his hand clasping tightly onto your clothing for support. Any last defensive wall he had up was washed away by his salty tears, finally facing the final waves of grief, loss, and devastation in the arms of the person he had taken everything out on. The person he didn’t deserve at all, but had stayed nonetheless. You whisper sweet comforting words to his ear, wanting more than his grief to subside so that you could see the smile you loved so much appear on his face again.

“I just wish there was something I could’ve done differently,” he shakes his head, “so that he could know just how much his son loved and appreciated him,” he lifts his head up from your shoulder, wiping his tears away, and practicing his breathing as his chest had been heaving so bad because of his sobs, “And so that was why I completely changed that June and became cold. That was why I got so mad when I saw you in my room with the broken trophy I had gotten when I was a kid because I was just so reminded of everything,” he frowns, “and it had hit me like a freaking truck. To see my current world and the past one collide was just—“ he pauses, “overwhelming to say the least,” he concludes everything and you’re left there completely speechless.

You could’ve never in your wildest dreams even guessed that this was why Jungkook had come back to Seoul and why he had acted so cold for so long. His grievances had happened in such a short period of time, that all it took was one wrong move to set him completely off. No wonder he had kept himself so isolated … he knew he was ticking time bomb waiting to finally explode at any given moment.

The two of you stare at each other in silence, his words processing in both of your minds. You want to say the words that are currently repeating themselves in your mind, I love you. Three simple words that could make him forget his past, even if it was for a small moment in time. “Jungkook—” he looks up at you, “I—” you stutter, the words clinging onto the tip of your tongue, “I um,” you feel your chest become heavy as he stares at you in curiosity, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” you force out instead. He furrows his eyebrows, ready to protest against your apology, but you’re quick to interrupt before he gets the chance to.

“Since you’re being so honest with me, I feel like it’s only right I’m honest with you,” you bite your lip, disappointed with your cowardice, “So that like that we get a better understanding of one another,” you feign a smile.

“There’s a reason why I got so um…” you pause, “anxious before and during the galleria,” you narrow your eyes, it was now your turn to open a book that’d long been left incomplete. “I told you right? That I was an art student at Busan’s Art college but that I ended up transferring after an incident occurred…” He quietly nods, allowing you to continue, “and well I think I’m ready to talk about it,” you let out a breathy chuckle.

He stares at you in silence, ready to listen as well. “Growing up, I really liked painting,” you laugh, recalling the memory of you painting on the walls as a kid, “for some reason it was something I found myself falling further in love with every calendar year, but my parents, well they were on the more skeptical side of making a career out of it. I mean I don’t really blame them,” you sound unsure, “I mean I know that it’s hard these days to find success in the world of arts, or at least the level of success most people want to obtain but originally for me it didn’t matter,” you chuckle, remembering how naive you had been.

“Before entering college, I’d sell my little paintings and merchandise on those small-business centric websites like Etsy and stuff,” you say for example, “and you’re right, when you get told that you’re good at something, you really begin to believe it…”

Jungkook wants to interrupt and tell you that whatever your situation was, was much more different than his. That you were actually good at what you did, no, you were amazing at it. He wasn’t sure if he could listen to you talk down on yourself, but nonetheless he continues to listen.

“My first year of college I met people like Jimin who were so passionate about what they do that it really cemented the idea I had in wanting to turn my water painting into a career,” you sigh, “but in the back of my mind I always did have tiny doubts that lingered, and I always made sure not to feed them too much, but when you’re surrounded by people who are just as talented or even better than you, it gets hard not to.”

Jungkook completely understands where you’re coming from, having been in a similar position himself before. “And it didn’t help that my parents were constantly breathing down my neck about finding a different career to focus on,” you shrug “anyways,” you continue, shaking your head, “In Busan’s Art College, like many other colleges there are departments, like STEM and Business for example, but in this case things are separated by like dance, art, film, et cetera. And well if you can’t tell I’m a bit of a … pushy … person,” you laugh and Jungkook softly smiles, neither agreeing or disagreeing, “I think it’s due to me always feeling a need to overcompensate my insecurities, I guess. Like when you first moved in, in order to reassure myself that you didn’t hate me, the pushy side of me came out,” you explain, and the same way you began to understand Jungkook as he was explaining his story, Jungkook was beginning to understand you as a person.

“Well back to the focal point, I was a part of a committee club for painters within the art department, thinking that if I took charge of something, it’d increase my chances in succeeding in my career once I graduated. But the thing is, is when you join those committees I guess you could say there’s like a hierarchy of some sort, a cliché come to life,” you try your best to keep the conversation as lighthearted as you can, wanting the energy in the air to become one that was positive, a reflection of just how much you two had grown, “and well during my second year we were all assigned a project for some city poster in which we’d present to the committee’s leader, Nari, and where she and a couple of others would then choose which one was going to be used. And let me tell you, this was a career making project. The people who were going to be at the unveiling were names like Ji Hye Yeom, Haegue Yang, and more,” you sigh knowing you were coming to the rough part of the story.

“Nari had specifically told us that we were to only use materials she had chosen for us, and limited us to certain color schemes that in my opinion were the ugliest schemes I’d ever seen,” you scoff, “So me being the pushy person I am, I went ahead and continued with my original plan, which was making a watercolor painting because at the end of the day if my painting did happen to get chosen, I wanted it to be a genuine work of mine, not something that was limited by someone who was no more superior than me all because of some flimsy title,” you softly shake your head, “And so I poured my heart into it, working on it every chance I got during that school year in order to make sure that the committee would be so amazed , they’d have no choice but to choose it even if it didn’t exactly follow Nari’s regulations.”

A feigned smile graces onto your lips, refusing to cry at a situation from years ago, “I was so nervous that day to present it, but I was also so excited. Excited because I knew I created a piece that was so beautiful I—,” for a quick second your voice falters, but you’re quick to catch yourself, “I was just so sure they’d choose it,” you whisper, voice sounding frail and defeated.

“That day I presented it, I thought the silence that filled the room was because they were amazed,” you close your eyes for a moment, trying your best to push back any tears that wanted to make their way out, “God I still remember the extra specks of white and gold I added to it the night before, thinking those extra touches were really going to tip the scale in my favor,” you mumble, the embarrassment you felt that day coming back.

Jungkook feels his jaw harden, at this point an automatic response to the thought of your feelings being hurt. He didn’t know why, but to see someone as kind as you act out of character whether it be because you were mad or sad, always caused a heavy feeling in his chest. The only thing you deserved to feel was happiness and comfort, and though he wasn’t sure it was something, he, himself, could guarantee you … he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try.

“After what felt like 20 minutes, of complete silence she slowly got up in front of everyone,” you blankly stare at the trees in front of you, “I remember my heart beating out of my freaking chest for some reason, and the sweat beginning to form at my palms. And the moment she started speaking, I just went blank—” you turn to face Jungkook, who had a worrisome look on his face, “She started to berate me in front of everyone, insulting my hard work and telling me that even despite me breaking her guidelines, the painting still wasn’t any good,” you gulp, “But in fact, her words didn’t bother me at all,” you pause, “it was the comments from my supposed peers that really twisted the knife for me,” you scoff, “and then she did the unthinkable...”

Jungkook feels the heavy weight in his chest drop because he knows what you’re about to say. He knows what that woman did. And he knows why you were so hurt when he destroyed your painting, “She grabbed the canvas from the display board, and she ripped it,” you say, managing to muster up the smallest of smiles, but Jungkook knows that it's nothing more than a facade. An illusion so that he could think that you were no longer hurt by the actions of that woman.

“Once she did that, it just triggered everything else that followed after,” you furrow your brows, refusing to look at Jungkook, “I was being laughed at while having a panic attack,” you scoff, “I felt like I was in a scene from a high school movie,” you attempt to mask your hurt by making a joke.

“I ended up running out of the building, feeling as if my heart was going to explode from how fast it was pounding, and the compression in my throat was almost unbearable,” your voice cracks, “in just 20 minutes she took away any confidence I had in my artistic abilities, In just 20 minutes she made me question everything I knew about myself,” a tear finally falls from your eye, speaking the words you’d never said out loud before into the world.

“I attempted to stay at the school for a couple more weeks after that, but every time I picked up a paint brush, I just kept hearing her words along with the rest of my peers’ as well, second guessing every stroke I made on canvas. I had lost my spark,” you stifle a sob, “After that, I decided to transfer out and follow the plans’ my parents had always set out for me… and well, you know the rest,” you laugh in between your tears, wondering just how pitiful you must’ve looked. But soon enough you feel Jungkook's arms wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you into a hug so tight, you never wanted him to let go.

“Don’t leave,” you mumble into his chest.

Jungkook reassures you by cooing a small, “I won’t”, but gently you pull away once he does, holding onto his hand instead. A look of confusion washes over his face.

“No—” you shake your head, realizing he’s misunderstood, “I mean don’t leave our apartment,” you sniffle, giving him a small warm smile, leftover tears still brimming the corners of your eyes. His mouth gapes slightly open, taken back by your statement. He had completely forgotten that he was supposed to be moving out by Monday.

“We—” you shake your head, deciding that “we” wasn’t the right word in this case, “I need you,” you state, nothing but sincerity behind your words. Jungkook feels his heart skip a beat, the close-eyed soft smile that covers your face only making him smile in return.

He doesn’t need to say anything because you know … you know that he needs you just as much as you need him. You know that he’ll never leave your side from this day on because tonight was the start of a new chapter in your lives, one that included each other. Gently he pulls you into another hug, the warm fuzzy feeling in his chest being a feeling he could get used to.

“How did you even know where the venue was, or what the time the whole thing was?” you ask Jungkook, questions that hadn’t crossed your mind that day now forming.

“Hobi sent me a text that same night, very um … straightforward?” Jungkook chuckles, “It read, Art Exhibition. **** Namgang-Ro. 7:30 PM. Formal attire. You either go or you don’t. Up to you. Just don’t go crying later on that you regret not going. And well I had debated for several hours, originally chickening out and deciding to use me not having any formal suits as an excuse. That was until I walked into my room to find that Hobi had ironed one of his own for me to use,” Jungkook explains, “And well luckily I grew some balls and went and well now we’re here,” he smiles at you.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t cut off too much of the story. We still have to remember all the good that came afterward,” you giggle, and he only flashes you an even bigger smile.

“Ah you’re right, you’re right. How could I forget?”

October 2019.

“Happy Halloween!” you and Jungkook wave to the kid dressed as Iron Man, glancing at the clock which currently read 10:00PM. Mm you’d give it one more hour before permanently closing your doors and calling it a day even if Jungkook protested for more time.

You see, tonight was Halloween, and for the first time since you and Hobi moved to your guys’ apartment, you were giving out candy to the little kids of your apartment complex who usually went floor to floor trick or treating and it was all thanks to Jungkook. You were surprised really, you would’ve never taken Jungkook as being someone who was such a kid at heart.

After weeks of begging, he’d finally managed to convince you and Hobi to not only dress, but distribute candy. Usually you and Hobi would turn off all the lights and ignore the knocks you’d receive on the door, choosing to have a movie night than to participate in Halloween festivities.

Realistically speaking, you sorta expected Jungkook to go out and party tonight which is why when he notified you weeks prior that all of you were going to be participating in giving out candy, you couldn’t find it in you to say no. Hobi on the other hand required a lot of convincing and though he wasn’t exactly helping with the distribution of candy, watching him dressed as Batman while lazily sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand was a gift in its own.

Jungkook, who desperately wanted to be a male version of Harley Quinn, had made you help him with cinching his crop top, exposing his toned lower abdomen every time he even stretched the slightest bit. It was…. quite a site … even causing several moms with their kids to “accidentally” stumble on your apartment floor again after only being there 10 minutes prior, your own little green monster finally making its appearance ….

But besides that, your favorite part of his whole costume was definitely the face/eye makeup he had done. The smoky blue and red along with the fake tatted heart under his left eye truly acting as the selling point of his costume. It just made him look very hot, more than usual. Hobi had even caught you staring at the boy on several occasions, teasingly nudging you whenever he did.

With Hobi dressed as Batman and Jungkook dressed as Harley Quinn, that of course only left you, who was currently dressed as none other than a female version of the Joker from Suicide Squad because despite how shitty the movie was, the style in which they made the Joker was still indeed very cool. Jungkook had even lent you his own natural artistic abilities to draw the tattoos where your dominant hand couldn’t firmly paint, laughing at the “twinsies” jokes you made in reference to his own tattoos. It had even given you the opportunity to ask him what each one of his own real tattoos meant to him.

Most of his tattoos, he explained, were done out of impulse. A majority of them being done in the states on a complete whim, but a couple of them held significant meaning to him. For example, his tattoo of a bandaged hand clearly represented his history with boxing. He explained that rather than get the overused boxing gloves as a tattoo, he’d get a simple bandaged hand done, deciding that it looked cooler and that you agreed with. Another example was the tattoo that translated to “Life Goes On” which was pretty self-explanatory, but meaningful nonetheless. Jungkook explained that it was one his favorite mottos growing up, and well recently it seemed to weave perfectly into his life.

But your favorite tattoo? The small One Piece manga strip he had across his left forearm. The story behind it almost caused you to shed a tear, had it not been for your white powdered makeup, you probably would've cried. You see, when Jungkook was a young boy he’d always watch One Piece as a distraction from boxing, falling in love with the story and its characters.

His dad, who’d always scold him whenever he caught him late at night watching the anime, never understood why Jungkook liked the show so much. It wasn’t until one night he somehow managed to convince his dad to watch the episode he was on, and despite not knowing anything about what was going on nor the characters’ names, his dad ended up loving the show just as much as him. The show had acted as a new bond between the two, from buying the latest manga volumes to staying up late at night to watch the newest episode. And well the strip on Jungkook’s arm was from the exact episode he had managed to convince his dad to watch with him that night. The tattoo serves as a representation of a memory he holds dearest to him, a memory of his dad.

“Ah I think that’s the last of it,” Jungkook looks into the last bag of candy he had bought, absolutely nothing left inside, “Wasn’t this fu—”

“Let’s go get a tattoo,” you interrupt, the idea coming to you out of nowhere. Jungkook tilts his head in confusion, eyebrows furrowing. A tattoo? You? Ms. I do not even have a dot of ink on my skin?

“A tattoo!?” Hobi turns from the TV, now having got his attention.

Both men stare at you in silence, thinking this was all some big joke until you begin to nod, reaffirming your choice, “Yes! All three of us! Matching roommate tattoos,” you smile, not exactly sure what had gotten into you, but surprisingly... completely okay with it.

Jungkook, noticing just how serious you were about this, begins to feel a smile form on his face. It wasn’t like he minded, he just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to regret it the next morning, “Y/N, you sure you one? I mean … you’re not someone I picture getting a tattoo, I mean think of your job,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, think of your job!” Hobi butts in, clearly not in favor of getting a tattoo.

Vigorously, you nod your head, “I’m one hundred percent sure,” you laugh, “I promise you, I won’t regret it,” you stick out your pinky finger, and Jungkook is quick to hug it with his own.

“W-What the?” Hobi stutters, unsure if it was the alcohol or shock in his system causing it. Probably both.

You turn to Hobi, “If you really don’t want it, then you don’t have to get it,” you shrug, “But at least come with us,” you smile, hoping that once you were there at the parlor shop you’d be able to convince him.

Sitting on the leather stool with your forearm displayed, the tattooist begins to prep your skin placing rubbing alcohol on the area in which you had chosen to get your tattoo. Now that you are here, you couldn’t lie, you were a bit nervous. But mostly because you were skeptical of the pain the needle would give you.

Jungkook had described it as “a cat repeatedly scratching a sunburn”... as if you were supposed to know what that means. He also said that depending on your pain tolerance you’d either like the feeling, get used to it, or absolutely hate it. It just varied from person to person as well as the placement where you were choosing to get it.

Supposedly the inner wrist didn’t hurt, but with the sudden stinging sensation you were feeling, you were a bit unsure of that now.

“So is that your boyfriend out there?” the woman tattooing you suddenly asks, catching you completely by surprise. If she didn’t have a pricking needle against your skin , you probably would’ve jumped at the accusation.

Trying your best to keep your cool, you respond, “Oh um—” you shake your head, “No,” you awkwardly laugh, “I wish”, you think to yourself.

“Hmm,” she hums, the same smirk Jimin once gave you appearing on her face, “Sorta seemed like it out there, I mean I’m sure if he had the option he would’ve chosen to sit here right next to you and hold your hand,” she teases, and a blush appears on your cheeks.

“Oh that’s just how he is with everyone,” you reason, not wanting to feed into the delusions that Jungkook could possibly return any feelings for you, “He’s a very protective person, sometimes a little too much, but it has its benefits,” you joke around.

She shrugs, continuing to work on the small tattoo, “”Mm I don’t know, I mean the way with the way he looks at youuuu,” she sings, “because you clearly like him,” she laughs.

“No I don’t!” you pout, “We’re just close friends, that’s all….”

“Close friends don’t look at each other like that, and they’re certainly not as touchy as you two are,” she says, only causing you to scoff.

“You don’t know what you’re ta—”

“All done!” she smiles, wiping over the fresh new ink on your skin one last time, “Look how easy it was for me to get you to stop wincing so much,” she winks at you, and suddenly everything begins to make sense. She was trying to get you to relax. Was the topic she chose really the best one? No. But it worked didn’t it?

She places the plastic wrap over it, “So what do you think?” you stare at the new permanent piece of work on your skin, a small smile gracing your lips.

“Ah I—”

“Love it so much!” you flash Jungkook the two-month old ink on your skin, the digital numbers “00:00” acting as a permanent reminder of the day all three of you officially became roommates. It was small, yes, but to you it meant so much.

Jungkook pulls his own sleeve, showing you his own matching ink, “Zero o’ clock,” he hums, recalling a song he heard not too long ago on the radio.

“Ah too bad we couldn’t convince Hobi to get one,” you sigh, remembering how firm he was that night, “but we’ll get him next time,” you laugh.

Jungkook quirks his brow, “Next time?”

You nod your head, “I can see why people get addicted to these things,” you joke, “they’re like their own pieces of art,” you smile.

“Design mine next time,” he suddenly says, his statement coming off more as a command than a question. Turning to face him, you look for any small sign that he was joking.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” he pops the ‘p’, “I think a watercolor style painting would look amazing rightttt,” he points to the side of his ribcage, “here.”

Eyes widening in shock, you’re in complete disbelief, “You—you’re crazy!” you laugh, refusing to take him seriously.

“Ah I’m being serious Y/N,” he pouts, “Come on you know you want toooo,” he sings, softly nudging you.

You stare at him for a moment, “Are you sure?” you ask, skeptical about his seriousness.

He nods, “As sure as you were about getting that tattoo that night,” he teases, and you only roll your eyes in return.

“Mmm,” you hum, “I’ll think about it.”

“Think?! I’m your roommate!” he dramatically complains, throwing his head against your shoulder, suddenly in a clingy mood. Maybe the tattooist was right… maybe you two were a little too touchy….

You mean, just last month during friendsgiving, Hobi just had to complain in front of everyone claiming, “If you two don’t get your own room—”

“Then I think at some point this turkey is going to come back alive just to tell you two himself,” he slurs his words, wine glass in hand.

Drunk Yoongi tags in, “How do you know it’s a he?” he squints his eyes, gearing up for a debate.

Hobi rolls his eyes and makes a dismissive motion with his hand, “Not now Yoongi,” he says, causing everyone sitting at the table to laugh, and he turns his attention back to you and Jungkook, currently sitting next to each other, “Are you two going to continue playing footsies or are you finally going to—”

Seokjin interrupts by awkwardly coughing and tapping his champagne glass with his fork, getting up from his seat in the process, “I think it’s the perfect time to do our annual “What am I thankful for” toast, so I’ll begin,” he laughs, all eyes on him, “So um this year I am thankful for all of my friends who continuously stick by side throughout the years, and for the wonderful woman I’ve grown to love more and more every day,” he warmly smiles at his girlfriend, the two already seeming like a married couple despite having only met this year. Seokjin turns his attention to Yoongi, signalling that it was his turn.

He groans before getting up, peeved as to why Seokjin always insisted on doing these things, “Okay okay—”

“This is gonna take a while,” you whisper to Jungkook, Yoongi’s speech now fading into the background.

Jungkook quietly chuckles in response, “You think? How long do you think it’ll take before he starts with his “back in my day” speech?” he jokes around.

Suddenly Yoongi’s voice becomes more audible, “Back in my day we didn’t use—”

You and Jungkook snortle a laugh, “Not long,” you respond, the two of you trying your best to keep your snickering at a low.

“So … got anything prepared?” he asks, this being his first year and all doing this kind of thing, he was a bit nervous as to what to say.

You shake your head, “Mm no, you just sorta say what’s on your mind? I guess?” you awkwardly laugh, “Trust me, as long as they have their bottles of soju next to them, whatever you say will go in one ear and out the other,” you reassure, remembering the first year you did this and gave a heartwarming speech, just for it to be ignored because Namjoon could’ve sworn he’d seen the “turkey move”. From there it led to an hour debate on whether a dead freaking turkey could still possibly be alive after having it in the oven for several hours.

He nods his head, noting what you’ve said.

After going around it was now the last toast of the night,“Ah and lastly onto our newest member in this friend group,” Namjoon, who had just finished his own speech, turns to Jungkook and pats his shoulder, “take it away,” he gives him a dimpled smile before sitting back in his seat.

Jungkook awkwardly blinks at him for a moment, not getting up until you nudge him to do so. “Oh yeah…” he forces a laugh, “Um so where do I begin,” you almost feel second hand embarrassment, if you thought you weren’t any good under pressure, Jungkook might take the crown.

“So… The first thing I want to say I’m thankful for are the new friends I’ve made since coming to Seoul,” he spares a glance to the boys, “um..” he bites his lip, “The second thing or person may I say, that I want to thank is Hobi…” he smiles at the drunk man, “well for giving me a second chance per say,” he chuckles, “I know I don’t say it often, but I’m truly grateful for you picking up my call that night,” Hobi gives a small warm smile, “And well the last person I want really want to mention that I’m thankful for is … you,” Jungkook suddenly turns his attention down to you, catching you by surprise.

