#Over the Summer I listened to Broken like every single day. It was very grating on my ears but I love it anyway <3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ve1vetyoongi · 4 years ago

Text

wherever you will go | jjk

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: actor!oc, director!jungkook, smut, angst, humour.

Word count: 21k

Summary: Not much happens when you grow up by the coast. Tourists come and go, the theatre where you work shows the same shows over and over and there’s always sand and salt in the air. Your dreams of making it big in the city are exactly that: dreams. When your hopes of becoming an actress are shattered into a million pieces, you find yourself getting drawn to a captivating up-and-coming movie director by the name of Jeon Jungkook. With his bright eyes and charming smile, he seems determined to glue your pieces back together -- even if it means leaving Ocean City behind for good.

Warnings: themes of loss/grief, mentions of death of a parent, dom!jungkook, dom/sub themes, spanking, squirting, unprotected sex, oral sex (f recieving).

Rating: Mature.

A/N: Hello loves! HAPPY JK DAY!! This fic is a lil celebration of our golden boy Jungkook so I hope you enjoy!! This whole fic is sickeningly fluffy and reads like a pretentious YA novel but ya girl wrote this while she was stuck in quarantine a few weeks ago and I debated not posting this bc I lowkey love it lowkey hate it so pleasedonthateme if it’s bad LOL. Also -- just incase you haven’t read the warnings already there is a running theme that deals with the loss of a parent (a topic very close to my heart, hence why this piece was especially healing to write.) so reader discretion is advised if that is triggering to you in any way shape or form!!!! P.P.S Largely unedited so pls bare with any mistakes!

Prelude.

You're late for your work shift, you note, as you catch sight of your watch face glaring up at you menacingly from the arm clutching the handle bars of your bike. As if your mood couldn't get any more miserable -- the dreary morning drizzle that falls from the sky and drips icily down the back of your nape was bad enough.

Goddamn, you groan to yourself as you will your feet to pedal ever faster. Now my hair is gonna be frizzy.

It's a Saturday and the theatre where you work always opens earlier at the weekends. You promised you'd be on time today, but yet here you are, speeding down the worn in sandy sidewalks of your seaside town a whole block away when you should've been opening up half an hour ago.

It's a habit of yours, being late. And as hard as you try, you just can't change a habit. But it can't be helped you suppose. Continuity is all you've ever known. That's the thing about living in a tiny seaside town. Things never change.

The view from your bedroom window has been the same for as long as you can remember — Ocean City — Aka, block after block of rainbow coloured houses with flaky paint leading up to the harbour where boats bob nonchalantly and fishermen reel in their catches beneath the gull filled sky. Beyond it the beach; greyish rolling waves and upturned pebbles nestled atop of hard sand in the winter and clear water and brightly coloured beach towels and brave surfers in the summer.

Nobody ever leaves, and the tourists that arrive in summer never stay. Life becomes a predictable practice, just each day lived out to the next in an endless cycle of never ending continuity. It's suffocating and endless and sometimes you feel like you're just a pawn on a giant chess board, destined to move one agonising square forward at a time, never diagonally. It's hard to change directions when you've been taught to stick to what you know.

You didn't always live here, in this town of continuity. You lived in the big city for a while, where no day was the same as another. But after your mother died you and your older brother were shipped off to live with your dad, who wouldn't know the definition of adapting if it hit him square in the face. He's always been the same square shouldered, balding dude in his forties who never wanted kids and never quite got over losing your mother to the big buck actor she ran off with when you were two.

So that's how you ended up here. Late for work at your job in the country's most prized vacation spot. And your boring reality.

You roll past the beach huts on the shoreline that alternate between vibrant pink and muted blue, barely paying attention to the boardwalk with its little boat house that stretches out into the horizon like a crooked finger. When it gets dark, you can spot the pier carnival lights flashing in the distance from here as they dance across the reflection of the pale white moon and play among the waves.

Even now, the yellow lights of the ornate street lamps that line the water's front shine like tiger's eyes against the sky just like they always have when you turn down the familiar route that takes you past the winding lanes of trinket shops and the happy hour bars and the carnival that feels strangely empty at such an early hour, not a single rollercoaster ride in operation.

Before long you're skidding to a stop outside of the The Crestmont, the old theatre where you work. It's everything you'd expect from a vintage cinema; pink and blue neon lights and a gold trimmed ticket booth out front with a three-sided marquee that extends from the front of the building like a brightly lit airport runway. You hurry beneath it, grateful for the protection it provides from the rain that has started to come down in lashes now, before heading over to the rack around the back of the building where you can chain your bike.

The Crestmont used to be somewhat of a hotspot back in the day or so your told, but these days it only shows cartoons at a discounted price for the neighbourhood kids and the occasional local production of some worn out musical everyone has seen a hundred times before. It's lost all it's magic, everyone says. But you disagree; you probably spend more time here than anyone, and there's magic in every inch of this place.