Raising your eyebrows, you wonder where this is coming from, “I um—” he feighs a small laugh, “I know I wasn’t exactly the nicest person when I first moved in, but—” he exhales a breath, “But you gave continuously gave me a chance to prove otherwise every single time until I finally got it right,” he smiles, “and well last year I had a pretty rough year,” he jokes around, “and honestly I thought coming in 2019 it’d be just bad, but you single handedly proved me wrong and made sure this was going to be a year for me to remember and well for that I’m forever grateful,” you silently blink away any tears, not wanting to get teased at for crying after this his speech was done. He breaks away the gaze he held on you in order to finish his speech off, “So with that I say … cheers everyone!”

Everyone raises their glasses of whatever it was they chose to drink, clinking it all in the middle and repeating “Cheers!” before gulping down whatever was left of their drinks. The rest of the night is filled with nothing but laughs and joy, as well as the remainder of the month, every single day creating a new memory for the three of you, until you were left with nothing but...

“The present day,” you whisper to yourself, unable to believe that the year had gone by so fast.

“What a year it’s been huh…” Jungkook softly smiles, glancing at the time on his phone which reads 11:50. 10 more minutes until the new year. 10 more minutes until zero’o clock.

“Yeah…” a comfortable silence fills the air around you, how had the hour gone by in the blink of an eye? You wonder if it’s the effect Jungkook just naturally has on people because never did you find time going by so fast unless you were with him.

“I—”

“So—”

Your cheeks become a tinge of pink , “Oh you go first—” he shakes his head.

“No, no, go ahead,” he laughs, insisting that you go instead.

This was the perfect chance, the chance to tell him about the feelings you’d grown to have for him in the past year. You just needed to grow the courage to say those three letter words that were itching to be said. It was either now or never.

“I um, I just wanted to say thank you,” you chicken out once again, “I didn’t get the chance to say it on friendsgiving, but,” you gulp, “your speech it um meant a lot to me, and well I’m just as grateful for you,” you chuckle, “I think maybe even more.”

Had you noticed, you would’ve seen the slightly disappointed look on Jungkook’s face, “Oh..” he says, a small pout appearing on his face.

“What were you going to say?” you ask, faking the pep in your voice, ready to eternally scold yourself for being a chicken once you got back to the cabin.

He sighs, “It’s nothing really,” he shrugs, but you nudge his shoulder before he could divert the conversation elsewhere.

“Come on, just say it,” you tease, “because you either speak now or forever hold your piece,” you look at the time, “5 minutes till midnight.”

He stays silent for a moment, contemplating whether or not he should say what had been on his mind for quite some time, “I um—” fuck it, it was either now or never, “You know how I told you that I couldn’t sleep right? That it’s why I came out here…” you innocently nod your head as he continues, “well it’s cause I had already sorta been thinking about everything that’s happened this year…” he lets out a small chuckle.

“I mean isn’t it crazy?” he pushes his hair back with his hand, “Someone who was nothing more than a stranger before the clock hit twelve that night is now someone I can’t picture not being in my life,” you feel your heart flutter at his words, “And I mean to think we didn’t get along at first,” he lets out a breath of disbelief, “All because I was a person who was—” he pauses, unsure of how to describe himself from that time, “angry,” he decides to say, “I was an angry person who mad at the world,” he bites his lip in retribution for his attitude back then.

“No,” you laugh, shaking your head, “you were just someone who was… hurt. That’s all it was,” you say.

“You think?” you nod your head yes, “I never really thought about it like that,” he mumbles, “Would you do it all over again?” he suddenly asks, and you find yourself quirking your brow at his question, “Like if you had the chance would you do it all over again…” he further explains.

Without a second thought you say, “Yeah I would,” you giggle, “And you?”

He remains silent for a moment, pondering on his own question before nodding his head as well, “I wouldn’t mind doing it all over again because then I’d get to relive the process of falling in love with you all over again,” he finally says, “I’d get to pinpoint the exact moment this year that I fell in love with you.”

“In ten, nine, eight…” the families around you begin to shout the countdown, and all you can do is stare at Jungkook in disbelief of what you just heard come out of his mouth.

“Y-You love me?” you manage to stutter out, a smile now forming on your lips.

“Seven, six, five…..”

Silently, he nods his head, a loving smile on his face as he leans towards you, the flutter in your stomach only intensifying.

“Four, three, two, one….”

And as if time had stopped, his lips finally meet yours and the only thing you could feel were the placement of warm lips against yours, giving you a New Year’s kiss that would be remembered for years to come.

“Happy New Year!” the sound of fireworks popping are echoed in the background because the only thing you could focus on were the soft lips that were moving with yours. His fingers curl around yours, creating such an intimacy that you were sure you had to be dreaming. It wasn’t until you found yourself kissing him back that the reality of everything finally set in. Jungkook loved you.

Slowly he pulls away, savoring the kiss till its very last moment, “Happy New Years Y/N,” he whispers, a grin plastered on his face.

Laughing in return, you smile, “Happy New Years Jungkook.”

Once you and Jungkook returned to the cabin, you were met with several complaints from Hobi, “Finally! We’ve been freezing all night!” Hobi exclaimed the moment you two walked in, harshly grabbing the firewood from Jungkook’s hands. It wasn’t until he peeped your linked arms that everything began to make sense, “Ahhh,” he gives you two a toothy grin, “You guys, look who’ve finally confessed to one another,” he yells, catching the attention of everyone in the living room.

Suddenly the room is filled with several “finally’s” causing both of your mouths to slightly agape open. “What do you mean “finally” ?” you furrow your eyebrows, looking at Hobi for an explanation.

He scoffs, “Don’t act dense you two!” he laughs, “It was so obvious you two liked one another, you two were just too blind to see it yourselves,” he scolds both you and Jungkook by flicking your foreheads, “You just didn’t have to go confessing while all of us were freezing in here!”

Both you and Jungkook awkwardly laugh, a guilty look on one another’s face. “Well choo you two before I make you two clean everything up and babysit our friends!” Hobi makes a motion with his hands, and the two of you are quick to make your way upstairs into Jungkook’s room. Thankful that he didn’t punish the two of you.

Jungkook is quick to take off his puffy jacket, plopping himself onto the bed like a little kid, a loud breathy sigh following after. You stare at him for a moment, unsure of what to do, that is until you see him open his arms wide with a pout appearing on his face, “Come onnn,” he sings, “Let’s cuddle,” he shoots you a smile.

Playfully you roll your eyes before taking off your own jacket, plopping onto the spot next to him. Small feverish giggles escape your lips once he begins to give you tiny kisses all over, enveloping you in a hug so tight, it would’ve been impossible to ever doubt his feelings for you.

“Jungkook stop,” you laugh, the tickles he was now giving you making the sides of your stomach hurt, “Jung—” you attempt to push his hand away, face becoming red at just how much you were laughing, his own high-pitched laugh echoing across the walls of the room with you. From there he does a mixture of both tickling and kissing you, the two of you truly in your own world.

Soon though, your little game of tickles becomes a full on makeout session, not that you were complaining. Currently you lay under him with Jungkook leaning against you, using his arm that rested on the bed as support.

Slowly he slips his tongue into your mouth, gentle but demanding, nothing less than pure love behind the kiss. “Jungkooook,” you quietly whine once he begins to move onto your neck, every suckle lasting a little longer than the last. His hand interlocks with yours as he continues, you’re hand subconsciously playing with his hair from behind, making small twirls with the brown wavy locks of hair.

“I love youuu,” he cooes, a certain gleam to his eyes. Soon enough, his fingers were teasingly playing with the waistband of your leggings. And God, were you dripping. “Can I?” he innocently looks at you, licking his lips in the process. You’d be crazy to say no.

Nodding your head yes, he nudges your legs apart and begins to pull off the cotton fabric from your legs. You help him along the way, desperate to receive your own pleasure.

Teasingly, he swipes his index finger over the fabric of your underwear, continuing to pepper you with warm kisses on the underside of your jaw. The grip you had on his hair became tighter with every swipe, “Aren’t you wet?” he slyly chuckles, rubbing small circles with his placed finger.

“Stop teasing,” you whine, only causing him to muffle a laugh against your shoulder.

��I just wanna take my timeeeee,” he hums, placing a kiss to your cheek, “Can I take my time?” he pouts, only causing you to roll your eyes, agreeing nonetheless, “That’s my girl,” he whispers, pecking you on the lips before continuing, cupping your cheek with his … unoccupied … hand.

“God you’re beautiful,” he says staring at your pleasured expression, a result of the friction between his finger and your underwear becoming more intense.

“Jungkook,” your voice shakes, wanting needing him to do something before the muscles in your leg spasm any more.

“Shh shh not too loud,” he softly mumbles, because considering how drunk the boys’ were, any loud noise and you’d have someone idiotically stumbling into the room in order to find out whatever the noise was. Not wanting you to complain any more, he slips his finger under your underwear, pressing both his middle and index finger to the centerfold of your sex, “Look how wet you are,” he smirks, coaxing another moan from your lips.

Jungkook couldn’t lie, he’d envisioned this moment a couple of times before, but to have it becoming a reality was completely different than what he imagined. It was indeed better.

“I bet you’d love for me to take these off,” he teasingly pretends to pull down your panties, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“Please Jungkook,” you cry, how was it possible to already be on the verge of releasing when he hadn’t even done anything explicit yet? He begins to move his fingers up and down your clit, coating his fingers with your wetness, preparing to insert his fingers in your aching hole, “Please—” you attempt to whimper his name again, but his lips passionately kiss you before you get the chance to. It’s once he does that, that the energy in the room shifts, becoming one of playful teasingness to one of passion and love. It’s while he kisses you that he finally sinks his single finger into your pussy, your wetness helping him in gradually picking up the pace until soon enough he’s able to slip in another. Your moan being suppressed by the pressing of his lips against yours, softly nibbling on your lower lip.

“So fucking tight,” he mutters, the squelching sounds coming from your pussy bringing him a sense of pleasure, “Can’t wait to make love to you,” he whispers watching as your eyes lazily roll back, the sight being one he’d remember for a very long time.

“J—Just like that Jungkook,” you manage to stutter out, your arousal dripping in and out of your pussy as he continues with his motions. By now you feel his hardened member kneading against panties, his self-restraint holding on by a string. God, did he wanna fuck your brains out already. Had you been some kind of one night stand and he probably would already be doing so, but you, well you were different. You were his. And he was going to make sure you knew it to.

With his other hand he begins to slide his way under your shirt, caressing your breasts while fingering you, “Take off the shirt,” he mumbles while planting kisses on your neck, and you’re quick to obey, pulling the shirt over your head and uncaringly throwing it onto the floor.

By now you were dressed in only your underwear and bra, which to you seemed a bit unfair and so purposely you begin to play with the hem of his shirt, in hopes that he’d get the message. When he doesn’t, you momentarily stop him from kissing you any further, mumbling a tiny, “Mm take off your shirt,” causing him to let out a breathy laugh. He does as told, exposing the toned torso you’d find yourself frequently gawking over for in the past year. Because truly, his body proportions were insane.

Gently pulling him from his hair, you deepen the kiss by running your other hand across his bare back, the warm skin to skin touch providing another level of intimacy. “Let me eat you out,” he murmurs against your lips, waiting for a simple three letter word so that he can finally pull off your panties.

Instead you give him a small “MmHm,” with a small nod which in this case would suffice as he was sure you were too lost in your own world of pleasure to properly respond. Delicately he removes your underwear, parting your legs in between before lowering his head.

Without saying a word, he runs his finger against your slit, licking and sucking on the fluid that dripped from his finger. What. A. Fucking. Tease. “Jungkooook,” you whine like a brat, the heat you felt below almost unbearable at this point.

“What a pretty pussy,” he rasps, gives your clit a gentle kiss before suckling against it, his saliva mixing with your fluids. Immediately you feel a wave of pure bliss, your fingers slightly trembling at just how good the sudden sensation felt.

“Oh God Jungkook,” you needily whisper once he slips his finger back inside, pushing it deep into your core all while eating you out. Your breathy moans along with the sound of your wet pussy being toyed around with, fill the room. With your eyes half-open, you manage to look down at the sight of Jungkook licking through your folds, his messy hair covering most of his face until you use your hand to push it back, wanting to savor the view in front of you.

“Just look at you,” he groans, admiring the view of your back arched along with your thighs which slightly quivered at the flicks of his tongue, “All fucking mine, you got that?” he asks.

When you don’t respond, he inserts a second finger, catching your attention.

“Yes!” you cry at the sudden jolt of pleasure, his fingers scissoring inside of you, “I’m all yours,” you answer and to that he smirks, curling his fingers inside you. His ego at a level unthinkable. From there he continues to suck and slurp any remnants of your wetness, ignoring your warnings that you were about to orgasm.

It isn’t until he feels a quick rougher than usual tug to the hair followed with a gentle release that he knows you’ve came. Only then does he stop, quickly making his way to sweetly kiss you as you ride through your orgasm. You barely manage to kiss him back, too overwhelmed by orgasm he just brought down on you.

He cups your face once again, making out with you once again even if you were lazily kissing him back, “Jungkook,” you croak out, “Make love to me,” you dazedly whisper, recalling his words from earlier, and without a single word he begins to kiss you again, this time even more passionately (if that was possible) your words triggering a certain fire within him. And despite being in a post-orgasm state, you kiss him with just as much passion as he is doing to you.

By now the two of your hands’ were entangled with each others’ hair, Jungkook roughly pressing his clothed erection against the barity of your pussy. Releasing one of his hands from his hair, he smoothly travels down your back, removing the clasp of your bra with his hand. Deciding not to question his skills, you help further remove it until you’re only left completely nude. Your tits now on full display for him.

He soon begins to tenderly suck on your hardened nipples, one hand caressing the opposing tit whenever he was sucking on one, providing equal attention to both. You begin to play with the button of his black pants, desperately ready to have Jungkook completely inside you. Jungkook notices your lack of patience, deciding that just this time he’d give you what you want.

Pushing himself off you, he begins to unbutton his pants, your heart now beating out of excitement once you see the band of his black boxers. This was really happening. And though you’d seen Jungkook’s cock before, specifically with a woman having it wrapped inside her mouth, to see it this time around was definitely much more shocking than the first…. Was he always this big? The veins that run along his fair-colored cock only add to it’s intimidating appearance.

Pushing himself back on you, he sloppily kisses you all over, from your mouth to the side of your neck, slowly making his way downard. His cock teases the slit of your entrance, coaxing along the delicate folds of your pussy. Intertwining his hand with yours, he looks at you one last time, “You ready?” he breathes out.

Biting your lip, you slowly nod your head yes, his head then slowly pushing into your tight entrance, a groan coming from both of your lips, “God I fucking love you,” he breathily moans beside your ear.

“I love you too,” you whisper in return, his gaze never leaving yours as his cock tortuously enters you inch by inch, the grip you have on his hand tightening with every passing second, “Oh my god,” you whimper, his pre-cum along with your prior wetness making the push inside more bearable.

It isn’t until you’re completely filled up by his cock that he slowly begins to move. Each and every deep thrust garnerning both whines and mewls from you, “Fuck,” he moans, his voice raspy from pleasurable sensation he was feeling. Somehow he manages to continue to plaster kisses all over you, his hands tightly wrapped around your waist as he continues to grind his hips against yours, making nothing but love to you.

Your hot walls now take him with ease, the small pressure you had originally felt having slowly faded away. He keeps his thrusts at a moderate pace, wanting to savor the moment.

“J—Jungkook,” you cry out, feeling your second orgasm coming as you wrap your legs around his waist. He begins to pick up his pace, “Faster,” you moan, remembering that he was definitely okay with having rough sex, considering how many times you’d have to hear other woman moan just how harder they wanted back in the beginning of last year. Who said he couldn’t do the same for you?

“Faster?” he questions, a certain spark now in his eye, “You sure?” eagerly you nod your head yes, too lost in the idea of your possible orgasm to think of the repercussions of your answer. Because soon you find yourself getting completely fucked out, the pace of his thrust becoming almost uncomparable to the pace he was going before, this time not caring at all for rhythm. By now you're sure that your different number of cries and moans could be heard from downstairs, but honestly you could give less of a fuck.

The sound of your skin slapping with his echo against the wooden walls, your eyes screwing shut as you felt your high come. His rapid thrust continuing as he fucks you into oblivion, “Just look at you, creaming on my fucking cock,” he groans, by now sweat was forming on the creases of his forehead, “and to think I get to have you like this all to myself, every single day,” he chuckles, the tight feeling in his abdomen signalling to him that his own release was coming.

“Cum in me Jungkook,” you whine, and with that he does, his white milky cum coating your walls from the inside and out. He admires the view in front of him, the sight of you completely fucked out with his cum dripping from the entrance of your pussy, wondering how he got so lucky.

Out of breath, the two of you cuddle with one another, your eyes half closed, ready to knock out at any moment. But before you do, Jungkook peppers one last kiss onto your cheek, mumbling a final “I love you,” ready for the new memories this year would bring for the two of you.

a/n : ahhhhhh! finally finished with my finals so i was able to finally get this done! for some reason i sorta got attached to this couple, i think it’s because we got to see literally every month of their forming relationship so i just ended up really loving the dynamic between the two lmao. butttt all stories must come to an end :( and i’m very happy with how this story came out, but who knows maybe we’ll this couple again in the future. anywayssss like, reblog, comment, message me an anon or even directly! anything is appreciated (I swear im not a mean person) and ill see yall next time! 💞

mini taglist: @ggukkieland @unicornbabylover

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bubblyani · 3 years

Text

The Letter

(Melvin Purvis x Reader)

A Melvin Purvis One Shot

Fandom: Public Enemies (2009) Michael Mann

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6.6k+

Summary: The day when the FBI plans to catch John Dillinger, you finally write a letter full of undisclosed affections to Melvin Purvis, the love of your life.  

Author’s Note: Please note, this is all based on the fictionalized version of the character played by Christian Bale. It was a challenging concept but very happy with the outcome. Maybe I’m just “Bumping Gums*” but, hope y’all enjoy!!

“What are you thinking about?”

That familiar, male voice inquired. Cool yet affectionate; lingering in the darkness long enough for a female voice to hum before responding:

“Me? just things…” she began, her voice comprised of a much greater familiarity above all others, “Things I wanna say to you. I…” a chuckle arose, “It’s silly but…” she inhaled deep, “I just want to, write them down…for you”

“What?…like in a letter?”

“Uh huh!”

“Why? I’m right here” Her giggles seasoned his genuine curiousity,“It’s not the same. I…” she inevitably paused, “I’m just shy” as softness smeared over her tone. “Oh…” he decided to follow suite, “…somehow I don’t believe that” with his words exiting in the form of purrs, the two pairs of lips finally met. The kiss, it was chaste. Yet the sound remained crisp. And the shared chuckles that soon followed, were crispier. Audibly vivid at its finest.

Sheer pity, for it merely was a memory. Such a pity, for it vanished the very second your eyes dared to open.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(1934)

A heavy sigh left your lips in disappointment. Arms folded, your right index finger wandered over your silk robe, in detail. It had no other option, especially when your lips could not indulge his own, when your eyes could not indulge the only loving gaze that truly mattered. Thus, there you were, running your fingers over the silk of harsh reality. Nothing to imagine, nothing to relive.

All the while you stood, staring at the door ahead. The door from where he just left.

It was a lazy afternoon, and anxiousness had found its way deep into your bloodstream. Woken nerves, uneasy stomach, the pounding heart with great speed and clarity. Harsh reality had turned to the worse, grabbing you by the shoulders, only to force you to stare deep at it.

Face the facts, it uttered. But which part of you wanted to do so?

Though being the sole occupant in the room, your pounding heartbeat did not fail to drown your very own hearing. This feeling, you despised it, to the core. If only it would stop.

Until it finally did. But only when you spun back around in a split second. For you decided to take action on it instead.

Planting yourself firm on the wooden desk, hands were occupied in the hurried dance as drawers were pulled, and stashes of paper were grabbed and dropped out before you. But once the hands found their way to a beautiful pen inside, all actions reduced pace. Holding it with care, your eyes grew warm by the mere sight. For the pen, it was a symbol of things a many, and one in particular. The one which cost you a heavy sigh, before opening the cap and let the pen make take its course on the paper. And just like that, you finally wrote down two words. Two out of the many your heart ached to speak into existence:

Dear Mel…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The sigh that followed soon after, was relieving. It was liberating. In truth, even a smile seemed possible. Hence, your intentions were clear.

“Dear Mel…” leaning forward, you read it out with warmth. For you were prepared to permit the ink to reunite with the paper once again, and linger on a little longer:

Looks like I finally found a reason to sit down and write this letter to you. Honestly, I feel like laughing, cause I never thought I’d end up doing this.  

Chuckling to oneself, you proceeded to write:

But I know if I don’t do this now, I would regret it. Cause now I finally know you deserve to read every last bit of my thoughts and feelings. All that I have hidden for too long. Before it’s too late.

Seeing you walk out that door wasn’t anything new. But when you did it this afternoon, it felt different. My heart, it felt something. It was heavy! That’s the word. Was I worried? afraid? I don’t know. All I know was that, it was too much. Enough for me to remember your effect on me.

Those words may have been generalized, yet you were astounded by the comfort you sensed when writing them. Inhaling deep, you kept on:

You were not a man I expected to ever meet in my life, Melvin Purvis. Never for one second. Out of all the folks here in Chicago, why would we ever meet? Whatever reason it was, I am very thankful. I am very thankful I opened my door to the hallway that night.

And I am thankful for Mr. Lloyd, and for that man in the navy blue coat.

Your words, they brimmed with sincerity. Looking up from the paper, you couldn’t help but stare into the wall. It was simply inevitable. Especially when every bit of detail began to flow into your consciousness, only to unfold the memory of that fateful night in your mind.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chick Webb’s “Blues in my Heart*” playing in the radio, certainly did not fail to mirror your heart to perfection. For the melancholia was mutual. And the dim lights illuminating the apartment in the late evening, seemed to have sealed the emotion shut.

Memorable was your deep sigh, along with warm cup of tea that rested on your hands:

“I figured he, of all people would vouch for me, but instead he just…hung up” You remembered uttering, tone enriched with sadness whilst imitating a telephone being disconnected.

“Well…” a gruff voice began, “…if I were your Old man, I would never pull that nonsense”

You looked up, to set your eyes over at your neighbor Wilmer Lloyd, sitting across from you in his pajamas. A spritely gentleman in his late seventies, Lloyd was the friend, who in time became the father figure you wished you had.

Amused by his temper filled response, You chuckled with disbelief:

“Mr. Lloyd, your daughter had to move to another city, cause you didn’t like the fella she wanted to marry” you replied, “No need for the unnecessary kindness” adding with a smile, you proceeded to take a sip of the hot beverage.

“What kindness? she is no good kid like you. She married a goon*! ” Lloyd responded in defense, leaning forward with conviction, “While your Pops is just mad cause you’re trying to be a Secretary”

“I bet you a Lincoln* that my folks rather have me marry a goon, than have me find my own way of living” you said, gulping down the rest of the tea.

“Don’t jinx it, kid” the old man grunted, his index finger pointed right at you, “I don’t wanna hate you too”

You laughed out loud. Truthfully, you were relieved to have finally did. The room felt too depressing for too long.

“Alright, kid. I’m beat” the old man sighed, pushing himself up to stand with a grunt. “Goodnight, Mr.Lloyd” You stood alongside him. The two parted ways, with you making your way over to the kitchen, and your neighbor making his way out. As if it was so habitual. For a daily chat with old Wilmer Lloyd, was indeed habitual.

Your first proper encounter with Lloyd was a special one. It was only a few months ago that you moved into Chicago. Stressful work shifts and lack of friends led to an eventual emotional breakdown one fine evening. A seemingly noticeable one, which caused the usually moody Lloyd to peep through his door, only to find you bawling your eyes out in the hallway. The sight of you kneeling before your apartment door in tears, was more than enough for his cold heart to melt, and to voice his concern. All while he helped you gather the groceries that had fallen out of your brown paper bag.

“We all gotta start somewhere, kid”

That phrase of comfort, was the invisible handkerchief that wiped your tears that day. And as you rinsed the tea cup, that phrase managed to return to your consciousness, being an invisible hand to pat you on the shoulder. Closing the tap, you sighed with relief. For you were once again thankful for the good in humanity.

Until the sound of a gunshot attacked your ears.

Clinging on to the sink with a jump, you felt your heart beat out loud, and there was no stopping. Before any was comprehended, a loud groan soon followed, originating from the Hallway. Your eyes widened. Could it be?

“Mr.Lloyd…” you breathed, as your legs finally made you dash towards the door to open. You gasped out loud, the moment you found Wilmer Lloyd sprawled on the floor, shot.

“Oh my god!…” you whispered, kneeling beside him.

But Lloyd lost your attention for a slight second, for you caught the sight of a man disappearing into the right-side stairwell. The sight was quick and blurry, yet it was evident he was armed. And one particular color was prominent as he left.

The groan repeated, forcing you to focus on Lloyd once again. Which was most important.

“A-are you alright?” A meek inquiry was all that you could do.

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, KID?” The old man answered in pain, shifting. Slight relief washed over you, when you noticed he was only shot in the arm. Perhaps it was your heartbeat, or a new set of pounding footsteps nearby. Either way, the sounds grew louder from the left.

“Freeze! Chicago Police-” A voice, a male voice cried out, only to pause, causing you to look over, only to freeze.

Lowering his pistol, a well dressed man stood, surrounded by two others. All in suits and fedoras, and all seemingly alarmed by the sight of you and Lloyd.

“Is he alright, Ma’am?” The first man inquired. “I’m fine. Jesus!” Lloyd responded with annoyance. The man nodded with acknowledgement. Although there was slight embarrassment in the his face, you were simply too distracted by the cool nature of his voice.

“I know this is the wrong time but…” the man uttered, “…but did you see-”

“The shooter? ” you began all the sudden, “…in a navy blue coat? He went that way” pointing towards the right, you added. The muscles of the man’s tensed face relieved.

“Thank you, ma’am…” he breathed, before making a dash, “Boys! Take this man to the hospital” his commanding voice trailed behind him, indicating Lloyd. All before he himself disappeared into the stairwell.

And to your luck, the two able bodied youngsters knelt over the old man to do the needful. “The bullet is still inside. He’s gonna be alright, ma’am”

“Thank god! You heard him, Mr.Lloyd” you said, “Let’s go”

“Eh…” Lloyd muttered, holding the wound whilst being carried, “Not that I’m overjoyed about getting shot, but I gotta say I’m more than happy to know I’m not gonna die tonight” he grunted. To which you finally smiled behind him:

“Not in a million years…”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The sound of loud sirens shattered your trail of reminiscence. Sirens, you gasped. For they suddenly brought you worry. Was he in trouble already?

Parting from the pen and paper, your hands pushed you to rise and scurry towards the window. Except you merely saw a youngster getting his ear pulled by an angry policeman, for fiddling with the police car siren.

You clutched your chest, sighing with relief to see. The fact that daylight yet reigned supreme was also sufficient evidence for you to rationalize your new-found relief. He was safe, wherever he was.

Returning to the desk, you picked up the pen. Glancing at it with affection, you proceeded to write once more:

Because of the accident that night, I found myself meeting a man who fascinated me instantly. So , you could understand how frustrated I was when I couldn’t even thank him.

You smirked upon those words. Not soon before you continued writing:

But then again, who knew I would have the actual luck to see him again two days later? At a place where I least expected. All thanks to a Bad Customer.

Akin to a Moving Picture, or a Talkie*, that very moment began to project into your memory. All the while your index finger managed to twirl a piece of your hair with nostalgia.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Apparently it was just some low level goon. Well, at least that’s what the Police told Mr.Lloyd…when they took his statement. But I don’t buy it, no. Why would those Federal Agents be there if it was?…”

You said, tying up the white, cotton waist apron over your baby blue waitress uniform.

“Goodness! I really wouldn’t know what I would have done if I were you, Sweetpea” Cathy, your best friend replied while she followed suite.

Once the hair was fixed, the two of you headed to the kitchen, “Everyone! Look who’s changed her shift!” Cathy cried out, urging the other employees at the Diner to focus on you. There were cheers, bringing out the brightest smile in you. It was official.

Living with the Great Depression which has affected all, you were grateful even for the employment at a Diner in the city. A temp job, as you called it yourself. Until that very morning, you were assigned to the later shift and spent several weeks parted from Cathy. Fortunately, upon your boss’ satisfaction, you were finally offered the shift you always wished for: The morning shift.

You graciously used the first hour that morning for familiarization, which mainly included the customers. And that was indeed the part that fascinated you. For the customers were diverse with each shift. And the mornings were mostly welcomed by blue collar workers.

“Cathy! They’re waiting for the pancakes”  “Oh! Shoot! I’m on it”

Listening to Cathy’s response in the background, you shook your head with amusement. You watched your friend waltz over to the eagerly waiting booth. But only before you made your way to the corner of the Diner counter.

“Can I help you, Sir?” A well rehearsed phrase exited your painted lips with politeness. A young man was the current owner to the corner seat. “A refill” the blonde haired drawled, indicating his empty, white mug on the counter. “Right away” “Thanks, Sweetheart” he replied, whilst the sound of the black coffee being poured, filled your ears. A group of eyes watched you from another corner. It was certain. And sure enough, your stealthy eyes caught the sight of some men sat across the diner. All sniggering. “Ya know…” the Blondie continued as he leaned forward, “my boys over there…” he indicated the suspicious group, “…they don’t believe me but, I think you’re one fine girl, sweeter than sugar” he said, flashing a flirtatious smile. “Oh, really?” You inquired with a polite chuckle. “Cross my heart, I hope to die” He was handsome, yes. But he was the handsome you never wanted. The type of handsome that could also break your heart. Besides, his attempt of seduction was misdirected, “So…um…” leaning closer, he began to whisper, “Care to help me prove the boys wrong? Like with a date? Or even a kiss? ” He inquired, his suggestive eyebrows being quite evident.

Oh, that fool, you thought. If you were at liberty to throw your head back in laughter, you would without any hesitation. Yet, it would not be appropriate.

“Ah! I’m sorry Sir, but I’m working” you replied.

“Aww come on!” He groaned, to which you shook your head and took a step back.

“Sorry Sir-Ah!” Except he grabbed you tight by the wrist. And displeasure was the mask he wore.

“Hey now, is that the way you treat your regulars here?” He inquired, increasing volume. Confused and very violated, your heart rate began to speed up. You sensed a threat.

“Let go, Sir!” You muttered in desperate politeness. Yet he did not.

“Why?” He sniggered, amidst your struggle to break free, “Whatcha gonna do, sugar?”

“I believe the lady asked you to let go”

That voice. A voice you could identify. A voice that forced you and Blondie to turn heads. Your eyes widened. Dressed smart and completed with his Fedora, the FBI agent from two nights ago stood before you both. Authoritative yet graceful, he sighed: “Pardon me for intruding, but I know a Regular won’t harass a waitress this way” he said in a casual tone, to which Blondie stood up:  “Yeah?” He snarled, offended, “How would YOU know about being Regulars, smart ass?” “Cause I am one” The Agent answered, before missing Blondie’s surprise punch, only to twist his arm within seconds.

Cries of pain erupted from the young man’s lips, until he was pulled close by the agent. You watched him whisper some words to Blondie’s ear, all before he finally released him. Confidence was nowhere nearby when the blonde man stashed some cash onto the counter, and stumbled towards his group of boys with fear.

You suddenly heard Cathy’s sigh of relief nearby:  “Oh, Thank god you’re here, Mr.Purvis” She said to the Agent, “You just saved my friend” she motioned towards you.

Finally you had the liberty to observe him. Tall and lean with sharp facial features, he possessed the handsome that comforted you. The handsome that formed potential in you. The handsome that attracted you. Sitting on the now empty seat, he flashed you a cool smile: “Melvin Purvis” he said, “I believe we haven’t had the pleasure…” It seemed he did remember you. You smiled back. “No, we haven’t…” you replied with softness, as you held up the pot, “Coffee?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

And who knew the man that fascinated me, would be you?

I am not ashamed to say, I was over the moon to see you again, Mel. Seeing you for only a few seconds in the hallway, clearly wasn’t enough for me. I was greedy. So greedy I was afraid to admit. But the moment I realized that corner seat in the counter was your usual spot, I knew my greed was not in vain. I was greedy, to get to know someone so badly. So, when you saved me from Blondie, you also saved yourself a spot in my heart. I just didn’t know it at that moment.

But I do remember when I finally did.

When one serves a regular customer long enough, certain facts become known. Be it their usual breakfast order, their favorite beverage, or the guilty pleasure one indulges once in a while. But apart from that, conversation comes into play as well.

I don’t think you knew how happy you made me every time we talked, even while you had your Eggs and Toast. Whatever it was, I enjoyed them all. All topics, from about the mouthy janitor, to the famous FBI cases, which were solved or ongoing. But I was also happy when you also had the time for me, to know about my crazy stories about customers in the late shift, or even just about myself. Which surprised me the most.

You finally became aware of the smile you wore throughout writing. Though you managed to relax your facial muscles, the smile remained at default. Thus, you kept on with your words:

Mel, you made me look forward to work everyday. And that was one huge favor. Waitressing was never this girl’s dream. Another job was. And you know what.

“I know…” you remember saying, as you wiped the Diner counter, “Secretary, A Nice Office…Even my own folks think it’s a silly dream for a girl like me-”

“That doesn’t mean its your truth” Mel, your calm, unfazed reply, those words shook me. You were right. You made me feel braver. You made me want to work harder. You made me feel like anything was possible. And that was when, I finally saw that special spot you had in my heart. Oh Mel, it felt like an earthquake in here. I was affected. I couldn’t even sleep that night. Cause that spot of yours made me realize, I had fallen for you. Fallen in love with you.

Placing your left palm over your chest, it did not take you long to relive that magical feeling whilst you wrote:

Suddenly, I couldn’t look you in the eye anymore. And I’m sorry for that. I may have looked busy with customers for some days, but that was me struggling. I was at a war with myself. A constant battle with my eyes to not care for you more, a battle with my lips to not tell you, how much I pined for you.

But as you remember, I finally did.

And the morning when you did, felt to be a landmark of your bravery.

Upon serving his breakfast, you retreated to the kitchen with haste. The fact you did not even acknowledge Melvin’s usual “Thank you” proved strangeness. Generally, when employees were seen standing at the back entrance of the Diner, one would expect them to be occupied with a personal matter, or even have a smoke break. Except, you simply longed for a break from him.

Seeing Purvis was torture. And that morning felt more torturous than ever. Your desire for him multiplied with every single visit.

Rubbing your forearms to fight off the spring chill, You took a deep breath. What was that you feared? Confessing your feelings? Or the mere possibility of being refused?

“What are you doing? Out here in the cold?” You gasped, looking up to find Melvin standing before you.

“I-” you paused, as Melvin took off his long coat, and slung it over your shoulder with no hesitation. A warmth protected you all the sudden. Was it the coat? Or was it him?

“Are you unwell?” He inquired. You shook your head, not taking too long to finally settle your eyes on his. And there it was: the speeding pulse, the torture, the multiplication of desire. Eyes growing wider with concern upon your speechless look, Melvin shot glances at both directions with stealth: “Is anyone bothering y-”

Only to be intruded by your lips pressed against his.

Oh, Mel! What did you do to me?

With a deep shudder, you kept writing: Why did your lips taste like the sweetest pie in all the world? I’m sorry if my ink turns messy here. It’s just that thinking about it, I just hope my heart won’t burst and bleed. Tasting that sweetness, I was ready to risk it all. Ready to accept the worst fear to come true.

You had a fair point. Especially when his lips remained unmoved throughout your kiss. Which forced you to move back quick, and blush with embarrassment: “I-I’m sorry…” you blurted, struggling with one’s movements as you handed over his coat back and turned to leave.  “No! please…” Melvin breathed, stopping you with his hand on your shoulder, “I’m sorry…” he stressed, “I suppose I was just caught by surprise” with a chuckle soon after. “Believe me, it wasn’t planned” you chuckled alongside him, relaxing a little. “Although I was hoping…” he began, “If I could take you to dinner one night…” Your eyes widened, but your heart bloomed.

But life was kind enough to gift me a date instead. A date with the best man I know.

“Yes! You can…” you answered immediately, “And please…no need to call me Ma’am anymore, Mr. Purvis” you smiled. To which he smiled back with a hint of mischief, which seemed surprising for the 30 year old Agent:

“Then, there’s no need to call me Mr. Purvis anymore either”

A date that I had always dreamt about. Not with a boy, but with a real gentleman. It had come true. Were you reading my thoughts this entire time?

Bashful giggles erupted from your lips upon writing. It was a date to remember :The fancy restaurant, the fine dining, the stimulating conversation basked in soft jazz and candlelight. Watching and taking in every fine line that adorned his beautiful, statuesque face brought you pride.

Sitting with you, getting lost in our own world, it was no doubt that I was the luckiest woman in the entire restaurant that night.

“I had a wonderful time, Mel. Thank you” Your words were enveloped with warmth and sincerity.

It was late, and Melvin had brought you back home like the gentleman he was. Opening the car door for you, he surprised you with just a smile, no other reply. Which forced you to raise your eyebrows, evidently confused. Could it be that he did not share the exact sentiments as you? Were you not the woman he hoped for by the end of the night? Insecurity began to bubble up within.

“What?” You inquired with a nervous chuckle, “All night you were yapping away, but now suddenly cat got your tongu-”

He gently pushed you against the car. Just so his gracious hands could cup your face, and just so he could plant his lips on yours.

And I was also the luckiest woman in the neighborhood, when you finally kissed me right back.

Sweetness infused with softness, you needed not permission to be fueled with greed at last. For greed finally permitted you to wrap one’s arms around his neck, only to pull him closer. Those lips of his, they had tempted you from the very first moment. And when they finally voluntarily expressed their affection, you were more than ecstatic.

Mel, your kisses were magic. They made me wish if I had all the power in the world to slow down time.

And I felt the very same, when we finally made love that night.

That night, that mere memory. You would be lying if it did not manage to send chills down your spine.

Invitation for a nightcap was your only shameless excuse. For not a single cell of your being, wanted him to leave your sight. Not when he had lit up a flame of desire in you, a few minutes prior. You silently cursed all the passerby’s who forced you both to pull away from the kisses. The kisses that he started by the car. But what could you do? You were surrendered to the laws of love.

Thus, the mere act of turning on the Crosley* Radio, became an involuntary act of seduction. Rudy Vallee’s “If I had a Girl like You*” filtering out from the speakers, gave life to the entire apartment. And it did ever the same to you, tempting you to sway your body from side to side. But your body felt so much vigor, when Melvin gave up on patience, only to hold you by the waist, spin you around just so his hungry lips could taste yours once again.

Melvin kissed you, and you kissed him. Slow, articulate, these lips were making up for every day they did not touch one another. All those days full of remorse.

Thus, began a dance between the two lovers. Heated, passionate. A dance consisting of choreography that had existed within all of mankind. Did not matter if it was carrying you bridal style to the bed, or placing you on to the bed without a sound much louder than a mattress squeak, either way, Melvin’s presence exuded safety.

Pleasure and excitement were in a fiery alliance when you savored shedding every piece of clothing off his torso. Never once did you think seeing many layers would bring you so much arousal. Especially when his eyes had nowhere else to look but at you during. His eyes, they burned with desire. And you would be unfaithful to your honesty if you denied the loins that burned within you as a result. For it was evident how much you longed for him. How the hunger led you to provide him the attention he truly deserved with your touch and kisses.

Dressed, he was smart, authoritative. Undressed, he was god-like. And to hear his soft moans amidst your attention was a gift. A gift that aroused you further. Yet before your eager hands could fondle his hardened shaft, he flipped you with impatience to focus on you instead. His kisses were other-worldly, making sweet contact on your soft, naked skin, creating waves of untold pleasure whenever he peeled off each piece of lingerie. Naked you may have been finally, yet you were more than ecstatic with the new outfit you wore: him. The infusion of soft music, sounds of lovers moans and kisses while the bedsheets rustled, were indeed sweeter than nectar. Tantalizing enough for him to finally enter you. Arousing enough for you to accept him. Resulting in unity, love making, deeming soft as the moonlight that shone into the bedroom. Soft, yet impactful that every second remained carved in your mind fresh, like it was yesterday.

Oh Mel, how did your touch made me weak, but gave me power at the same time? How did you make every second of it worthwhile?

You wrote with a sigh, blushes occupying your cheeks. Not before you cleaned up your ink stained fingers, caused by your thoughts of pure distraction.

Why did you get me addicted to your loving? But most importantly, why were you the perfection I dreamt of all along?

Breathless, you would be lying if it did not take you a while to regain your senses. Re-reading the previous sentence written, you proceeded to give the letter further life:  

After that night, I wanted shout out loud from the rooftops full of happiness, I wanted to tell the entire city, no! The entire world of my blessing: My blessing to have a wonderful man like you, Mel.

The simple truth: that was all that it was. And not long since you and Melvin had gotten together, life was suddenly drizzled with an extra dose of joy. An extra dose of encouragement and hope. Work went better for the both of you. Even Mr. Lloyd managed to re-meet him, but this time with more familiarity and respect. Given his interaction with the Agent, it was evident the the older man had offered his blessing and approval, which meant more to you than anything.

Since then my life was bliss, Mel. With you by my side, I knew I could take on anything.

Except, you drew in a sharp breath with a heavy heart.

All until J Edgar Hoover declared those fateful words to America: War on Crime. John Dillinger.

The heaviest sigh left your pursed lips. For a surge of concern was powerful enough to consume you.

Believe me, Mel. Seeing you get promoted to Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago Field Office, it brought me nothing but joy. Seeing you in the papers, I was the most proud anywhere I went. But with that pride, and with that joy, I was also afraid. How could I not be, when you were assigned to catch Dillinger, Public Enemy No. 1?

How could I not think of the risk you had on your life? So afraid for you that it didn’t strike with me that we didn’t see each other for so long after.

Though you were out of sighs, your heart remained heavy with the thought. It was true, soon after his men’s lives were affected by Dillinger and his gang, Melvin did not set foot in your apartment nor in your neighborhood. And surprisingly, you did not feel betrayed. Not one bit.

When you phoned me that one time, I could tell in your voice. I could tell the weight you had on your shoulders. The burden, the responsibility, the guilt.

And to me, it didn’t matter I couldn’t see you everyday anymore. It didn’t matter that I had a hard time missing you or thinking about you. Be it at the diner, the streets, the park, the living room and the bedroom. It didn’t matter to me that I had to pretend my life had nothing to do with yours. All I wanted was for this nightmare to end: to stop the unnecessary deaths of innocent lives. All I wanted was for you to be safe. And I knew you could do it all. Without complicating things.

Thus, when someone knocked on your door a few hours ago today, your fear was justified. You remembered standing by the door, arms folded, only to feel your heart beat out of your chest. And when those loud, rapid knocks attacked the wooden door, you could not help but wonder: Could it possibly be one of Dillinger’s men? Another shooter perhaps? Were they aware of Melvin’s connection with you? Were you about to be leverage?

But to your surprise, you opened the door regardless. Clutching your chest, you could only gasp.

But I never thought you’d suddenly come crashing in this afternoon.

For there stood Melvin Purvis, Fedora at hand, heavy panting accompanied.

Never so soon.

“You were not at the Diner” he said in a hoarse tone, still panting. “I-I took a day off” you answered, with wide eyes,“Mel…” you gulped, taking a step forward “What’s wron-” To which he could only reply with rough kisses, slamming the door shut behind him.

And being in his arms again after possibly endless days and nights, you were certain you did not wish to be anywhere else.

It was as if fate urged me to stay home today, just so I wouldn’t miss your hungry kisses. Just so I wouldn’t miss your love. Something I craved for what felt like forever.

Longing translated into desperate kisses, where tongues wrestled in haste. And passionate lovemaking rushed in soon after. The type of passionate, that demanded every item of clothing make quick stops in different parts of the apartment, only to lead a trail to the bed. The type of passionate, that had his eager hands wander over your naked back, before palming your heaving breasts with impatience. All the while you straddled him, with your hips rolling against his. The type of passionate, that tempted you to gaze into his shining eyes. For they spoke to you, even in silence. How he treasured you, how he savored you, his eyes said it all. And with your responding kiss brimming with moans and emotion, you acknowledged his silent confession, you satisfied his hunger, and accepted his peak of pleasure. All until a new climax was reached together, before collapsing on to the bed with exhaustion.

“Mel…” you panted, sweat further infusing with his, “You still didn’t tell me what’s going on…”

It was only a few minutes later, did Melvin began to speak. Only then were you able to find out about the mission that would happen tonight. The mission to finally catch Dillinger. And as if the floodgates just opened, he kept talking. And all you could do was nod, as he continued to cradle you in his arms.

Little did I know, you came to me in possibly the most fateful day ever.