From the red velvet curtains to the grand chandelier, The Crestmont is one of a kind. Sometimes you disappear into the theatre by yourself for a while unbeknownst to your manager. You can almost taste the laughter and the tears and the love that has been spilled and shared unapologetically amongst these seats. Pure magic.

Your mom left a piece of herself here, too. If you close your eyes you can hear her laughter spilling out into the theatre, or her lilting singing voice filling every nook and cranny like a haunting siren. She was the Crestmont's star. Ocean City's sweetheart.

There's a wall of fame in the lobby. It's covered in portraits crested with gold frames, all filled with pictures of the Crestmont's greatest performers. You've spent hours there — (turns out it's the perfect hiding spot from your manager) — fingers tracing the plaques beneath each one, all inscribed with names that townsfolk whisper with dreamy looks in their eyes. Some are black and white, some colour, but all of them depict pretty faces with beaming smiles that never seem to fade.

Not even your mom's. Her smile is pearly and bright, right above the plaque with her birthdate. And her death date.

And right there at the end, an empty frame. Your frame. You can feel it. You already know how you'll pose for your picture. Hair over one shoulder, hand on hip, smile so convincing that it'll be like every happiness in your heart is written right across your forehead proudly, and you won't have to dull it any longer.

You finish hooking a chain around the handlebars of your bike, catching sight of your reflection in the darkened windows. Staring back at you is a girl dressed in a maroon v-neck with a preppy dicky bow tied around her collar. You frown. The white shirt itches and the high waisted pants make your crotch look weird but the uniform is compulsory. The only thing uglier is the sour expression on your face, which you try to smooth out with your thumb, experimenting with plastering a sickly smile to your face instead. It might be convincing if your lips didn't strain and your eyes weren't so prone to rolling without your permission.

You need to learn to hide your emotions, your father said. You have your feelings written across your face. Customers don't like that.

It's true; customer's didn't usually like you, your unforgiving face or when you spilled cola down their blouse or spat in their popcorn. One more complaint and you were on the path to being fired once and for all, and although in some ways you would be glad to say goodbye to the stupid slushie machine that always gets stuck and the ungrateful customers and the goddamn uniform, you can't loose this job.

Not when it's your ticket to making it big. Then customers will point to your picture as they pass and clutch their chest with a snide superiority, Oh! Can you believe she served me a cola once? I always knew she was gonna make it! instead of Would it kill you to smile a little, honey?

So you swallow a sigh and make your smile as convincing as possible and march inside of the ornate theatre doors of The Crestmont, hoping that today may be the day where things finally change for once.

Where it begins

"I'm going to work!" You call as you you pull a baseball cap down over your hair to cover it's unbrushed wildness. "I won't be back for a while so don't wait up, okay Taehyung?"

You pause with your hand on the door, listening carefully for a response; the small house you live in pulsates with the bass of some indie rock album your brother and his friends are obsessed with at the moment, and your eyes roll when you peer up the staircase and find Taehyung's bedroom door firmly closed like always.

With a shake of your head you scribble out a message on a sticky note — GONE 2 WORK. — and leave it for him to read when he eventually emerges from his man cave in search of sustenance and finds you gone.

You brush away the funny ache that nestles in your stomach. This is nothing new. You're used to not being heard. Your dad is always gone for trips you suspect involve more play than work, and your older brother pretends he's not broken by hanging around with the neighbourhood cool kids and barraging himself in his room for days on end. Despite living under one roof it feels as though you're miles apart, an invisible barrier separating you indefinitely.

You weren't always like this; distant, always stepping on eggshells around each other. You were a family once. A happy one. But since the accident there's been an absence in this house, and nothing has been the same since.

Still, you know that beneath Taehyung's standoffish persona, he's still your big brother. He worries about you. So you tack the note to the fridge and make your way outside.

The lawn is already brown despite it only being late May, and summer is shaping up to be hot and sticky, though you live two blocks away from the beach so the coolness of the ocean still thankfully pervades against your perspiring skin, the gulls already calling you with their high pitched squaks from down at the shoreline.

You've barely made it to the end of the drive before there's the sound of knuckles rapping against glass. You look up and your heart jumps into your mouth. Staring back at you is a pair of dark eyes from behind the upstairs windowpane. Even from this distance you can see how they shine, deep and dark like a cup of black coffee, and you'd recognise the annoyingly cute smirk that matches them anywhere.

Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. Taehyung's best friend, and, unfortunately, your crush for as long as you knew what the word love meant.

"Hey, Y/N!" Your heart sinks when the window slides open and a messy head of brown hair sticks out through the gap and points at you with a pout. "You're leaving already? Without me?"

Oh; another thing about Jeon Jungkook. He's also your co-worker, which means you spend 16 hours a week in his company, much to the glee of your heart and the dismay of your conscience.

You weren't exactly surprised when you turned up to the Crestmont theatre for your first shift and were left in the capable hands of none other than Jungkook to teach you the ins and the outs of the popcorn machine and the ticket booth.