“You think it will work? The plan?” You inquired, soft. His responsive hum vibrated in his chest. “The source is solid…” he replied, “So…we’re betting on it”

Lifting your head up, you looked at him. Truthfully you could not help but feel sorry. There was a hint of exhaustion in his tone. How far did this man go to make this mission a reality? How many men were sacrificed in the process? Death of many men including Carter Baum, his own partner. Feeling useless, you knew you could only offer him a reassuring soft smile:

“Then it will…” you murmured, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. His skin seemed magnetic to your lips, causing you to proceed with more kisses. Over his eyebrows, bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, the best place of all. With another greedy peck, you pulled yourself away and sat up. With the afternoon breeze playfully caressing your exposed frame, you were tempted to reach out and grab your silk robe tossed on the edge of the bed, which you did.

“I hope you know I couldn’t risk seeing you, with Dillinger’s men on the loose”

Melvin began. Looking back, you nodded with nonchalance. “Of course…” Wrapping the robe around, your answer was as casual as taking a diner order, “I understand” you added meek, looking down at the knot.

“But…that doesn’t mean I was never here”

You froze. With wide eyes, you looked up at his sitting frame. “What do you mean?” You blurted. Only to gasp, “You-w-were you-?”

Melvin nodded, “Every night around bedtime, from the street…looking at THAT window…” he said, indicating the very window in your bedroom. If only you could just tell him how your heart just began to melt after possibly weeks. If only you were capable of an embrace that told every fiber of his being how moved you were by him. Melvin sighed, running his fingers through his hair:

“I just had to make sure you were safe…” he said, “But today, I…” he paused, “I couldn’t stay away”

“And neither should you…” you replied in an instant, cupping his face, “….you’re only human” you continued with a sigh, “It’s been too long, Mel” your voice grew softer, “ And I missed you” uttering weakly, you proceeded to press your forehead against his. And like that, you both stayed, indulging in the silence with the most innocent physical contact possible.

“This mission…” Melvin began, his warm breath falling on your face, “If I make it out alive-” “Mel, you WILL make it out aliv-” you breathed, before he placed his fingers over your lips.

“If I make it…I’m yours”

He whispered, forcing you to freeze once again. Overwhelming emotion seemed to have frozen you with disbelief, when his sharp features unveiled the softest smile, “As a man, I want to do what’s right for the people” he said, holding your chin, “ I want do what’s right for my heart. And I wanna do it all with you, by my side, always”

And in the blink of an eye, you left through that door, hours before our lives could possibly change forever.

No wonder you made love to me, as if it was your last.

Sniffing, you placed a loving kiss on the pen. For it was the pen Melvin once gifted you with. The pen he hoped you would use when you finally become a secretary. And it did not take long for you to wipe the tears that streamed down your cheeks in silence. What will happen tonight, at the Biograph Theater will end in either two ways. And all you could do was to pray for one in particular. Pray for the one you desperately needed. With another final sniff, you continued to write, until you found yourself finally finishing off the letter you never imagined yourself writing. You wrote your heart out, which left you no regrets:

Before I end this letter, I want to ask you a question.

Do you remember when I was helping you put your tie back on, minutes before you left?

When I did, I felt something. Something warm, something nice. And I won’t lie, I enjoyed it. Cause in the end, it gave me the feeling you always gave me from the moment I met you: Hope. But today, that hope was also protected by a layer of love. A strong layer. To be able to put your tie on possibly every day, would be an honor I’d wear like a badge for life.

Mel, you WILL make it out alive. You and your men, you WILL get it done. Because this letter will be waiting for you. Because I will be waiting for you.

Ready to have more hope, ready to do more good, ready to live our truth, by your side, always.

With love,

Yours forever…

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Glossary of 1930′s Terms/Slang Bumping Gums* - 1930’s Slang for “Talk about nothing useful” Blues in my Heart* - Jazz song by Chick Webb and his Orchestra recorded in 1931 Goon*- 1930’s Slang for thug or bodyguard Lincoln*- 1930’s Slang for $5 bill Talkies*- 1930’s Slang for Movies Crosley*- A Radio Brand famous in the 1930’s If I had a girl like you*- Jazz song by Rudy Vallee, recorded in 1930

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Tagged: @tammykelly @ladyerina @kittenlittle24 @everyday-imfangirling @lucy-roo @works-of-fanfiction @bale-is-a-babe @badsext @maddistyles17 @truly-insatiable @gooseyhouse @artsymaddie @quarterback-5 @mamooska8 @jensen-impala @lilyofthesword @woodencupcake @fonduebitches @soullesstaco @spicybellinger @marvel-lously @glitterypinkkitty @danceyreagan @barikawho @lostgirl0020 @diogodxlot @xxdearlybeloved @jupit3rmoontarot @lexiespeaks @misterlords-fics @readingslumpfanfic @ares-is-my-father @christianbalefanatic

Once again, lemme know if you wanna get tagged. And those who only want to be tagged for specific Bale characters, please do let me know. I didn’t take out those who didn’t tell me just in case. But feel free to let me know, i totally understand.

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#christian bale #melvin purvis #public enemies #2009 #michael mann #melvin purvis x reader #melvin purvis x you #bale! melvin purvis #christian bale characters #letter writing #1930 #love letter #bale! bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #jack kelly #batman x reader

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futurewriter2000 · 3 years

Text

Heartless - pt. 14

A/N: Honestly.... This is the perfect gif for Mulci but yeah, you guys are really tempting me to making this a 50 part serie...

When Sirius woke up, he woke up alone. He opened his eyes lazily and found the space next to him empty and cold. He looked around for a moment to see whether last night was a dream or reality- somehow it made him believe it was a fragmence of both.

He smiled to the thought of you. You finally let your guard down with him last night. You finally let it happen and-

“...” Sirius found himself staring widely at round hazel eyes at the doorframe, watching him. He swallowed thickly, moving his palms against the sheets and grinning awkwardly. “Morning... Prongy.”

James lifted an eyebrow and let his lips follow. “Mornin.... Paddy.”

“Ho...I mean- khm- how long have you been standing there?”

“Enough to see you smile like a fool in love.” James pushed himself off the door frame and walked to Sirius. He sat on the bed with heavy thoughts on his mind that Sirius could feel on his own shoulders just as James did. James put his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin, eyes darting somewhere at the distance.

“Look, mate-” Sirius started. “You locked-”

“It’s not about that, mate.” James looked over his shoulder and gave Sirius a genuine simper, sad but sincere. “Or it is... in a way...”

Sirius now sat up, tensing at the tone his best friend was giving to him. James was barely serious, rarely... “What’s on your mind?”

“She is.” he let out a sigh and kept staring at the distance. “That days she was gone... something happened to her and we all bloody know it but she keeps it so hidden. Mum and dad know and we don’t- do you know?” he turned to Sirius in a flash but Sirius quickly shook his head.

“No. She didn’t say anything to me.”

“Dad never yelled at me like that before. I feel like he blames me for it.”

“For what?”

“For making her disappear.”

“It’s not your fault, mate. It’s mine-”

“Maybe it’s both of our fault.”

“Or that... it’s usually that.” Sirius shrugged and scooted next to James, watching his smile appear and then fade.

“I don’t mind the two of you being together, Pads.” James looked at Sirius, smile sincere.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t mind the two of you being together.” he repeated, smiling softly. “If I could trust anybody with her, I trust you... and the other way around. I know that the two of you would always take care of one another.”

“You’re talking like you’re about to die in the next 3 seconds.” Sirius joked and James let out a laugh.

“No- just... she’s got this thing to do everything by herself and when she’s with you I can see her opening up about things like that. I know she doesn’t trust me enough to tell me about these stuff but with you... with you she won’t go through it alone.”

Sirius let out a chuckle and tapped James on the shoulder. “You really think she doesn’t trust you, mate?” he looked at James as if he expected an answer but not really. “She does trust you, she just wants to protect you. You think Moody was here for a cup of tea? No- she’s in deep and if she’s a Legilimen means that so many bad people want her for her gift.”

“Yeah, what’s about that? Why don’t I have the gift?”

“Seriously, Prongs?”

“Just saying... it can still be a twin thing-”

“Prongs.”

“Or maybe I need to get through trauma to unlock it-”

“James? What?”

“You know- like in the movies.”

“James, just stop speaking and let’s go eat.” Sirius let out a laugh and stood up, stretching his arms above his body.

“I’m just saying- maybe you should hit me in the head.”

“I’m not hitting you in the head.”

“No. Let’s go try it.”

“I can’t believe she thought I was the bad influence on you.”

“I wanna see if it works.”

“You’re not a LEGILIMEN JAMES!”

“WE WON’T KNOW UNTIL WE TRY IT!”

“I’m heading to breakfast.”

“Sirius Black GET BACK HERE AND HIT ME IN THE HEAD!” James ran after Sirius after he heard him laugh down the hall. He laughed as well, stomping down the stairs with a bright smile on his face as James was known for.

He didn’t like to have serious talks but he had to had this one with him. James loved both of you equally. Both of you represented family to him and if he would want anything in this world, it was that family should stick together. He sees how Sirius looks at you and he notices how you try to hide it- every emotion in your body when he’s near.

James has felt more than just guilt, rather regret as well for leaving you out in the cold for the past years but if Sirius and you come together, then there will be plenty of chances to getting to know you again- to get you and James back to trusting each other.

But as soon as James’ smile appeared, as soon as it disappeared. It fell like a rock from it’s cliff, crumbling down into the rocky waters.

Freezing cold shock ran through his body, a shiver that caused his heart to swallow itself and spit back out. He was looking at two men at the sofa, classical dress code; overalls and a jacket over. The younger was looking at you and the old man was looking at James. Both wore identical, malicious smile.

“What the hell?” James grumbled through his teeth as he was about to storm over before his father stepped in front of him.

“James.” he warned, facing him his back as his hand secured the guests from his own son. He looked over his shoulder, giving him a look James had never seen before but understood anyway.

“Is that James?” the old man stood up, walking over with his hands behind his back and his posture straight. His smile was tight, stern and his eyes were blazing into his. Though James did not back down, no matter how those piercing blue eyes scorched him.

“It is.” said James.

The old man smiled in amusement, then glanced at Sirius, causing his smile to fade. “And you must be... Black?” he put the emphasis on the last name as if it was spitefully incorrect. It made Sirius look away for a moment but only for a slight second to gather his dignity back and look back at the old man.

It was too late though. The old man had won the little game and he was not focused on the blood-traitor in front of him but on the more fierce, confidant boy in front of him.

“I do not know what your bussiness is here, Mulciber but I think it’s best you leave.”

“It’s that how you treat your guests, Potter?” the old man gasped in disbelief but he was pleased by the discomfort he was causing, as well as his son on the sofa, that was staring at you- reading into you.

Sirius was watching you- both of you and the intense connection between you and younger Mulciber was there. It was as if the two of you had a conversation nobody else could hear.

You would grit your teeth and clench your jaw as the other’s lips would curl up in a twisted smile.

The two of you are using Legilimency. The Mulcibers were known for being one of the best and Mulciber, without a doubt in Sirius’ mind, was under Dark Lord’s training.

Your expression would soften- just like that and the other’s would get serious as well. Something fragile flashed across Mulciber’s eyes and something empathic flashed across yours.

It was over. You turned away and he turned away. Both of you didn’t look at each other for a while, both of you shocked- surprised maybe? At how far this secret conversation had went- a conversation that made Sirius lose his mind over it.

“I think we are done here, son.” the old man turned to the young and glanced between the two of you, his lips curling into a smirk.

Mulciber looked at you with a pleasing smile, mirroring his father’s as you stood there, looking confused at both of them.

“We are, father.” said Mulciber, looking at you as well. His father walked to you, saw how much this little time with them had drained the life out of you; colourless in your skin, fragile in your eyes... The old man took your hand and squeezed it hard.

‘ The choice is yours.’ - echoed in your head as his mouth moved slightly differently. “Nice to meet you, Miss (y/n).”

‘You’d take care of them and we’d take care of you. I’d take care of you.’ - said the other and your eyes flashed at the more gentler ones- the ones that were heavy but not as heavy as the old ones. He gave you a smile, softer, sincere and comforting because Legilimency wasn’t just about reading minds. It was about reading feelings and the two of you might as well be standing naked in front of each other.

There was a connection alright- the one that not only Sirius could see but James as well and he knew that look on you far too well to know that what he had thought before might not come true.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #james potter #james potter imagine #marauders #marauders imagine #marauders imagines #marauders era #mulciber #mulciber x reader

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prettywordsyouleft · 5 years

Text

Melt

Summary: Dating Park Jinyoung wasn’t always the easiest, especially when he was in a mood with you.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: moody asshole boyfriend au / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: If you remember back to me complaining about being not only stolen from another idol in my dreamland by Jinyoung to dream of him instead, and going on to write his part out even though the first idol’s part was sweeter, well today’s your lucky day to read it. I hate Park Jinyoung’s insufferable ways, and yet I love writing it all too much >_>

Word count: 1352

You perked when you saw his fast approach across the parking lot, relief surging through you as you stopped holding yourself so rigid against the cool night air.

Jinyoung had taken longer than you had thought he would to come out, and you noticed the item in one of his hands, realising he must have stopped in the gift shop on his way through the building.

It didn't excite you any, you knew it wasn't for you as Jinyoung had been in a mood with you all day long. You hadn't seen him of course, he was busy training and you were in the office, but you had known him long enough now to read the tone within his written words, his frustrations shown clearly with his short and to the point answers all day. At one point, he had even stopped replying, leaving the read ticket clear as day to tell you that he was annoyed with you.

You sighed and a cough ruptured from your chest as a result, his dark eyes scrutinising you now he had reached your side. He then rolled them, pulling out the car sensor to unlock the doors before rounding the vehicle to the other side, slumping into the passenger seat and shutting the door firmly.

Resigned, you hopped into the driver's seat and reached to wrap the safety belt around you once you had placed down your bag.

"Are you alright?"

It was a foolish question to ask him and you knew it before it fell from your lips. The dramatic way he turned to look at you answered for you, pure discomfort filling his features. He puffed up his cheeks before letting the air out coolly, moving to place on his belt. "Why did you stand outside when you know where I keep the spare sensor in the building? Of course, you would forget your own. No wonder I'm so sick."

His tone was laced with irritation despite how blocked up he sounded and you darted your eyes to the road, blinking back your emotions. You didn't even know why you were close to tears. Jinyoung was right, after all. It was your cold that he was now battling with as well.

Recomposing yourself, you pressed the ignition button and focused on getting out onto the road to head home. "I was too busy to come get it."

Even Jinyoung knew it was a lie. Despite working in different departments at JYPE, you both always managed to find time to cross paths each day whenever GOT7 was working there. It was how you had both met, fallen in love and now ended up where you were.

His scoff was enough of a reply. He knew you had been upset now. You didn't quite catch what he muttered under his breath and you decided you didn't want to hear it either. When Park Jinyoung was in a mood like this, you tried to avoid the sting of his statements as much as possible.

Glancing at the colourful stick he still held, you attempted to change the subject. "Did you stop by the gift store on the way out?"

"It's for hyung," he confirmed, leaving you no room to consider the present as being for you. Twirling it around and staring at the plush bird on top, he then threw his focus out the window, bored of the conversation already. Yet he humoured your question enough to finish answering it. "He wanted one for Kat but when he looked earlier they had none in. I happened to spot the display being restocked and decided to get one."

"I'm sure he'll be thankful and Kat will love it."

His heart could be soft towards others, kind gestures were easy to do even if he was at odds with you. It didn't bother you nearly as much as it should. After all, it was just a cold. And you had even warned Jinyoung, exclaiming you would sleep in the spare room to minimise any chance of him catching it, knowing how busy his schedule was with comeback season fast approaching. The last thing Jinyoung needed when promotions were about to start was a chesty cough and sore throat.

If anything, you should blame him and his incessant need to nurse you through your fever, his loving care making you feel warmer and his body holding you all night long murmuring that he was healthy enough to not catch it.

You almost let out a dry laugh at how indignant he had been proclaiming such a thing as you listened to his sniffling in the seat next to you.

The drive home hadn't taken too long and soon you were pulling into the residents' parking lot, turning off the vehicle and unclipping your belt. Jinyoung leapt out of the car and you turned to see he had left behind the gift, your eyes catching movement in a car across the aisle. Dashing to reach for the stick along with your bag, you got out and shut the door, seeing Jinyoung waiting not too far away, gaze impatient as he pressed the button to lock the car within his pocket. You knew he just wanted to get home and rest up and your sluggish approach irked him further.

And then his eyes softened, watching as you approached him, holding the toy out to him with a smile. Once you reached his side, you jerked your head towards the row of cars. "Here, Jaebum and Kat have arrived home too. They're in their car talking. You go give them this and I'll head up and put on the jug so you can have some lemon and honey tea before bed."

Jinyoung didn't respond, nor did he reach out for the present. Your brows furrowed together as a small smile formed on his lips, pursing them together as he stared back at you holding out the stick. The coldness in his gaze started to melt away the longer you both stood there and you let out a heavy breath, stepping closer to him, trying not to get lost in the way he was looking down at you from your close proximity.

"Here, take it."

Jinyoung's hand brushed over the stick you held out but didn't grab on, seemingly incapable to do so. His smile shone through brighter, and you were cautious with how the storm brewing overhead of you both was dispersing. Instead of asking what he was thinking, you reached out for his hand, aiming to put the gift in it yourself.

It was as if he came to life then, fingers wrapping around your own, shifting until they were laced within yours. Jinyoung started moving towards the elevator shaft, pulling you along with him.

"But-!" you cried, glancing back to the pair in their car and then up at Jinyoung a couple of times. "The gift?"

"Hyung can go get his own, this is mine," Jinyoung told you proudly after tugging you inside the elevator, pressing for the floor to your apartment. It took you a second to realise he hadn't been talking about the ahgase gift within your hand at all.

Easing, you looked at his face, searching his eyes as you smiled. "You're no longer mad with me?"

"Why would anyone get cross with their partner for being sick with them? Next time don't wait out in the cold for me like that. Don't you want to get better? How am I meant to deal with the woman I love if she won't help herself any whilst unwell?"

You opened your mouth, only to close it again. And then you smiled, nestling into Jinyoung's side which he lapped up greedily, drawing you even closer. Holding you as you did the bird on the stick, his own precious gift in life.

Being with Jinyoung could be infuriating at times, especially when he was cold and moody. But once the warmth started to melt the ice away, you couldn't help but fall in love with him all over again with how he soaked you in.

Because you were his.

_________________

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supernaturalfreewill · 4 years

Photo

Words: 8,297 Dean x Reader Warnings: This one shot contains content that may be triggering for some individuals. Being much more specific about all potential triggers would contain plot spoilers, but please read cautiously. TW: alcoholism, anxiety, depression, A/N: I said angst. I promised angst. You get angst.

Your name: submit What is this?

“Y/N—I’m—surprised to see you here.”

Your teeth were clenched. “I’m sure you are.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets. His eyes seemed to be flitting over your face for a long time before he spoke again. “How’d you—“ You scoffed. “How did I find you? Please, Dean. I’m a hunter. Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to track you down? Despite how you’ve purposely been trying to dodge me.”

Dean averted his eyes to the gravel.

You took a manila envelope out of your bag and held it out toward him.

“What is this?” His tone was gruff, as you expected.

“What do you think it is?” you asked simply.

You sighed heavily, still holding the envelope out. “Dean. Come on. It’s been long enough.”

He averted his eyes away, up toward where the tops of the trees were meeting the moody, gray sky. “Apparently for you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you challenged him.

His green eyes found yours again but he said nothing.

Now your jaw tensed. “It’s been three years. When will it ever be long enough? What’s the magic number? Seven? Ten?”

Dean didn’t have an answer and fidgeted a little, shifting his weight from one side to the other.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Your voice came out in a whisper, and although Dean could hear the pain in it he still let his temper flare.

His eyes widened. “Doing this to—I’m not doing anything to you!”

You shoved the envelope at him. “Just sign them. The envelope is already addressed and has postage. Just—just sign them and drop them in the mail. Please.”

You turned and Dean watched you make your way across the parking lot and climb into your car. Soon your taillights were swallowed by the growing darkness of the evening, leaving him standing alone in the dim spotlight of the nearest lamps. He turned and headed back toward the motel, pushing inside the room. He shut the door quietly, trying not to draw Sam’s attention, but his brother looked at him anyway from over the top of his laptop. Sam’s eyes found the envelope.

“Hey,” he said. He watched Dean cram the envelope into his duffel bag and rearrange some his clothes on top of it. “Everything okay?” Sam asked gently.

Dean straightened up and his jaw was tight. “Fine,” he said brusquely.

Sam’s eyebrows dropped low over his eyes in skepticism. “Are you sure?”

“I said it’s fine, Sam!” Dean snapped.

Sam frowned at his brother. “Yeah, no, you seem fine,” he said sarcastically.

Dean put a hand up to his face and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Sam—“ His tone was warning but Sam ignored it.

“It’s Y/N. Isn’t it?”

Dean turned his back on his brother and picked up his duffel bag of gear, rummaging through the contents. “No. It’s not Y/N.”

“Then tell me what’s in that envelope you just hid in your bag.”

“Just leave it alone!”

“No. Not until you stop lying to me. You never talk about it. How are you supposed to move on—”

A flame seemed to flare in Dean’s eyes. “‘Move on’?”

Sam regretted his choice of words. “I just mean that you can’t keep living in the past, in the what-ifs. It’s not healthy and it’s not gonna change anything. You have to find a way to go forward.”

Dean stared at his brother, biting back his anger. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he said, pointing at him vehemently and again turning his back on Sam.

Sam had had enough and he got to his feet abruptly, the clattering sound drawing Dean’s eyes. “Enough, Dean! Stop acting like you’re the only one in pain over this! We’re all sick with pain because of what happened! And you think I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about? You’re not the only one who has lost someone they love in this life!” Sam’s face was red and his fists were both clenched, knuckles glaring white.

Dean suddenly realized—“Sorry. I know. I know…” He rubbed a hand over his face and slumped down onto the edge of the bed.

“Good,” Sam said, his voice still steely. “Then start acting like it.” Sam righted his chair in front of his laptop and sat down again.

Dean leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed hard at his eyes before covering his face with his hands for a long moment. Sam heard him sigh heavily.

“It’s divorce papers,” he said.

Sam’s eyes shot up over his screen again and found his brother’s face, which was rather blank. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s jaw was clenched again.

“How long has--?”

Dean swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump in his throat. “…a while.”

Sam nodded and chewed the inside of his cheek. He let the silence stretch for a long time, waiting to see if his brother would say anything more. He didn’t, so Sam finally broke the silence, choosing his words carefully, trying to sound non-judgmental. “What’re you gonna do?”

Sam watched his brother try to suppress the sudden upwelling wave of emotion, but a slight tremble in his fingertips and a sudden glassiness in his eyes gave it away. Dean looked up toward the ceiling and tried to control it, tried at least to keep any tears from spilling out. “I don’t know, Sammy. I don’t know what to do.” There was desperation in his voice.

Sam felt a familiar sinking feeling in his chest at his brother’s turmoil. “You don’t have to do anything tonight, okay?” he said. “I’ll go pick up some food. Just try and—just try take it easy, okay?”

Dean nodded vaguely and watched as Sam picked up the keys to the Impala. “I’ll be right back.” He started toward the door but turned back over his shoulder to look at his big brother. “And just—just don’t go anywhere. Okay?” Sam disappeared out the door.

Sam hopped in the car and drove a couple blocks before parking along the curb on a residential side street and pulling his phone from his pocket. He sighed heavily and flicked through his contacts until his thumb was hovering over your name. He hesitated. Maybe you had changed your number. Maybe you wouldn’t answer. But he punched your name on his phone anyway and watched as the call connected.

You answered within a few rings. “S—Sam?” your voice was unsure and a little shocked.

Sam shut his eyes at the sound of your voice. It was so familiar, but somehow changed at the same time. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Is everything okay? Is Dean--?” Suddenly your heart was racing with worst-case scenarios. You’d just thrust those papers at him. Had he done something he couldn’t come back from?

“Dean’s fine. Well—I mean… he’s okay.”

Sam heard you breath a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. “Sam, it’s been—”

“Two years and five months,” Sam said. “I know. I—I wanted to call, you know, but—”

Your voice was quiet and calm and sad and understanding. “I know. It’s okay.” A silence stretched on the line for a moment, you not sure where this was going and Sam not sure what to say, how to begin.

“He, umm—he just told me. You know, about you wanting a divorce…”

There was a heavy beat of silence and it felt suddenly thick. “He just told you,” you repeated.

“…yeah,” Sam said. “But—he said you’d wanted one for a while.”

“‘A while’.” you repeated blankly.

Sam was afraid to ask the next question. “How long exactly is a while?”

“Since two years after… so a year now since I asked him.” You said it simply. There was no venom in your words but Sam still felt like he’d been slapped in the face.

You’d been asking Dean for a divorce for a year and he was just finding out about it. Sam shut his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. “God… I’m sorry, Y/N. I—I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your job to know, Sam.”

There was another long heavy silence. “How—how are you? I mean—are you…” Sam didn’t know how to ask it. He knew how completely and utterly devastating it had been on their side, but he was suddenly realizing how it might have been worse on yours. You must have been so alone after all that had happened… Most of their pieced together family had rallied around Dean simply because they had to—but now Sam realized that would have left you with no one.

“I’m okay,” you said. “I just—I just need it to be over.” You didn’t sound angry. You just sounded tired. Exhausted.

Sam felt the familiar coldness of grief swelling in his chest. “I think we all do,” he said. Sam had nothing more to say. “Bye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Sam.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

* * *

“Do you even hear what you’re saying?!” Wet tear streaks were running down your face. “Listen to what you are saying!” You gasped in a breath, which came out only a moment later as a sob. Your hands flew to your face and you cried into them, unable to stop yourself.

“Let me do this,” Dean said, his town was demanding.

Another sob wracked your body but you looked up at him across the room, seemingly stoic and determined. “No! Never. Never. I will never agree to this. How can you ask that of me? After all you know! After what we both know?”

“I can fix this. I can fix it.” His deep voice was almost manic.

“You can’t fix this, Dean!” you yelled, a little shrilly in your desperation to make him understand. “You can’t. You can’t. No one can. No one can fix this…” You collapsed weakly onto the bed, unable to speak anymore through your sobs.

But Dean didn’t go to you. He didn’t comfort you. He didn’t break down again. He didn’t cry. He was numb. He just stood there, not believing that this was reality. It couldn’t be.

* * *

_ _ _ _ _ _

The motel room door opened and Sam stepped in with two pizzas. Dean was lying on his bed, looking up at the cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling.

“Hey,” Sam said. “Sorry it took so long. I couldn’t find a damn place open in this town. So, it’s pizza again.”

“That’s alright.” Dean sat up and pressed his back against the headboard. “I’m not really hungry, anyway.”

Sam frowned at his brother. “You’ve gotta eat something. You haven’t had anything all day.”

For once Dean didn’t argue. He didn’t have the energy for it. He accepted a box from Sam and cracked it open, but he only stared down at it, apparently lost in his thoughts. Sam tried to pretend that he didn’t notice and clicked on the TV, kicking off his shoes and leaning back against the headboard of his bed.

A couple of primetime movies later, Dean finally broke the silence.

“I think we should go back,” Dean said. It was almost so quiet that Sam didn’t hear him over the commercial. Sam clicked off the TV and looked at Dean with a furrowed brow. “What did you just say?”

“Come on, don’t look at me like that,” Dean said gruffly.

Sam shook his head. “No, Dean—what did you just say?” he repeated.

“I said ‘I think we should go back.’ Look, don’t make a big deal out of it, Sam.” Dean got up and put his pizza box on the small vinyl table near the door and started heading for the bathroom.

Sam hopped up from his bed too and stood in the bathroom doorway, looking at his brother while he splashed water over his face. “I’m sorry. Don’t make a big deal out of it?” He was flabbergasted. “Earlier today you tell me Y/N sent you divorce papers and now you tell me you think we should go back to the bunker?”

Dean was drying his hands on a towel. “She didn’t send them.”

Sam shook his head, not understanding.

“The papers. She didn’t send them. She handed them to me.”

Sam’s mouth gaped slightly open. “She was here?”

Dean’s jaw clenched again and he averted his eyes.

Sam shook his head. “You saw her.” It wasn’t a question. Sam wasn’t sure what to do with--everything. “Why didn’t you tell me that she was here?”

Dean shot Sam an irritated look and pushed past him out of the bathroom. “What the hell was I supposed to say?”

Sam scoffed. “I don’t know… maybe ‘Hey Sam. Just saw Y/N’?”

“I was a little preoccupied.” Sam heaved a sigh and shut his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So, the bunker. You think we should go back to the bunker.” He looked at his older brother like he was trying to solve a riddle with no solution. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Dean fiddled with his knife and whetstone. “It’s—it’s just a building. Right?”

Sam studied him carefully for a moment. “Right. But—a building that held a lot of demons for a time. And not the literal kind.” He hesitated for a moment. “What if they’re still there? Are you—“ he shrugged, “are you ready for that?”

Your words from earlier in the day echoed in Dean’s head. “Will I ever be ready?”

_ _ _ _ _ _

* * *

”Dean, what are you doing? This isn’t going to help anything. You have to stop.”

Dean ignored him.

“Give me the bottle. You’ve had enough!” Sam yelled. Dean only turned and glared at him. His stare was cold and mean with an alarming wildness, like a cornered animal.

“Fuck off, Sam. You’re not dad. You don’t get to order me around. Just leave me alone.” Dean poured another healthy serving of whiskey into his glass and punctuated the action by slamming the bottle down on the table and downing the fresh glass in one go.

Sam felt sick. “You’re self-destructing. If you don’t stop, this will break everything we have left. This will kill you,” Sam urged him desperately.

Dean glared at him again and reached for the bottle. “Good.” And he poured another drink. “Now fuck off.”

Sam set his jaw. “No. You’re done. I’m not going to let you kill yourself like this.” Sam made a grab for the bottle, clutched it, and with a hard yank it slipped from Dean’s fingers. What Sam didn’t see coming as he turned away was the left hook from Dean’s other hand. It landed on the left side of his face and glanced off and the whiskey bottle was knocked from his hand and shattered on the floor. Sam’s vision was black for a few seconds and then came back reeling and spinning. He blinked away the fog and looked up at Dean, one hand pressed over the side of his face. He straightened up and stared at him in disbelief. “Go ahead, Dean. Drink it off the floor. Apparently that’s the most important thing to you now.”

Sam stepped across the threshold still holding his face, opening and closing his jaw which was sending shooting pain up into his head. But Sam stopped dead when he sensed a figure to his left, leaning up against the wall just outside the doorway. Your back was pressed tightly into the wall.

Your eyes were wide and fearful and your cheeks were shining wet with tears.

Sam’s hand dropped from his face. “Y/N…”

You could see the welt rising on his cheekbone, red and dark purple. There was desperation written all over your face but you wiped the tears from your cheeks. “You need ice,” you said. “Kitchen.”

And Sam watched you leave your place against the wall, your frame so diminished as of late, and drift away down the hallway. That was it. That was the moment when he knew you would leave. And he didn’t blame you. Because in that moment he wanted to leave too. But he knew he couldn’t. If he left, Dean would never come back. He’d die as this broken, drunken monster he’d become. And Sam had to believe that he was in there. He had to.

Dean hadn’t been sober in weeks—maybe months. He’d been better at hiding it at first, so there was no way to know for sure. But eventually he couldn’t hide it anymore and then he stopped trying.

Sam came into the kitchen and found you digging out a bag of frozen peas from the back of the freezer, flicking off the ice crusting the plastic. He took a seat at the breakfast bar and watched you wrap a towel around the bag. Your eyes were red, but you weren’t crying any more. You handed the bag to Sam and pulled out the stool next to him and sat down.

“Thanks,” Sam said. You just nodded.

“Did he break anything?” you asked numbly.

“In my face? No. In his hand?” Sam adjusted the ice pack on his face. “I hope so,” Sam said bitterly.

You didn’t say anything.

“To be honest it wasn’t even a very good punch. I guess for once I should thank the booze…” Sam said sardonically. You still didn’t say anything and Sam looked over at you. He wanted to say something to alleviate your fears—to make you feel better. But what the fuck could possibly be said? “It’s not the first time one of us has punched the other in the face,” Sam said.

You nodded. “I know.”

“He’d—he’d never hit you. Even now,” Sam said.

You looked down at your hands in your lap and nodded again. “I know.”

Sam didn’t know what else to say.

“But I don’t know who that was in there,” you said. Your voice quivered as it came out in a whisper. “I don’t know who he’s been for months, Sam.”

Sam dropped the ice pack from his face and stared down at the counter. “I know,” he said. “Me either.”

“Sam—I—”

“It’s okay,” Sam said. His hazel eyes were sad but understanding. “Go.” You looked surprised at his words. He knew what you had been about to say before you had said anything. “It’s okay. I understand.” He turned the ice pack over and pressed it to his cheek again. “Just because he didn’t punch you in the face doesn’t mean he isn’t hurting you—hasn’t been hurting you.” Sam looked at you again and saw tears streaming down your cheeks now. “You can’t heal here, Y/N.”

And you knew he was right.

* * *

_ _ _ _ _ _

Dean threw the Impala in park in front of the familiar hillside. He turned and stared at it through the passenger side window.

Sam noticed the unease on his brother’s face and it only grew his own anxiety. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. It’s time.” The Winchester brothers climbed out of the Impala and made their way down the stairs to the heavy door at the bottom. Here Dean’s feet faltered.

Sam glanced at him and then held out his hand. Dean pulled the key out of his jacket pocket and dropped it into Sam’s palm. In a few moments, the door creaked open with a familiar metal whine and Dean followed Sam inside. They made their way down the stairs and Sam rushed to flick lights on and wake up the Men of Letter’s climate control system. The ventilation system kicked on with some banging.

“Hmm. Smells a bit musty,” Dean said, dropping his bags on the floor.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Well. It’s been—”

“—years. Yeah.”

Sam carefully watched his brother. Dean’s eyes were roaming over the high ceiling, glancing toward the library and down the hall, but his boots felt rooted to the floor.

Sam pressed his lips together in a soft frown. “Come on,” he said, tilting his head toward the hallway, which led back to their old rooms. Dean shouldered his bags again and followed Sam. Their boots echoed loudly in the hallway, and with each step Dean felt his emotional pitch rising. Sam came to his bedroom and crossed the threshold, tossing his bags down on his bed. The furniture had a heavy layer of dust coating it. “Guess we’re gonna have to do some cleaning,” he patted a hand down on the blanket on his bed and a poof of dust rose in spirals on the air currents, “and some laundry.”

Dean’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Yeah.” He started to walk away, leaving Sam behind and heading deeper into the bunker down the hall. Sam shot out into the hallway after him.

“Uhh, Dean—do you want—should I come with you?”

Dean looked back at him over his shoulder. “I think I can find my old room, thanks,” he said.

Sam gave him an annoyed look. “You know what I mean.”

“I’ll be fine.” Dean turned away and started down the hall. Sam watched him disappear around the first corner with some unease.

His feet brought him to the door by muscle memory—it was like highway hypnosis when you suddenly become aware that you’re parking in front of your house but you don’t remember the drive home. Suddenly he was in front of the door.

Dean heaved a heavy sigh, turned the knob, and pushed inside. Stepping over that threshold was like walking into a waiting wall of emotion. The room was a time capsule left over from all the horrible events of that morning when he woke up and found your note slid underneath the door. Maybe it was fitting that it had been in a manila envelope just like the one currently holding the divorce papers. It was a pair of matching bookends marking each side of the story of losing you.

Dean clenched his jaw and allowed his eyes to travel over the room. The closet doors were standing wide open. One half held some of his clothes he’d left behind and the other side was full of hangers but void of any sign of you. When you left you’d been sleeping in a different room already for months, but he’d been so drunk the night before he hadn’t even noticed that all your things were missing from the room you used to share. Just one of many things he’d missed because he’d been trying in vain to drown out any feeling. Incoherence was all he had.

Dean dropped his bags on the floor and turned his attention to the desk in the middle of the far wall. His fingers found the pull on the top drawer and he slid it open to reveal some assorted papers and a void that still seemed wrong. You’d always kept your hunting and personal journal there. Dean gulped at the tightness in his throat, pushed the drawer closed, and turned away. He went to the bed and gathered up the dusty blanket and dirty sheets.

Sam was in the laundry room when Dean came in with his bundle of bedding. He added them to the washer as Sam gave him an appraising look, which Dean tried his best to ignore.

“Oh. Hey. You dropped something,” Sam said, bending to pick up the item of clothing that had apparently fallen out from being tangled in Dean’s sheets. Sam was about to toss it into the washer under the running water but Dean’s hand closed onto it. There was a strange expression on Dean’s face as he looked down at the fabric in his hands.

“What is it?” Sam asked carefully.

“It’s, uhh,” Dean stopped and cleared his throat, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, “it’s one of Y/N’s old sleep shirts. I guess it was all tangled up in the bedding.” Dean’s eyes weren’t leaving the fabric.

“Oh. Yeah, makes sense,” Sam said. Dean seemed to fading away into some corner of his mind. “You okay?” Sam asked.

“Hmm? Yeah. Yeah, just—weird finding this after all this time.”

Sam nodded. “Well, I’m gonna put the groceries away and cook something for dinner. See you in the kitchen in a bit?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I just need a few minutes.”

“Alright.” Sam patted him on the shoulder as he left.

Dean turned and headed back toward his room, meaning to unpack some of his things but he again found himself unexpectedly facing a closed door. And this one he didn’t dare to open.

Dean rushed away and was soon back at the room you had once shared together. He crossed the threshold, hoping that somehow he would still feel some little piece of you there. But all he felt was the silky cotton of your old t-shirt still clutched in his hand. Dean pressed the fabric to his face and took in a deep breath—and it was like a punch in the stomach. So many emotions and memories came flooding back—it smelled like the orchid scent of your hair and the vanilla of your body wash. It smelled like the only kind of detergent you ever bought because you said he wouldn’t admit that he had sensitive skin. It brought memories flooding his sense and he swore for a moment he could feel the warmth of the sun from that road trip to the Painted Desert and the droplets of rain as you ran to the Impala after the wedding ceremony, neither of you caring that you were soaking wet. He remembered cupping your beaming face in his hands and telling you this was the happiest he had ever been in his entire life and kissing you as the rain pounded the windshield and the roof.

He was reeling.

And reality was cruel.

Dean felt like he was going to be sick.

_ _ _ _ _ _

After dinner, Dean built a fire in the library and settled himself down on the couch with some obscure book on demonology. Sam found him there, not actually reading, but staring instead into the glowing embers building at the bottom of the fireplace.

“Hey,�� Sam said, moving around the couch to grab a seat in the chair opposite Dean.

“Hey.”

The silence stretched for a moment before Sam broke it. “It was good to finally have a home cooked meal,” he said.

Dean nodded. “Yeah.”

Sam had more he wanted to say. Hell, he had a thousand questions he wanted to ask Dean, but he just couldn’t start—he didn’t know how to or where to begin—so instead he awkwardly stood up and started to head toward the door. “Well, I think I’m just gonna grab a shower and read in bed for a while… Are—are you okay?”

Dean’s eyes snapped up to meet Sam’s. “Honestly?” He thought about it for a long moment. “No. I’m not okay.”

The corners of Sam’s mouth turned down in a soft frown.

“Am I craving a drink? Yes. But—am I going to have one?” Here he looked up at Sam and it seemed like some of the deep lines on his forehead smoothed. “No.”

Sam nodded at him, feeling somewhat relieved, and turned to head into the front room and toward his room.

“Hey, Sam.”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever said this—but, uhh… thanks.”

Sam gave him a questioning look.

“Look, don’t play dumb,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “I know I’m still here because of you. You never gave up on me. Never. Even I when I punched you in the face. Even when I said probably some of the most horrible things that can be said… Even when I puked in your lap during detox,” Dean added.

Sam let out a bitter laugh. “Which time?”

A small flick of a smile turned up one corner of Dean’s mouth. “Exactly. You never gave up on me and I know that’s the reason why so many other people didn’t. Even though they should’ve. Even though they should’ve been by Y/N’s side. Not mine.”

“Dean—”

“No, it’s true, Sam. It’s true. I was a—a monster. To Y/N. To you. To Jody. To everyone.”

“You would have done the same for me.”

Dean tilted his head and looked skeptical. “I don’t know… Maybe through one lap puking, probably not through three,” he joked.

Sam laughed and shook his head. “Goodnight, Dean. If you need anything--”

Dean waved him off. “Yeah. Yeah. I know. I’ll be fine.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

In the morning Sam awoke with a start. He suddenly was overwhelmed by old anxieties—that Dean would start drinking again, or that something horrible had happened to him overnight, or that he too had just disappeared—like you had.

Sam’s feet hit the cold tile floor in an instant and he was rushing down the hall toward Dean’s old room. His heart jolted in his chest when he saw that the bed was made, but hadn’t been slept in. Shit. Shit. Shit. .

Sam rushed toward the front of the bunker and stopped in the doorway of the kitchen. Empty. He rushed out into the front room. Empty. Finally, he came to the threshold of the library.

Here, he heaved a sigh of relief. Dean was asleep on the couch, his stocking feet hanging over the armrest. The embers in the fireplace were still flickering and there was a large bed of coals—signs that Dean had spent the night in the library stoking it and adding wood. He probably hadn’t been asleep for very long.

Sam felt a sharp pang near his heart when he saw that Dean was sleeping with your old t-shirt clutched under one hand, close to his face.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Sam grabbed his phone off the nightstand and pressed it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Sam?”

Sam sat up stock straight at the sound of your voice. “Y/N? Hey!”

“Hi. Listen, I’m sorry to call so late—well, I’m sorry to bother you at all—” “It’s no bother.”

You heaved a sigh on the other end of the line. “This is so stupid… I just—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about—about that day when I saw Dean and—” your voice faltered.

“...Mhmm.” Sam waited patiently for you to go on.

“Was he—I mean—he didn’t seem—”

“He hasn’t touched alcohol in almost two and a half years,” Sam said, understanding suddenly what you were trying to ask. There was long, long silence. Sam thought for a moment that maybe you had hung up. “Hello?”

“I’m still here. Sorry.” Sam heard a sniffle from the other end of the line. That’s why you were quiet. You were crying. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Umm. Sam, I have to ask you—did you tell him to sign those papers?” you asked.

Sam was caught off-guard by the question. “Look—Y/N—I have a certain opinion about it but I can’t tell him what he should do. He needs to make that decision on his own. I’m—I’m sorry—”

“No. No. Sam, that’s not it. You’re misunderstanding me. I—I have them. He—he signed them. And he sent them.”

Again, Sam was struck. “Oh. Oh… Uhh. No. I didn’t—I didn’t tell him what to do. He didn’t even tell me he was doing that.”

Your voice was suddenly very quiet on the other end of the line. “Okay. Thanks, Sam.”

“Sure,” Sam said. “…Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay. Thanks. Bye, Sam.”

“Bye.”

Sam hung up the phone, perplexed. They’d been back in the bunker for about a month, and now he got a call that Dean had signed and sent back the divorce papers? And you were asking if he was sober? Sam had tried to give Dean a wide berth when it came to anything to do with you—he knew with 100% certainty that Dean was still in love with you—but this? He couldn’t let this go. This required some prodding.

Dean looked up from the engine compartment of the Impala in response to the slamming door into the garage. “Perfect. Sam, I need another set of hands over here,” he yelled. Sam’s long frame came into view. “C’mere and hold this damn thing,” he said, fiddling with something at the back of the engine. “You won’t be able to see it, so you’re gonna have to just go by feel, okay?”

“Dean—”

“Are you gonna help me or not, princess?” Dean gave him an expectant look.

Sam returned one of annoyance. “What the hell are you calling me princess for?”

“Well I don’t see your hands in the engine compartment so the only logical conclusion is that you’re afraid of a little oil. Princess.” Dean gave him a smug smile.

“Dean, I’m trying to talk to you!”

Dean chuckled to himself. “Alright, alright. Sorry. What is it?”

“Y/N just called me.”

Dean’s socket wrench dropped from his hands and clattered loudly on the cement floor. “Wh—what?”

Sam looked down at the wrench and back up at Dean. “Y/N just called me.”

Dean suddenly looked a little frantic. His brow drew down. “Why? Is she alright? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she’s okay. But she called to ask me if I had told you to sign the divorce papers.” Sam gave Dean a pointed look.

Dean sniffed and turned back to the Impala. “Okay. So?” he said.

Sam scoffed. “Come on, Dean. You signed them. You didn’t even tell me.” Sam decided to leave out the part about you asking if he was sober and the bit about not being able to stop thinking about seeing Dean… Best not to give any sort of false hope, right?

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that I had to get a general consensus from the peanut gallery on the state of my marriage. Am I missing something? I don’t remember you saying any vows at our wedding?” he snapped over his shoulder. “Besides, I think it was pretty clear what your opinion was about it.”

“You’re missing the point!” Sam argued.

“What?” Dean snapped back, straightening up and facing Sam. “What, Sam? What do you want me to say? That—that I’m fully aware that things are ruined for good? That I know there is no possible way we can reconcile after what I did—after what happened? You want to hear that I realized that the only positive thing I could possibly do for Y/N at this point was to say—” Dean’s voice broke a little and he stopped to clear his throat, “—was to say ‘I’m sorry’ and give her the one thing she’s asked for.”

“No. No—Sorry. I know that’s none of my business, I just—I get anxious when you hide things. Force of habit,” Sam said, shoving his hands in his jean pockets.

Dean looked at him for a long moment and the hardness on his face seemed to break. “Yeah, well, I guess I’ve earned that mistrust.” He turned back toward the Impala and leaned his hands on her. He glanced furtively back over at his little brother. “You gonna help me with this or what?”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “Sure.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

That night, Sam was startled awake in the wee hours of the morning by a yell—echoing down the hallway from the direction of Dean’s room. His heart was racing as he grabbed his shotgun and some shells and rushed toward the sound. Sam wasn’t exactly sure what he had been expecting, but what he found was Dean standing in the doorway of his room, completely drenched in sweat, and gray-faced.

“Dean! Dean. Hey. What’s—what’s going on?”

Dean looked like he was trying not to be sick. “It was a—I was asleep and—”

“Nightmare?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I, uhh… No. No, you can’t call it that because—it was what actually happened. It was like it was all happening again. It was more like a memory being replayed but—”

“It was a nightmare, Dean. It’s okay. It’s—over,” Sam said.

Dean retreated back into his room and sat down on the bed, wiping a shaky hand across his brow at the cold sweat clinging there. “It’s not over though, is it Sammy?”

Sam felt tears threatening to well up in his own eyes at the haunted look on his brother’s face.

“It still happened. It all still happened,” Dean said. “It was like I was reliving all of it—all over again. Oh, God.” Dean cradled his head in his hands.

“It’s okay—“ “It is not okay, Sam. You don’t even—you still don’t even know,” he said.

Sam’s heart dropped. “Know what?”

“Why I—all the resentment I had… Why I blamed Y/N? Why I couldn’t even look at her.”

Sam could only draw shallow breaths and was trying to steel himself for whatever was coming. He felt nauseous.

Dean rubbed at his eyes and sniffled in a raggedy breath. “I wanted—I wanted to bring him back,” he said. “More than anything I’ve ever wanted. I wanted to bring him back.” The tears were flowing freely from Dean’s eyes now. “And I blamed her for stopping me. She knew--she said ‘what’s dead should stay dead.’ And she told me that she would give him a hunter’s funeral or die trying. And I hated her for it. I hated her.”

Dean swore under his breath and shut his eyes against the waves of crushing grief and memories that were resurfacing.

“And she was right. She knew. Whatever I did, no matter what I tried to sacrifice, it wouldn’t bring him back right—it wouldn’t be our son anymore. And I couldn’t deal with it.”

Sam didn’t have any words. It was enough to lose a child—an innocent boy of only three—that alone was enough to break parents apart from each other… but he should have known that in the life it would be more complicated and horrible still.

“Dean—you were grieving. You weren’t in your right mind. None of us were.”

“Y/N was,” Dean said. He wiped his face and cleared his throat again. The tightness in his voice relaxed and his next words were calm and gruff. “She’s way stronger than I am, Sam. You and Y/N are the strongest people I know.”

Sam shook his head. “No. We just go to pieces in different ways,” he said.

Sam and Dean sat in silence that way, side by side on Dean’s bed, for a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Bang. Bang. Bang. Dean’s green eyes shot up to meet Sam’s hazel ones across the table. He looked over his shoulder toward the heavy metal door at the top of the staircase.

“Uhh—are we expecting anyone?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “No.”

There was another beat of silence and then the brothers both had weapons in hand and were rushing up the metal stairs. As they neared the top there was another loud series of bangs.

Dean grasped the door handle and looked at Sam. “On three?” Sam nodded. “One—two—THREE!” Dean whipped open the door and both of the Winchester brothers stepped back in shock at the figure standing in front of them.

“Cas?” Sam said, incredulous.

Dean was staring at the trench coat-wearing angel in disbelief. “Holy shit.”

“Hello, Sam,” Cas said a little coldly. He completely ignored Dean. “I’m not alone.”

The brothers exchanged a concerned look, but they received a second shock when Cas stepped inside over the threshold and you were waiting just behind him, looking and feeling unsure.

“Hi—Sorry. I wanted to call first and—well—Cas wanted the dramatic entrance,” you said.

Dean was staring at you, unable to look away, with his mouth partially open.

Sam had a comical expression on his face—like happy shock or some mixture of anxiety and joy at seeing you there on the step after almost four years.

“I didn’t want a ’dramatic entrance’,” the angel said in a low growl, emphasizing with air quotes with his fingers. “I wanted to ’frighten them’.” He looked down at you and in a low voice, an attempt at an aside, he asked you, “Was that right?”

“What? Oh—no. No, that was not right…”

Cas looked disappointed at your assessment of his air quotes, but you couldn’t stop looking at Dean who seemed like he couldn’t stop looking at you.

Cas started down the stairs and you stepped inside and followed him. Sam rushed after you but Dean hung back, shutting the door and wondering if he was going to wake up from this dream any moment.

Sam stopped in front of you, shaking his head. “Cas, I thought—I really thought you were going back to Heaven and that—”

“—that you’d never see me again?” Cas finished. “I lied.”

“But you’re a terrible liar,” Sam said with a disbelieving laugh.

“Apparently not when I am very, very angry.” Cas turned his strikingly blue eyes to Dean. Dean avoided them.

Sam shook his head—still struggling to comprehend what was happening. “So you weren’t in Heaven—you were—?”

“Watching out for Y/N. Someone had to,” Cas said pointedly. He hadn’t stopped glaring at Dean the whole time.

You fidgeted uncomfortable. “Cas, come on… stop.”

“No,” he said. “I’m still very angry.”

“Only one very instead of two. That’s something,” Sam pointed out. Now Cas turned and gave Sam an unamused look. “Heh—look, Y/N—I—it’s so good—can I give you a hug?” he asked urgently.

You gave him a teary smile and nodded, and in a second Sam had you in a big bear hug and lifted you up onto your toes. You both were a little glassy-eyed when you broke apart. Cas looked displeased, but didn’t say anything. A heavy silence settled and you studied Dean. He had shoved his hands into his pockets and was now seemingly avoiding everyone’s eyes on purpose. “Dean?” But that snapped them up to your face. Shockingly green as ever. “Can we—I need to talk to you.”

Dean nodded, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice. He followed you into the library, chancing a glance back at Sam and Cas who were both watching you and Dean leave. Cas’s expression was rather cold and guarded, but Sam was wearing a dopey sort of sad smile.

You ran a hand nervously over your hair, smoothing any flyaways. “I’m—I’m sorry for just showing up here,” you started. “And I’m sorry about Cas.”

Dean cleared his throat, but his voice still came out with heavy gravel. “Don’t be. I deserve every bit of it and more.”

You looked down toward your feet. “I—I got the papers. And your letter.” Your eyes flitted up to watch Dean’s reaction.

He nodded nervously. “Good. That’s—that’s good. Uhh… I just needed you to know that I’m—I’m really sorry. But—I know that doesn’t change anything. But I needed you to know that anyway… So… yeah.”

You nodded patiently as he made his way through that somewhat rambling statement. “Look, there’s something that I wanted to ask you.”

“Okay…”

“After I left—after everything—I tried to spread his ashes but—I just couldn’t do it. It didn’t seem right without you there.” The light was sparkling in your eyes as tears collected and threatened to spill out over your lashes.

An exhale left Dean’s lips in a sudden puff of air. “You still—?” You nodded. “You should be there.” You tried to get the words out in a strong, steadfast tone, but it came out quietly and somewhat constricted due to emotion. “If—if you want to be there.”

Dean was trying not to go to pieces. He forced several breaths in and out, trying to loosen the knot in his chest so he could speak—but he couldn’t. All he could do was nod.

The tears managed to spill out onto you cheeks. “Okay. I think I know the place.”

“There’s something I’d like to do first—if that’s okay,” Dean said. “Will you come with me?”

You nodded and followed Dean out of the library and through the winding hallways. As you got closer to your destination, you began to cry harder. Dean hesitated for a brief moment before he risked wrapping an arm around you, and that was all it took for you to collapse into him. And soon he was crying hard too.

Cas and Sam stopped a distance down the hallway, both of them now struggling with emotion too. In a few moments, you and Dean started again toward the door he hadn’t dared to open.

When you both came to rest in front of it, Dean gave you a fearful look, but then he pressed on and turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

Everything was just in its place. It was another time capsule back to all those years ago—but this one back to happier times—not when you left, not when it had happened, but when it hadn’t yet happened.

The two of you just stood in the space together and let it wash over you. But finally, you stepped back out and closed the door.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“It’s the right place,” Dean said behind you. You glanced over your shoulder at him. He looked stoic now, standing rigidly in his jacket with his hands shoved into the pockets.

You nodded in agreement. “Together?” you asked. There was a calm breeze tossing your hair and Dean was struggling with how beautiful and sad you looked in the dimming light that was warm orange on your face but enveloping your ankles in deep purples and blues already. He stepped forward and joined you. Cas and Sam were nearby, each thinking their own goodbyes all over again.

Dean pressed his hands around the urn with yours and together you tipped it until a small cascade of ash met the wind and swirled away from the two of you. Time pressed on and soon the small urn was empty, the last flecks burning red with the setting sun as they danced in the wind.

The four of you started down the path that led through those quiet woods and back to the bunker. No one spoke. There were too many things to say and yet nothing to say. The crackling of leaf and twig underfoot was preferable.

Back in the bunker Sam and Cas made an excuse to step away, leaving you and Dean alone in the front room for a few minutes.

Dean was studying your face, wondering what the fuck he should say when you drew out a familiar manila envelope from your bag.

His eyes caught yours and you saw the questions in them.

“You didn’t file them?” he asked. You shook your head.

“No. I—Well, I’m not saying that we should stay married or that we shouldn’t or that I even know what the hell to do now… but it was nice to see the man I married again,” you said. Your eye contact with his green irises was unafraid. “I think you should hold onto them for a while. And I think that… we both need to figure out how to move forward.” Dean nodded. “Okay. Forward,” he repeated.

“Forward.”

#supernaturalfreewill #dean winchester #squirrel #dean imagines #dean fanfics #dean fluff #dean x reader #spn #spn fanfics #spn imagines #gif imagines #supernatural #team free will

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mordoriscalling · 3 years

Text

48 Weeks (2/4)

(Part 1)

Throughout the 48 weeks that Geralt and Jaskier spend apart, their relationship develops.

Aka, part 3 of the Singer and the Sailor AU no one asked for but I wrote anyway. The events of this story happen after Stay or Sail Away but before Homecoming. Warnigns: some sexual content ahead!

Weeks 13-24

Week 13

He waits for Jaskier’s call impatiently, praying in his mind that this is not the time they’ve got the timezones wrong. He doesn’t even have five minutes to spare right now.

Finally, after the eternity of two more minutes, there’s an incoming call from Jaskier. He picks up and immediately says, “A storm’s going to hit us soon.”

He hears Jaskier’s shaky sigh.

“Okay,” Jaskier’s replies, his voice tight, “please stay safe.”

Geralt nods. Nothing wrong happens to the crew on his watch. He made that mistake only once.

Week 14

“Another storm’s coming.”

“What? What the hell, are we some kind of star-crossed lovers –”

“Jaskier. I have to go.”

“Right.” The glint of fear turn’s Jaskier’s eyes into a colour almost as pale as ice. “Send me a text when it’s over.”

It’s one of the worst storms Geralt’s even been through but there’s no way in hell he’ll let the sea take him or anyone he’s responsible for. They all have people to return to. The thought of his family gets him through it. Jaskier’s among them too.

Week 15

“You write those songs fast.”

“What can I say?” Jaskier answers with a disarming grin, “You’re my muse.”

Geralt snorts at the ridiculous notion but he can’t fight a small smile tugging at his lips.

He listens to the recording the moment Jaskier hangs up. The song is about longing, Jaskier’s longing. His voice is high-pitched, raw and vulnerable, and Geralt finds he can’t breathe.

Week 16

When he tries to thank for the song, the “thank you” refuses to go through his throat. “Siren,” he says instead, “I miss you too.”

Jaskier smiles, a tiny, soft thing. His blue, blue eyes sparkle and somehow, Geralt feels seen.

Week 17

“Have I told you about that time me and Rozalia tried to teach chickens how to fly?”

“You what.”

Jaskier laughs. “Yeah. When we were little, we often spent the summer holidays with our grandma back in Poland. She kept chickens and well... I remember when I was maybe eight years old, me and Rozalia noticed that Amelia, who was little then, loved to watch how the chickens try to fly up in the air.”

“So, Roza suggested that we try to teach them how to fly, and I came up with the idea of creating a... chicken launcher.”

“A chicken launcher?” Geralt repeats.

“Yes,” Jaskier answers with a chuckle, “it was a really crude thing that me and Roza built out of some random planks and bricks we found in the shed. But it worked! It launched the chickens some six feet in the air. Amelia was delighted.”

“What the fuck, Jaskier.”

“I know, okay? We didn’t hurt the chickens, I swear! Though none of them wanted to be placed on the launcher for the second time, wonder why.”

Geralt laughs and laughs, and laughs, the sound coming deep from his chest and loosening the tension in his body. He keeps cackling hysterically – because fucking chicken launcher – and comes to realise that he doesn’t mind Jaskier’s ridiculousness at all.

Week 18

Geralt quickly picks up on the fact that something’s off about Jaskier, no matter how much Jaskier tries to hide it.

“Why are you sad?” he asks.

For a moment, Jaskier says nothing, but then replies, “Valdo called me yesterday.”

Geralt frowns, surprised. “Valdo Marx?”

Jaskier didn’t fail to mention how much of a “backstabbing motherfucker and talentless swine” Valdo Marx is.

“Yeah,” Jaskier confirms with a wry smile. “I know he’d call, we’re in the same city coincidentally.” He sighs heavily. “I knew he’d be drunk. He usually calls when he’s drunk.”

Geralt stays quiet and Jaskier goes on.

“When he calls me, he just... reopens this fucking wound, saying all those things. How he loves me still, how he’s never stopped loving me, how we should meet and try again... but then he’ll start petty drama on social media to gain publicity and call my music shit because that news sells, and I–” A sharp exhale. “I wish it was simple. I wish I could only hate him but... Well. The problem is, we were something else together.” Jaskier laughs bitterly. “And yet, fame tore us apart.”

There’s a pause. Geralt doesn’t speak again, trying to process all of he’s heard. Eventually, Jaskier breaks the silence again.

“And now I’m touring, and he’s touring too, and everyone thinks we’re rivals, and it’s just getting so old. I have better things to do.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say to that, so he only says what he knows from experience. “In the long run, it’s harder to hold on than to let go.”

“That’s –” Jaskier starts, then cuts himself off. He stares at Geralt through the screen with wide eyes. “That’s... true.”

Week 19

“Two songs?”

“I have no idea how I do that either. At this point, I’m convinced that I just can’t die. Sleep deprivation should’ve killed me long ago but here I am, alive and kicking.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls. His worry comes off as anger but most of his emotions do. Jaskier doesn’t seem deterred. Geralt has a suspicion that he literally has no self-preservation instinct. Still, he tries to stare Jaskier into compliance. “Go to sleep.”

Jaskier obliges after some theatrical complaining.

When Geralt plays the recordings after going to bed, he’s surprised how different the songs are. The first one is an enticing call for sharing an adventure, luring him towards thoughts of what’s beyond the empty vastness of blue, towards what’s unknown to him. It’s all Jaskier, whereas the other song is not like Jaskier at all. It has none of Jaskier’s usual energy; it’s just a call for help, a cry of deep sadness that Geralt knows very well. He hates that Jaskier knows it too.

Week 20

Geralt listens to Jaskier strumming his guitar idly and no words come to him even though he knows he should say something. He sees that Jaskier needs it but his throat refuses to work. The wolf signet is a heavy weight in his pocket and he almost curses the day he let himself have this.

He was aware from the start that he shouldn’t have. After so many years at sea, he’s almost grown an allergic reaction to getting attached like this; he knows it hurts like bloody hell. He had no idea that he’d be called for this deployment back then though, and Jaskier was there, irrationally familiar and safe. His eyes sparkled in the light of the room during that birthday party, his elegant hand was warm underneath his own, and Geralt gave in. He regretted it mere minutes later and he almost regrets it now.

This would’ve been so much easier without Jaskier. Loneliness is what he knows and waiting for Jaskier isn’t easy like that, especially not when he isn’t doing enough to have Jaskier stay.

He tries to think of Ciri’s laugh to cheer himself up but in the end, it makes his chest ache even more.

Week 21

When Jaskier’s face shows up on the screen, his eyes and grin almost scream mischief.

“Hello, dear,” he purrs, “What a sight for sore eyes you are.”

Geralt knows that tone very well. His body responds to it with a thrill of anticipation before he can form a single thought. Then, Jaskier stretches his arms, “accidentally” lowering the camera of his phone to show his naked, hairy chest, and any thoughts fly out of Geralt’s mind.

“No shirt on?” he asks, his mouth dry.

“I don’t have anything on,” Jaskier answers in that raspy voice which drives Geralt mad.

“Show me.”

“With pleasure, darling.”

Week 22

“The audience was wonderful today,” Jaskier says dreamily.

Geralt rolls his eyes. “You always say that.”

He’s been saying that very often ever since he’s started touring in North America two months ago.

“That’s because you got to say that,” Jaskier replies, “I have to make my audience feel special. I mean it this time, though. There was magic in the air.”

Suddenly, a heavy feeling settles in Geralt’s gut and he can’t help wondering if Jaskier truly means the words he says.

Week 23

In the past week, the sea has been moody, there have been several small but bothersome damages to the ship, and Ciri’s caught a nasty cold. Generally, nothing’s going like it’s supposed to, and Geralt is tired. He sees that Jaskier’s noticed.

They’re quiet, only looking at each other through the screen. The silence between them seems impassable but then it’s broken by Jaskier’s quiet question.

“Why is your hair white?”

“I won’t tell you,” Geralt snaps, because the very idea of talking about it sets his teeth on edge. Jaskier flinches at his harsh reaction. Geralt tries to amend it by adding, “Not yet.”

It’s a promise which he isn’t sure he can keep but Jaskier accepts it with a slow nod.

“Will you tell me how come you joined the Navy, then?” Jaskier asks quietly. “In detail, please. When I asked before, you only said that you didn’t have anything better to do.”

“That’s how it happened.”

“Geralt.”

“Fine.”

And so, Geralt tells him. He was twenty-three and still hadn’t dealt with having been abandoned by his mother and dumped by Yennefer, who he thought to be the love of his life at the time. He hated it so much that he decided it was his turn to abandon, and he quit everything.

Their adoptive father never suggested for them to follow in his footsteps but at the time, the Navy seemed a career good as any. Geralt and his brothers, not related to him by blood but still his brothers even before Vesemir took them in, truly didn’t have any plans too. Nothing kept them on land.

Now as he looks at Jaskier listening to him carefully, he thinks it’s funny how things have changed.

Week 24

“We’re halfway through.”

Jaskier sounds tired and Geralt heaves a sigh. The room is light but it suddenly appears very dark. He’s almost forgotten home and missing his family has got less painful but there’re still days when it chokes him, like today.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tells Jaskier.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s fine if you’ve changed your mind.”

Geralt hears Jaskier release a shaky breath.

“Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” Geralt replies, looking at Jaskier finally, hoping to be seen, “I want this.”

Jaskier smiles softly. “Good,” he says, his voice warm, “because I want this too.”

Geralt wants to call him an idiot but it would sound far too fond.

The day ends with another storm.

Part 3

***

A/N: The story about the "chicken launcher" is what me and my younger brother did one day when we were kids. I think it's definitely something the horror sister Rozalia and the wild brother Julian would do to amuse their nasty angel baby sister Amelia.

#myfic #gerasker #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #the Sailor and the Singer AU

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toooldforfandom-liveblogs · 4 years

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She-Ra and the Princesses of Power S01E07 - In the Shadows of Mystacor

I'm trying to remember if Mystacor has ever been mentioned but I'm drawing a blank. The title sounds portentous enough that it makes me doubt the episode is going to be about the Ice Princess but she's the only one left so I'm guessing that's what it’s going to be about! Let's do this!

...why does Bow have hearts in the soles of his shoes?

"Because I can" he'd probably say

Also, what's up with them sleeping in the wilderness? Was the technology for tents and/or shelter lost in whatever catastrophe the First Ones went through?

I had this without subtitles and for a second I thought "Hey, she's having nightmares about Light Hope, maybe because of the infection?" but then I recognized the voice. Of course, the subtitles don't leave a lot of room to wonder who's talking.

Sure, leave your friends and tell no one you're leaving. Great idea!

That's some cute bed hair. I'm still weirdly bothered about the fact that they straight up slept on the grass. Like, it gets wet! And there are bugs!

How long has she been standing there watching? It was still dark when she stood up.

* gasp * Continuity~

Wait, did Glimmer just tell them "let's go sleep in the woods" without telling them their destination?

Oh, so there's magic beyond what the Princesses can do.

...I think Castaspella takes the prize for being the most literal name in She-Ra yet.

oooh, is Adora going to have problems seeing it? Drama~

As an aside, after last episode I wonder if all magic in Etheria is actually just very advanced technology from the First Ones and the entire setting of the show is post apocalyptic. That'd explain why they the princesses need to recharge in very specific circumstances instead of just sleeping it off like most wizards in most other settings.

The biggest mood. I _am_ writing this during another bout of insomnia after all.

ooh, plot

What's Shadow Weaver's problem with Catra? Is it just "Adora's the good one daughter, you're the bad one"? Whatever it is, Catra's self value and resentment problems are 1:1 linked to that, especially considering how Shadow Weaver keeps poking at Catra's insecurities.

The red rock can probably still work under the "all magic is tech" theory since Entrapta's problems were all because of a gem but I'm not so sure about the stone basin and the liquid inside.

(that's a fantastic Glimmer face)

Oh. So she didn't have friends when she was growing up? She didn't seem to know the other princesses, and the castle seems to have mostly soldiers and her mom so I guess it makes sense? But still, that's sad.

oh no she's a grandma

So, magic definitely isn't something only Princesses can wield. Unless it's different from their powers? They do seem to have very specific powers versus what looks like these generic sparkles.

It looks like Glimmer's inability to be taken seriously goes beyond her mother. That she didn't have a lot of friends feels like an important piece of that puzzle, since it could mean she was overprotected when she was a child (maybe because of the war?) and only recently she's been "acting out"

I was thinking that maybe Castaspell was the other princess's mom but now I really hope she isn't. That passive aggresive personality would be incredibly toxic.

I can't figure out Shadow Weaver's plan. Does she want to freak her out for some reason? Is she leading Adora somewhere (how does she know Mystacor enough to know where she wants to lead Adora?)? Hm.

Also I'm really bad at recognizing voices but Castaspella's voice reminds a bit of Shadow Weaver.

oh my god I was going to write the same thing

OH MY GOD I WAS KIDDING

I can't believe they are exploring Glimmer's weirdly normal family issues.

Welp, that'd explain how Shadow Weaver's shadowy thing knows how to move around Mysticor. How long ago was she exiled? It'd need to be at least 20~ years ago to match with her adopting Adora.

Sure, _now_ they have blankets.

Huh. Interesting design choice to keep Bow's chest covered. Now I'm wondering if he's trans and that's a binder.

It wouldn't be my first guess considering it's so direct and trans characters are mostly limited to background characters if at all but that quote from the showrunner about her characters being gay unless otherwise stated makes me think it could be a possibility.

GLIMMER HAS WINGS

Aw, the cuteness couldn't last.

The design of those wings remind me a lot of the ones in Card Captor Sakura, I wonder if it's an intentional reference.

Aw. Adora really has a ton of stuff to work through, huh? I'm glad they are taking the time to do it, it'd have been so easy for the writers to just let Adora cast aside everything Horde related but nope, she has a past, conflicted feelings about her "mom" and definitely some trauma.

oh my god this is so wholesome. I mean, he's wrong, but still wholesome.

He's such a good boy. He's even willing to accept Adora's different way to dealing with her emotions.

Uuuugh, that has to be Shadow Weaver, right? A lifetime of experience manipulating Adora, she knows exactly what to say, how to gaslight her.

This level of emotional manipulation is killing me. Shadow Weaver knows exactly what buttons to push, exactly what Adora fears hearing the most. And she's probably has been doing the same for years to both Adora and Catra.

Welp, I hope all those crystals were not important.

My heart. Glimmer did not jump to conclusions or blamed her even though she just lost a ton of credibility with her aunt. What a wholesome marshmallow.

I guess someone could go and say "they are wrong because they don't believe her" but this really feels like it's completely out of their life experience so I can't blame them at all. And they are probably going to apologize once it's all clear, right? I'm not sure you can ask more from them, they have been extremely supportive.

nooooo, don't do this to my heart (or Adora's) this has to be Shadow Weaver but that almost feels wrong because if she's so powerful why hasn't she done this before?

uuuuuuuugh

Rainbow energy~ Is She-Ra going to have to recharge the shields?

yup

I can't believe I'm going to say this but this almost feels out of character. Why would Shadow Weaver reveal the shadow if she's been so good about manipulating Adora so far?

Aaand she's back.

I'm glad they didn't leave that as a mystery. Wait, Light Spinner? Is Spinnerella a relative?

I _love_ this. I mentioned how it felt like it seemed like some people (like Angela or Perfuma) cared more about She-Ra than Adora, to the point that even Adora herself seemed to prefer being She-Ra for a while and it was all on purpose!

Shadow Weaver is manipulating Adora but this is probably something that has been festering in Adora's mind for weeks and I love that it's something that's been present enough on the show to be noticeable instead of something we have to extrapolate.

AAAAAAAA

I didn't expect Adora to confront all her dark mom issues and trauma so soon but this is gooood.

whoa wait what, that's cheating

Aren't you like one more subordinate of Lord Hordak?

This is some heavy stuff that I didn't expect this show to handle.

I'm going to be slightly dissapointed if that's the end of Adora's issues.

she's in

This is so wholesome and cute.

Is it a coincidence that her gem works the same way as the distress beacon in Entrapta's castle?

Nooooooo.

I feel so conflicted about Catra, she obviously has a lot of problems but after this episode I'm finding it very hard to blame her. Shadow Weaver _liked_ Adora and was horribly manipulative to her, imagine what she has been doing to Catra every day her entire life.

---

What a surprise! It's been pretty episodic so far with the introduction of the princesses so a return to the Horde and Shadow Weaver was a completely unexpected. It even included some consequences from last episode's infection!

There are a couple of things I want to talk about but before anything else, let me gush about how Bow and Glimmer are amazing friends to Adora.

When the episode starts with Adora not being in the right mood, it only takes one look from Glimmer to notice there’s something wrong with her friend after she doesn’t react to her jokes. She doesn’t get angry at Adora’s moody response, instead she tries to understand what’s going on and offers her a vacation.

While I was watching, I thought this was after returning to Bright Moon but it makes a lot more sense if they are on the trip back from Entrapta. Had Glimmer already decided to go to Mystacor or was it in response to Adora’s bad mood? In any case they really emphasize Mystacor’s healing properties because they see how much Adora needs that.

And then during their stay they never get frustrated at Adora’s increasing paranoia, instead they keep trying to help her by suggesting ways to relax.

How easy it would have been for Glimmer to give up on Adora after the third time of being rebuffed? No one would have blamed her or Bow if they got annoyed but they just keep trying. Bow even shows he listened to Adora about what she did to relax in the past and suggests it back to her after the “normal” stuff fails. And then they give her space the second Adora asks for it!

Even after Adora’s breaks the crystals in the Lunarium and seemingly kills any bit of “grown-up” credibility Glimmer may have had with her aunt, she doesn’t get angry.

I understand that there’s a reading here that could say that Glimmer and Bow are in the wrong because they didn’t trust Adora about her weird visions from the get go but I feel this was a lot more realistic. How long has been Adora with them? How much of their past do they even know? Before this episode they hadn’t heard about Shadow Weaver and that’s Adora’s _mom_. In fact, I’m sure they don’t even know who Catra is, and that’s Adora’s strongest “positive” link to the Horde.

Would _you_ believe a new friend if they started seeing shadows after a traumatic experience that affected their cognition? Or would you try to help them in the way that makes most sense to you?

I think a plot where they believe her right away could have worked as a mystery but I’m not sure I’d have liked it as much as this one.

That last scene where Adora wakes up from a nightmare and shows her new trust in Glimmer by falling sleep right away was * chef kiss *

With all my unbridled gushing out of the way, let’s talk about Shadow Weaver. It’s interesting that they took a mystery that could have worked for a multiple episode arc and then revealed it in the same episode.

If the episode had _only_ Bow’s line “Mystacor is protected by a spell so evil can’t find it” plus Shadow Weaver’s shadow hanging around it would have been enough to set up a mystery about how she wasn’t affected. A couple of episodes later they could have shown Light Spinner’s statue. And afterwards they could have confirmed it. That they took the possibility of stretching something like that for episodes and episodes makes me optimistic about the future since I assume they have much better ideas in their pocket.

What I am _not_ optimistic about is how this episode felt like it was “the one where Adora overcomes the trauma from being raised by Shadow Weaver.” She’s still dealing with nightmares by the end but it still felt very rushed in that regard. I’m hoping I’m wrong and this is just her first step.

Glimmer’s struggles in making adults take her seriously have been interesting so far. It makes me wonder what will be the event that’ll change everyone’s minds. I doubt this show will go _too_ dark but a battle their side loses because they didn’t listen to her or a battle they win only because they listened to her could work. Technically, the Princesses Alliance is that but I’m pretty sure Angella won’t care much about it until they prove themselves.

Bow is still a mystery. An extremely good boy, but a mystery. I’m hoping that Catra’s sudden focus on him will develop him more. I’m still curious if he’s intended to be read as trans but it’s a nice head canon to have if not.

Oh, and Catra. This good has been very, very good about not being black and white but Shadow Weaver’s behavior tilted the scales towards Catra being a very sympathetic but tragic figure. She may be the black sheep of Shadow Weaver’s wards but it looks like she learned the lessons SW was teaching the best, probably because she was subjected to them the most during their life.

I think that's all for now. There's still a princess left and whatever's Catra is planning so I can't wait! Until next time!

#shera #shera liveblog #shera s01e07 #spop

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valeptraglia · 4 years

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The Chronicles of Narnia: The Battle of Calormen

Still not C. S. Lewis

...

Chapter 2: "The King's Tent."

(Edmund's POV)

I slowly opened my eyes and felt a sharp pain in the back of my head, I grown. I blinked a few times to get used to the light and I looked around.

I was in what looked like a camp situated in a clearing. Men were talking animatedly to each other sitting in the ground, sharpening their swords or battle-axes, or simply walking, all with armors on.

«Wait, that man has hooves, wait what? » I was losing it, I was completely crazy. But then I remembered crossing the door and getting into the forest, and I realized they weren't men, well not most of them, they were creatures, fauns, centaurs, minotaurs and even dwarfs could be seen amongst the group.

Quickly I got up and in the hurry I almost lost my balance and fell to the ground as my head started hurting.

«Where the hell am I? What happened? I was with the girls and Peter hearing the trees but then? Everything is black. » I tried to think harder but then fear run through me «My siblings, where are they? » I looked around but there wasn't any sign of them, so I started to panic and my head started to pound. «What if something happened to them? Oh, no» I felt a horrible feeling in my stomach and I instantly got up.

Suddenly I heard heavy hoofs against the ground and I turned around. A centaur was galloping, coming in my direction, so I stand still, waiting for him. I couldn't help the nasty look I threw him. I know I'm not supposed to judge anyone in advance, but hey, I'm not in my best mood.

As he was coming closer I could see him better. He was tall and with piercing blue eyes, his skin was dark, his features sharp, and his hair was tied up in a low ponytail. He had his armor on.

Finally he was in front of me. He stared at me and then bowed.

"Your majesty" he said with a deep voice.

"Who are you?" I questioned him.

"My name is Diácano, your majesty, I'm King Erasmus captain's army. Welcome back". He greeted.

I looked him in the eyes. He seemed to be nice."Nice to meet you Diácano. Do you know where my sisters and brother are?" I asked him so respectful that Susan would be very proud of me.

"Yes your majesty, they are with the king" he answer and then with a smile he add, "safe".

I nod with relieve and gratitude and asked him "Would you care to take me with them?"

"Of course your majesty" and with bow he lead the way.

We walked beside a river where some creatures and men were drinking water or washing their faces, or in some occasions men watching with desiring eyes to the dryads while they batted their eyelashes to them. I chuckled; the dryads could play dirty tricks on men, I know it for own experience.

They all bowed as I walk beside them making me feel uncomfortable. I was never one of manners or titles, it really embarrassed me, and when I am embarrassed it is inevitable the blush that creep my cheeks, and that makes me moody.

I tried to smile to them until we FINALLY, finally reach a tend. Diácano step aside allowing me to go first and he followed.

As I stepped in my vision became blurry when something threw it self at me, and a pair of arms wrapped around my torso and another pair around my neck. I immediately tensed but then I heard a too familiar voice.

"Susan, Lucy! Let him breathe!" Peter said laughing.

I've never known what to do in this situations, I wasn't too affectionate. But I awkwardly hugged them back happy they were okay.

"Ed I'm so happy you're alright!" said Susan letting me go as well as Lucy.

"I thought you were dead when I saw you lying on the ground with that blow on your head. Are you alright?" Lucy asked with concern..

"Ah, I'm alright Lucy, don't worry about me" I said forcing a smile. Was I going to have to smiles all the time today? But as truthful I thought my smile was, apparently I couldn't lie to Peter because he arch an eyebrow.

"You really scared us" he said patting my back and with a serious tone, I knew he was telling the truth. Aww, look who is the emotional one here.

"I know Pete, you can't live without me" I said jokingly. He rolled his eyes at me and then I heard a chuckle and I turned around.

I guess we weren't alone. There was a man, of about thirty years, beard and short brown hair, he was muscular and was wearing silver armor with a bright red lion on the chest, attached to his hip there was a belt with a sword on it. He was standing behind a table cover in parchments.

He walked around the table and bowed at me.

"Your Majesty, it's a pleasure to meet you; I'm Erasmus King of Narnia" he said with a gentle smile shaking my hand.

I shook his hand and replied "The pleasure is all mine".

"I'm happy to see you got back to consciousness, and I apologize for the blow one of my men gave you" he said looking out of the corner of his eye with a mix of nervousness and compassion.

I followed his gaze and I realized that in one corner of the tend there was a faun in bronze armor and with a bludgeon on his hand. First I thought he was ill 'cause he was shaking uncontrollably, but then I saw the look on his face while he looked at me. There was fear on it. He was quivering with fear. He was afraid… of me? Really? Do I look that bad?

I looked again at him but this time I look his hand and it hit me. He was the one who hit me. He hit me with bludgeon, that little… I swallowed hard and looking back at the King and said:

"Well, no harm has been done, I'm alright. I am glad to see you have very effective men in your army King Erasmus" and I smiled reassuringly to the faun.

"Perfect!" he said clapping his hands and with a huge smile "Diácano, Barbra you can go" he ordered to the centaur and the faun."Seriously Barbra stop quivering" he said looking at the poor faun "didn't you hear what King Edmund said? Now go take a drink my friend" He said giving him a wink and patting his back with a warm smile.

The centaur and the faun bowed to us and they got out of the tend. As soon as they were out, Susan slapped hard the back of my head, right were that faun had hit me.

As they stepped out of the tent the King pointed the chairs around the table. Peter sat at one at the end of the table, I sat on his right, Susan next to me, and next to her Lucy. The King sat on the other end of the table and looked at us.

"So… you called us?" asked Peter breaking the silence.

"Yes, it was me, but… I wasn't expecting you to actually come" he said scratching his chin with a thoughtful expression.

"Why wouldn't we come?" asked Lucy in disconcert.

"Because someone has already come".

What?

"What? Who?" asked Susan surprised.

"Well it is a long story" said Erasmus reclining on his chair.

"We have time" I said quickly. Patience is not one of my qualities.

King Erasmus smiled and said:

"Lately we've been having trouble with Calormen"

"What a surprise" said Peter sarcastically.

"Well yes, our relationship has never been the best one, but in the last two years it has worsen. Now that Theron, the Tisroc son, has taken charge it seems he is trying to do what his ancestors couldn't!

"Enlarge their territory" I said angrily realizing what he was talking about.

"Exactly. They sent messengers and now the giants in the North are against us. We also have trouble in the West, with what's left of Telmar, and although, in the South, Archenland is still with us, carlormens are taking the hole south of their territory, so they have to fight their own war"

"They are surrounding us" said Peter.

The King cleaned up a part of the table where he put on a map of Narnia and its adjacent territories. I leaned in.

"Then" he said "we are being attacked by: the giants of Ettinsmoor," he stick a sharp knife in the north part of the map "telmarines, " he stick another sharp knife in the west part of the map "and carlomens in Archenland" he stick the last sharp knife in the south part of the map.

I was too angry to say anything. I couldn't believe it. We fought hard to win Narnia back from Miraz, from the White Witch. It still make me shiver to think about her, it still make me feel ashamed to remember the traitor I was myself. I couldn't take it. We fought too hard to win Narnia back, and now we were losing it again.

"Edmund, are you okay?" whispered Lucy in my ear with concern.

I haven't realized that I had my hands clenched into fists and my knuckles were turning white. I opened my hands and flexed my sore fingers while I nodded to her. She didn't buy it but said nothing.

"And when did you call us?" asked Peter.

"Almost a year ago, when we realized we wouldn't achieve anything by ourselves. They were segueing us, we couldn't trade with Archenland because they too were running out of provisions with the war. We tried with Galma and Terebinthia, but in some way the provisions never arrived, the ships never touched narnian port, they got lost in the sea.

So, after a devastated battle in the Western Marches, our own territory, I came to the conclusion that it was time to ask for help. That same night, I went down to the old treasure chamber and blew Queen Susan's horn. "here he smiles at Susan to which she nodded and returned the smile "We wait for about eight days. The eighth night, some guards, came to me carrying with them a young woman and a young man I have never seen in my life. They were using the strangest clothes, similar to the ones you have on, your majesties. Obviously I interrogated them, quite rudely I might add" he said, but seeing Lucy's and Susan's faces he quickly added: "it was my duty, after all they could have been spies, I have to put Narnia first. Anyways they didn't really say anything that I could comprehend. They were in shock . The guards told me they found them marauding on the Great Woods and when they asked them what were they doing there and who they were, they run off. They followed them thinking they were bandits, because of their attitude, and brought them to Cair Paravel. I sent them to the dungeons. But in the middle of the night a maid came running to my room and asked my permission to take the girl to the infirmary because she was bleeding by a wound in her shoulder. I said yes and went with her to see the girl. She was pale and had a deep wound in her left shoulder. The maid and some other guards take the girl to the infirmary and I stayed with Diácano in the dungeons with the young boy.

By sunrise he had told us, that the girl was her sister and he presumed, she got that wound from some men with turbans who had chased them through the forest, and that was why they had run off when they saw the guards. He also told us something very interesting. He said" here the King spoke almost whispering "that they came from another world, were Narnia didn't exist. I think he said they were from England?" he said to himself with uncertainty.

I looked at my siblings and saw the same expression in their faces. Surprise. Except for Susan, she had such a distraught face.

"England? Are you sure?"Peter asked.

"Yes, yes. Or he said Englond? Or was it Inglaand? I can't remember but it was something like that"

"And what happened to them?" I asked.

"I believed them. It was strange but something told me they were saying the truth. I can't really explain it but I am sure Aslan sent them" Hearing Aslan's name, somehow, warmed my heart. "Anyways, their arrival coincided with a halt in the enemy's attacks, so we had a good amount of time to put ourselves together. Or kind of."

"And where are they now?" asked Lucy.

"Anne is at Cair Paravel, fortunately her wound wasn't that serious, and Bill is in the Stormness Head, with an army helping Archenland. Actually, he must be heading home by now. He trained hard and turned out to be quite a swordsman"

We were all silent. Everyone in their own thoughts.

"Where are we?" I asked suddenly.

"Oh! We are in the Caldron Pool. We came from a battle with the giants in Ettinsmoor. But tomorrow by nightfall we should be in Cair Paravel"

"And how was it?" asked Peter excited.

We all looked at him with confused faces.

"Eh how was it what, your Majesty?" asked the King hesitantly.

"The battle! Of course! Did we win?"

"Oh! Yes, your Majesty, we won" he said with a huge smile on his face. We all smile.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Peter clapping. He looked like a four-year-old to who someone had given a puppy.

"But we still have a lot to do. Basically we are hanging on here".

"When are we leaving?" asked Lucy smiling at Peter's conduct.

"Tomorrow by dawn"

"Good"

"Now I think it would be the best to give you some armors and weapons, just in case. What do you think?" said King Erasmus.

"Perfect!"

"I am sorry your majesties but we don't have female clothes for you. Can you use some of mines?" he apologized to the girls.

"Its okay, we understand. It is not the first time" said Lucy with a reassuring smile. Susan nodded. She was so quiet. And quite paler than her usual.

"Alright, then I'll grab some clothes for your brothers and leave you alone for you to change" he said standing up and going to a trunk from which he took some clothes. "Use my clothes as you pleased" he said with a smile to Susan and Lucy and signaling Peter and me the exit.

As I passed besides Susan I gently squeezed her arm discretly, her lips turn up in a forced smile.

#narnia fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #narnia #chronicles of narnia #edmund pevensie #king edmund the just #peter pevensie #king peter the magnificent #susan pevensie #queen susan the gentle #lucy pevensie #queen lucy the valiant #The Battle of Calormen

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melyaliz · 4 years

Text

Canary 17

Canary Masterlist

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Sometimes all you can do is sleep away a broken heart.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Notes: Thank you to everyone for being so patient with me! Honestly, I don’t deserve you lovely people and all the wonderful comments, reblogs, and likes. I know this chapter is a bit angsty but I promise the next one will be better.

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

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------------------------------

The first time I realized I had powers it was like the most exciting yet natural thing that had ever happened to me. As if I had held on to them all along. It was like taking your first steps. Wobbly at first but soon you are running as fast as you can toward nowhere.

My powers are like another extension of who I am. They come to be as easy as my sight. Seeing sounds around me, the way they float and sink. How some are sharp and some are gentle.

It is strange how something so unnatural to everyone else is just so natural to me.

Not like love.

Love is hard.

Love makes no sense.

Love is confusing.

And as I watched the only man I think I may have truly loved leave me I didn’t know how to react. He had come into my life so quickly and left in the same manner.

Loud, brash, silent, and mischevious.

It was like he could see me when no one else. Like he could hear me. He knew things no one else did without anyone telling me. He just seemed to know them.

It was as if our souls just looked at each other and knew they would have an impact on each other. Even before we did.

The whole ordeal was exhausting.

And thinking about it made me sick.

So walking back into my bedroom I curled up in my bed trying to ignore the fact that my sheets smelled like him. Surrounded by a million memories that were so bittersweet I could taste them on my tongue. I could feel them all around me, deep in my bones.

I slept and slept. Every time I woke I just didn’t have the will to pull myself up. So I laid there. Watching the sun’s rays cast a million different hues through my room. Bright warm noon sun turning into soft orange rays casting deep shadows across my room. Pitching it into the darkness like the deep black that seemed to fill my brain. And then the sun rose again, spilling warm light pooling into my room reminding me of a new world out there.

A world I wasn’t really interested in at the moment.

After all, I did just vanquish an Ogre king and break up with a God.

I deserved to stay here.

New world be damned.

After all, I was safe here in my warm sheets. My pillows held me, took me in their warm embrace. They understood.

They would never leave me.

I was about to drift off back into sleep when a soft knock caressed my door.

“Yeah?”

“Hey Y/N can I come in? ?”

Steve’s voice was just as soft as his knock as he slowly creaked the door open. His words floating across the room to my cocoon of fluff I had made for myself. My fortress away from the heartache of the world.

“I’m not feeling like training today.”

“I mean I didn’t expect it after yesterday but…” his steps were heavy as he crossed the room, the bed dipping slightly as he sat at the edge of it. “I wanted to see if you were ok?”

I glanced up my gaze meeting his. Arms folded in his lap as he studied me. Those soft blue eyes probably seeing more than I would like. Damn him and his daddy steve leader whatever bullshit magic those eyes held.

“Yeah. Just want to be lazy”

“Are you sure you’re lazy day doesn't have anything to do with a certain… Asgardian?”

“I’m fine…” My words sharp, harsher than I had meant for them to be. No filter. Steve raised an eyebrow clearly not buying it. “Ok, so maybe I’m a little… hurt. Rejected. But he said he was a god and I’m a mortal so if he wants to think of me that way then why should I bother?”

“You are better than he is.” Steve said, “You are better than most of us.”

“Coming from you that means a lot,” I muttered feeling my heart heavy in your chest. It felt like a sponge, wet and heavy. Part of me just wanted to squeeze out all this sadness. Make it light again. Make you dry. “And I know I should but… I just want to be sad for a little bit.”

“You are allowed to feel things Y/N” Steve said, my name dancing gracefully across the room as he patting the bottom of the bed where my feet were, frowning he pulled his hand up, a small necklace between his fingers. It’s delicate stone caught the light glistening

“Here, when are want to come back to us, wash up put on a nice dress and some jewelry and we can all go dancing.”

I took the necklace confused where had he been hiding that? Had he really gotten me a breakup gift, “I… thank you, Steve.”

“Any time.”

“And… how did you know Saphire’s were my favorite?”

“Huh?”

His expression matched mine as I held up the necklace, “this stone,” I said.

“That was just at the end of your bed.”

“Oh… well, unthank you then... For the necklace. Thank you for the offer to go dancing. I’ll take you up on that.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

As he left I twisted the necklace around in my fingers the silver strands shone in the morning light. While very delicate it felt strong, almost unbreakable. The beautiful sapphire stone was a dark blue that looked like the night sky after the sun had set. Brilliant and blue with a deepness that seemed so vast it could swallow you up.

Where had this come from?

Then it hit me Loki’s space mistress had said something about a necklace.

Loki

Letting out a grow I threw it across the room before pulling the blankets over my head. If this really was that necklace I hope it catches fire and burns. I don’t think I would EVER understand that man.

God

Whatever.

-----

“My Son,” Frigga said taking his hands in her own. Loki glanced up at his mother from his seat in the middle of the courtyard where he was sitting. A book in his lap as he lounged on a large couch. A small girl braiding flowers into his long black hair.

“My Mother” Loki muttered rather dejectedly. The small child looked up at Frigga smiling up at the queen.

“My Lady, he was sad so I’m making him pretty.”

“I’m NOT sad!” Loki snapped trying to pull his head away from the small girl only to have her pull him back into place with slightly unearthly strength. Letting out a sigh Loki resigned himself to his plight opening his book again. This child had just come upon him and forced her services. Normally he would have brushed her aside but lately… he just didn’t have the energy.

Although normally small children didn’t just come up to him and offer to make him flower crowns.

His reputation had been ruined.

Gently the queen mother pushed down the book from her son’s face. Her smile said it all. Soft and caring as if she knew. Of course, she knew. She was Frigga. No matter what Loki tried to do he could not hide anything from her.

“Have you once again ruined something beautiful? Thor has his hammer and brashness but you are a destruction that is so swift you don’t even see it coming until the wounds have healed into scars.”

Loki rolled his eyes trying to fight back the flood of emotions even the memories of his “swift destruction” had caused. “Mother she was nothing but a mortal.”

Frigga looked over the small girl who was just adding the final touches to her masterpiece in Loki’s dark hair. This hadn’t been the first of their people to reach out toward the moody prince. Many servants and subjects alike had seemed much more comfortable around the brooding prince. He accepted them with his same bark but showed much less teeth until slowly he had let them in. Her son was a different man. Everyone saw it yet no one but the queen herself knew why.

“If she has made my son the man he is now she must be a goddess.”

-GET TAGGED!-

Forever tag: @royslittleharper @the-shadow-of-atlantis @coffee-randomness @0hmydeku @xx3fsxx @daisyboobear @ @jason-redhood @hello-i-lovespiderman-blr @ocelysium @pinkwitch21 @tomhncharliep @cdwmtjb8

Loki: @wayward-hell @winterssoldierrs

Canary: @baybay123455 @rizanendoza808 @dragonrosegardens @6-daughter-of-a-witch-6 @califorina-grown @2s0uls @oh-no-a-whovian @it-jinxed-us @pixiehex1985 @bolontiku

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katherinewilliams221b · 4 years

Text

Of friends and fights

Summary: After Harry joins the Order in the Noble and Most ancient House of Black, he gets to interact with Kate and listen to her advice. We also learn a little about Kate’s family.

Warning: Kind of out of caracter Tonks and Harry because this is the first time I wrtite him. Well everybody is just ooc because, Molly, we’re all tense and that’s normal.

No pairings, just something I had on my mind.

“Let’s play a game; you grab one of the little flasks you keep under your robes, chug one down and leave. You can even choose which one.”

Snape had gone too far. Bringing Jacob into the conversation was uncalled for and out of line. Kate thought that she was being unreasonable and had promised herself and Charlie that she would control her emotions in front of the Order. It was unavoidable to slip Jacob’s name into the conversation. Well, I can’t stop the storm now.

Molly gasped loudly and shoved her towel on the table. “Katherine!” The room was silent for a brief second, enough time to let all the tension explode.

“You are blinded by your anger and resentment…”

“You don’t know anything about me, Lupin!”

“Hey!” Protested Tonks, which triggered a round of indiscernible fighting.

“Stop shouting, you are going to wake up the children!” The room fell silent again, leaving Kate and Tonks breathing heavily and staring defiantly into each other’s eyes.

Kate turned to Sirius who hadn’t participated in the exchange. “I’d rather be yelled at by your mother’s portrait that keeping up with this meeting.” Sirius just grimaced in acknowledgement. Snape stood up and for a moment Kate thought that he might do something other than speak. In response, she stood up too.

“That would be quite convenient,” everybody turned to him “I’m still not quite sure why Dumbledore let such an irresponsible and problematic child take any kind of task that could be considered of importance.”

She was still thinking how to reply when the proverbial bell saved her.

“Severus.” Said the unmistakable voice of Albus Dumbledore. She didn’t need to turn around and wouldn’t. Great. Just, great. “May I speak with you?”

Snape stole one last disgusted glance at Kate and swished his tunic out of the kitchen. When the sound of steps faded, Kate deflated visibly.

“I didn’t expect this kind of behaviour from you, Kate. I’m very disappointed.” Mrs Weasley scolded.

“Now, Molly, we are just all very tense and, that’s understandable.” Arthur tried to reason.

Kate looked up from the wooden table to Lupin. She was about to apologise for shouting at him when Tonks spoke.

“Maybe she could help cleaning the place to relax, you know, because she hasn’t moved a finger…” Kate snapped her head up at her best friend’s comment.

“I arrived two hours ago! May I remind you that I live a thousand miles away from here? Literally!” She paused and added whispering “And don’t talk about me like I’m not in front of your face! What’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe you? We’ve never had any problems until you came around. It’s always like that with you.”

“Say that again but with more conviction.”

Silence filled the air again. No one dared to look at each other.

“What a quiet reunion…” Dumbledore and Snape re-entered the room and they all forced themselves to look at the bearded man. “We are already heading into a war, the last thing we need is fighting with each other.” The gentle tone of his voice made Kate shudder with suspicion. She sighed mentally.

Suddenly, her head felt like it was being pressed between two bricks. She frowned and turned around looking at Dumbledore, searching for any sign that…no. It’s not him. Vivid images of his brother were swirling around, mixing with memories of Charlie, her grandparents’ house, Tonks cutting her hair, she trying to ride a bicycle. Her mind stopped at a conversation with Dumbledore, where she’d just joined the Order, not long ago.

She turned abruptly to Snape, not noticing the odd looks the rest were giving her.

“Enough.”

“You are weak.”

“Just because I don’t want to get into people’s minds doesn’t mean I’m weak.”

“Yes, it does. And the Dark Lord won’t hesitate in doing so with you.”

“Have you been dreaming of Jacob lately?” Dumbledore asked solemnly.

“I…yes. But that’s not special. I often dream about him.”

“But now they’re different.” He didn’t ask. “More, violent. Can you distinguish the dream and the memory?” Realisation hit her and she let her mouth hang open. “I respected your decision when you refused training, but now we must act accordingly to the situation. Professor Snape accepted to teach you…”

“And I kindly refuse again…” she interrupted, and Dumbledore raised a hand at chest level.

“To teach you for the rest of the summer before classes start.”

Kate sighed and moved her gaze to Snape, then the rest of the room. Everyone was staring at her except for Tonks.

“Katie, dear, are you…are you a legilimens?” asked Molly “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I knew.” Interrupted Tonks without lifting her gaze from the table. Kate shifted uncomfortably and sat on the chair in front of her. “We found out at Hogwarts.”

“We? Who is we?” asked Arthur.

“Only a few people know; Charlie, Rowan, Penny and me.”

Molly turned to Kate. Her expression blank but, Kate could notice the fear and suspicion. “But can you actually…?

“No. No, I can’t read your mind. I just…kind of…It’s hard to explain.” She grabbed her necklace and started toying with it. “It’s more of a feeling, a sensation, I perceive other people’s energy. It gets really loud sometimes. I really thought it happened to everybody until Dumbledore explained it to me.”

“Some people are born with that predisposition but, it’s an ability that can be learnt, and trained.” He scanned the room and looked at everyone in the eye before adding cheerfully, “Well, I must go now. Arthur, you wouldn’t mind accompanying Harry to the hearing, right?” Mr Weasley cleared his throat. “Of course, of course. I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly.” “I’ll join you if you don’t mind. As Snuffles, of course.” Added Sirius.

Dumbledore looked at him but said nothing. Kate could see in his eyes that he didn’t approve of that decision, but he remained silent. “Alright then,” he turned to Snape “Severus, you might start as soon as possible.”

Snape gave a short nod and left after Dumbledore.

Kate hesitated for a moment and ran after him. She couldn’t stop thinking about Harry. The hearing was in two days.

“Wait!”

Dumbledore turned and stared at her with smirking eyes.

“Have you told him?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. Harry. Have you told him what’s going on and what do we do?”

“I believe Harry is been filled in the essentials of the Order.”

“Yes, but you haven’t talked with him. For some reason he is very important, you know why, and he needs to know as well. You can’t skip parts of the truth

“When the time is right, everything will fall into place.”

I’m going to punch him in the face. Kate thought just as a shimmer lit his eyes, but she couldn’t recognize what it was. “Professor Snape will give you the first lesson tomorrow.”

“And it will be the last one. I must go back to Romania in two days”

“That won’t be a problem. You will continue with the lessons from there.” He suddenly remembered something “Oh, and would you ask Mr Weasley to bring some brandy from Transylvania? But the Muggle one; it has a different taste.”

Kate didn’t make any more comments about the topic, but the idea of having Snape constantly in her head wasn’t amusing in the slightest. That thought created another wave of problems. She nodded, vaguely registering that he was talking about Charlie.

“Do you think Voldemort was getting into my mind?” Dumbledore pretended to think about an answer.

“It is probable, yes. In my opinion, someone told him about you.”

“What’s there to tell?”

“Well, you participated in quite a scandal back at Hogwarts, you know teachers and aurors, both of your parents are involved in international affairs and you are related to important Ministry’s figures. You certainly could be an inconvenience.” Kate’s worried look increased as he spoke, ending in her staring at a stain on the carpet with a deep frown. “The question is not what, but who. I’m sure that with a few of Professor Snape’s lessons you will have nothing to worry about.”

Dumbledore’s voice brought her back to present. She didn’t have time to respond when she saw him disappear into the air.

She turned around with a heavy sigh and found Remus leaning on the door frame to the kitchen.

“I am angry. And scared” Remus looked down and nodded slowly. “I don’t blame you for that.”

“I think I need some sleep.” She passed him and climbed a few steps. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

“Forgotten.” Remus forced half a smile and she nodded before making her way to the bedroom.

The next day, Kate found herself cleaning the doxys out one of the top rooms in the house. Lupin kindly suggested Tonks could help her.

“You have no idea what’s been like working as an auror these days. Everybody is asking funny questions, I don’t trust any of those potential traitors anymore, just Moody.”

“At least you didn’t have to quit your job…” Tonks snapped her head towards her. “What did you expect? That my boss was going to wait for me while I ran around Europe? I resigned as soon as Dumbledore told me what my mission was.”

“And what’s that exactly?” Kate noticed the tone she used had warmed up a bit.

“Fulfil my father’s dream of becoming a Ministry’s employee.” She said rolling her eyes. “I have to go to Albania…”

“You what?! Are you out of your mind?”

“I need to schedule a reunion with the Minister of Albania and unless I have an appointment, signed and approved by multiple old men with black robes it is absolutely impossible. And of course, no one would believe Voldemort is back and that he’d been hiding in their forests for a long time. Pass me that thing” She added pointing to the black spray on a table.

“How do you pretend to get that signed?”

“I don’t. That would take months, even years. I’m here to…to talk with my father. Alright, here we go, cover you nose.” They both covered their noses and mouths and Kate sprayed the curtain were a few doxys were clinging onto. When four doxys fell to the floor unconscious, Tonks quirked an eyebrow and let out a disbelieving laugh. “Wow. How long is it been?”

“Face to face? A while. We owl each other more often than you imagine.” Kate stopped spraying the curtains and looked out of the window. “Honestly, I’m a bit scared. After all these years we’ve never discussed…well, Jacob. And that’s something that will come out sooner or later. I’m not sure if I’m prepared for that.” She grabbed a bag near the window and carefully put the fallen doxys into it.

“What about your mom?”

“What about her?”

“Are you going to see her?”

“I don’t even know where she is. Probably photographing some weird disaster in Asia or America…” Kate laughed ironically and tied the bag.

“Why don’t you tell her to make the Prophet stop talking about Harry?”

“She is just a columnist, she doesn’t have that power and it would start a waterfall of questions: Why are you asking? Do you know something? Do you have a secret source? It’s too risky.” Tonks buffed “Remus was right.”

“Alright,” Kate left the spray and the bag on the floor and rose quickly. “let’s have at it. What have I done to you, hm?”

Tonks shook her head and resumed cleaning the big stain on the wall. “Remus said that you were angry at Dumbledore because of what happened at Hogwarts and that you would disagree with every decision. That you could interfere with the Order. And you know what? He is right, you tend to put everyone in trouble.”

“I think you inhaled too much of this bundimun secretion.” She tapped the spray on the floor with her foot making it tumble. “Listen, I don’t deny that I’d prefer to work with anyone but him, but I quitted my job, put my project on hold and declined a program to become a mediwizard for a cause that is bigger than me, Dumbledore or anyone, and since when do you listen to what a person you barely know says about me? Thank you for being on my side…” she spat sarcastically.

“I’m always on you side, you’re my best friend!”

“Then why are you bein’ such a scutterin’ gobshite!?”

They went silent and looked at each other until Tonks snorted, blowing her hair up a little. When she started laughing, Kate couldn’t help but tag along.

“Bloody hell, never heard you talk like that! Please, Master, teach me!” She bowed comically.

“My grandfather has taught me all he knows, he has a whole repertoire on those.”

Their laughs died down and Kate saw on her face the same look she sees in Charlie when he doesn’t know how to tell her something she might not like.

“Seriously, though, what’s going on?” Tonks sighed suddenly very interested in a loose nail on the wooden floor.

“I don’t really know what’s gotten into me…last night when you…when you shouted at Remus, I wanted to slap you.” She bit her thumb nail but didn’t look up. “It surprised even me.”

Kate moved closer to her and sought her gaze. “Tonks, do you…do you fancy the guy?” She whispered.

Tonks closed her eyes tightly and scrunched her nose. “Perhaps…”

“Oh, Merlin!” Kate squealed making Tonks launch herself to her and covering her mouth.

“Shut it, will you? It’s no big deal, I just think he is nice.”

“Yeah, no big deal…” Kate threw her a brilliant smile and Tonks reciprocated.

“You know, you don’t have to act like an idiot if you like someone.”

Tonks pushed her shoulder playfully. “Oh, come on, you can be… I was afraid that you…”

“Wouldn’t like him? Alright, I deserve that, but were you actually afraid of what I would think or afraid I would embarrass you? I have some interesting stories I’m sure he’d like”

Tonks quirked a brow and shook her head smiling. “Little bit of both. And don’t forget I have a lot of material about you, too. No, but honestly…” Now turning more serious “he…”

“I know a werewolf when I see one, Nym.” She didn’t know how to address the topic and it seemed the perfect opportunity. Tonks’ look of surprise was expected. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about it. Neither of both things.”

“Come ‘ere ye’ gobshite.” They laughed and hugged each other until they heard a knock on the door.

Harry Potter’s head appeared from behind the door. “Uh…Mrs Weasley asked me to help with the Doxys…”

“Thank Merlin! I’m going to wax my comet.” She said opening the door for Harry to enter.

“You can’t even clean the floor with that thing, buy a Nimbus already!” Tonks scrunched her nose and her face transformed into an exact copy of Kate’s face. “Look, I’m Kate, I don’t know the first thing about flying or broomsticks, but I won’t hesitate in giving you advice.” Kate rolled her eyes and looked at Harry shaking her head. He half smiled uncomfortably.

Once Tonks was out of sight, she was left with a shifting Harry. She stared at him while he looked around the room nervously, his gaze stopping at the shaking closet.

“You are free to go, if you want to. I won’t tell Molly. There’s a bunch of them in the closet and I think a queen too, those are hard to jinx.” She offered trying to ease his mind.

“No, I… I’ve got rid of doxys already, downstairs.” He walked to the other side of the room and grabbed the spray that lay on the floor. “Let’s do this.” Kate nodded, grabbed a leather collar from the table and put it around her neck. “Queens are particularly aggressive and more venomous, you should put one too. Necks are sensitive.” He put it on, nodded again and covered his nose before pointing at the closet with the spray.

“When I open the closet, I’m going to jink them to stop them from flying away and as soon as I do that you empty the entire thing on them, okay?”

“I’m ready.”

–

Two bags filled with doxys later, Harry and Kate sat awkwardly on the couch beside the window. Kate broke the silence and shifted her body to look at him. “So, what did you want to tell me?” Harry looked at her with big eyes. “How did you know…”

“We finished a while ago and you didn’t try to escape.” She laughed getting rid of some of the tension in the air. “And you just confirmed it.” Harry sighed and put his hand on his knees staring at the bag of doxys.

“Ron suggested that I could talk to you. He said that…that you would understand what I…? Honestly, I don’t need a therapist.”

Kate looked down and processed what she’s just been told. “Luckily for you I just heal bodies, not minds. How much do you know about me, Harry?”

“Not much, uh…just that you were famous around Hogwarts, and that there’s a picture of you in the duelling club room. Hermione knows more about you than anyone, probably.”

“I guess we have that in common: we were famous before entering Hogwarts and we didn’t want it.” Harry nodded and looked at her. “What exactly did you do?”

“Me? Nothing! Well not nothing, at first nothing but then…” she chuckled, and it was contagious, so Harry followed. “My brother went missing looking for some secret vaults in the castle. Naturally I started looking for him, broke several rules per year and almost killed everybody near me. By accident, I swear! For some reason no one liked that.” She raised her hand to her chest promising she was telling the truth and she laughed.

“How did you cope with that?”

“I mostly didn’t.” She said in a funny way that made Harry wonder how bad of a time she had. “I guess I tried to keep my mind always busy. Studying, practising duelling, I didn’t sleep much anyway, so…”

“What happened to your brother?” The question made her take a deep breath. “Can’t you guess?”

Harry nodded and murmured an apology. “In a deep, deep part of my mind I knew how it was going to end. To accept that was the difficult part.”

“How did your friends take all of that?”

Kate grimaced and tilted her head. “We had our ups and downs.” She knew what this was coming from. “Last year was mostly a down for you, huh?” Harry nodded in a ‘Don’t I know it’ manner. “Last year, and the year before that and every year. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want it. I don’t want people whispering behind my back, my own friends whispering behind my back! And no one, ever, tells me what’s happening. Not even Dumbledore.”

Specially Dumbledore. She thought. “Don’t rely on Dumbledore for everything, Harry.”

“Do you think he’ll help me at the hearing?”

“Oh, I’m sure he will.” Something in her tone made Harry not be as relieved as he expected to be. Kate noticed this and rectified, “Harry, you must understand that Dumbledore is…team Dumbledore. He keeps secrets, that’s what he does…”

“He is a good man.”

“I’m not saying he is a bad man. It’s just…there’s a reason behind everything he does, and we, simple mortals, will never know what those reasons are.”

His silence let her know it was dead end, so she resumed a previous topic.

“You can fight with them every day, Harry, but they will be there for you just as you for them. I know that. It is difficult to…transmit something that is important to you and they don’t seem to understand, and they never will, because it’s not happening to them. That doesn’t mean they can’t help you.” She laughed sarcastically and pointed at the door with her thumb. “Tonks here, I would die for her, but sometimes I just want to strangle her.” When their chuckles died down Kate put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed. “You are doing great, Harry. I want you to know that, well, we barely know each other, and I know you’d prefer to stay here, with Sirius…but you will always have a safe place in Romania if you ever want to escape for a while.” Harry nodded in gratitude and Kate smiled trying to lighten the mood.

“And remember: keep your friends close.” She stood up and grabbed the bags. “That’s what kept me sane.” She thought about that sentence again. “Well, moderately sane.” Harry smiled and stood up as well, opening the door for her. When she was almost halfway down the stairs he said from above: “Flitwick says you could be the best duellist of the century.”

She smirked and lifted her chin defiantly. “What? You want to see if it’s true?”

“I want to see if I can replace your picture with mine.”

She laughed and climbed the last steps down the stairs. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Hey, Kate!” he shouted before she disappeared around the corner “Thank you.”

Kate nodded knowing he wasn’t talking about a potential duelling lesson

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