For as long as you've known him he's been somewhat of a film buff. He practically grew up holding a camera. You always used watch him and your brother making home movies in the backyard, fit with ketchup sachets for blood and endless costumes from your mom's closet. And the one time you stayed at his house when your dad went away for a while after the accident, you saw all the classic movie posters on his bedroom wall; Casablanca, Singing in the Rain, Jaws. So it made total sense for Jungkook to be at the Crestmont. In fact, you couldn't imagine him anywhere else.

That day you were mostly just surprised that he knew who you were at all. While you had spent years watching him from your bedroom window while he kicked a ball around with Taehyung or avoiding his eyes at the table when he stayed for dinner, he had never so much as glanced in your direction.

Deep down you think the reason he was so quick to take you under his wing is because he knew first hand how hard the accident hit your family. You suppose he feels he owes it to Taehyung to keep you in high spirits.

Although if you weren't you and he wasn't him, you'd swear Jungkook's attentions had become almost flirtatious as of late. He always goes the extra mile to spend time with you, and you even though you know it'll end up with you getting hurt you can't bring yourself to stop him.

You see, Jungkook has a gift for subtle charm. Like how he always sneaks you sodas out back on your lunch break, never forgetting the extra syrup — tooth rottingly sweet just how you like it — slipping one of his own dollars into the cash register to avoid a telling off from your manager. Or how he insists on helping you clean up after the theatre is empty, showing you the best secret places like down the back off seats to find misplaced trinkets and the creaky floorboard where your manager hides his cigarettes. How he insists on walking you home after the evening shift, even if he says he's going this way to see Taehyung anyway.

You've spent countless hours pondering over whether his sweet talking words mean as much to him as they do to you. And as much as you know it's unlikely for someone like Jeon Jungkook to ever have feelings for you, you can't help the way your heart speeds up every time he shoots you one of his signature bunny smiles that light up his whole face like he's happiness personified. And you can't bring yourself to hate him for it.

"I did call," you respond matter of factly, finally sucking in a breath of courage to turn around and squint up at him through the afternoon sun with a shrug. "But that trash you're listening too was too loud for you guys to hear me."

Jungkook's eyes widen as he fumbles around beneath the windowsill and pops up again holding up a shiny vinyl record sleeve. You recognise it instantly; it's from his favourite film — Submarine. He hardly ever shuts up about it.

"This is not trash. This is, like, the best movie soundtrack ever made!" He shakes his head as he takes the needle off of Taehyung's vintage record player, music ceasing with a scratch, and slips it into the sleeve with a grin. "Good thing I have it downloaded so we can listen to it on the way to work, hm?"

You roll your eyes and tap your foot impatiently, and at that, Taehyung appears behind him.

"You're leaving already?" He frowns, words directed at Jungkook even as he glances through narrowed eyes at you stood awkwardly on the front lawn.

"Yup. My shift starts in twenty." Jungkook shrugs, disappearing into the room for a second before he emerges again with a backpack slung over his shoulder. "Sorry dude. I can come back afterwards though, if you want?"

Taehyung purses his lips. Even from here you can see the stress lines embedded in his forehead that make him look older than his humble age of nineteen, somehow weak unlike how you always saw him as a kid. Big and strong; untouchable; your brother.

His blunt eyes never quite meet Jungkook's as he shakes his head softly. "'S good. I was gonna try and sleep, anyway, before the sun goes down. Didn't get much shut eye last night. Not with the..."

Nightmares. Taehyung trails off, but you know that's what he's alluding to. The nightmares that turn your big strong brother into a sniffling mess in the dead of night, kicking around mercilessly until you sneak into his bed and whisper to him until he slips into slumber again. Not that you ever acknowledge it in the morning over your bowls of cereal and vacant good morning's.

"Okay." Jungkook's face momentarily falls; a rare occurrence from the boy who seems to be perpetually cheerful. He pats Taehyung on the shoulder gently. "Take care of yourself, okay man?"

Taehyung just nods, letting out a yawn as he rolls into a stretch. "See ya tomorrow."

You're jolted from your thoughts when Jungkook throws his left leg out of the window, then the other, arms bulging in just the right way where they poke out of the sleeves of his plain white tee as he climbs down the drainpipe and lands with a thump on the soles of his high top sneakers.

"Hey kiddo." He grins as he wipes the palms of his hands on the thighs of his ripped jeans, before messing up your hair despite your groan of protest.

"Don't call me that. You're only a year older than me."

You're startled when you meet the pair of warm eyes that glint golden brown in the summer evening light, chest contracting as you look away and break into a fast walk towards the street.

"And you know you can just use the front door right?"

You hear him snort behind you, neglecting to use the front gate and instead launching over the fence so he lands directly in front of you on the sidewalk.

"How am I supposed to impress my best friends little sister if I can't show off my guns?" He flexes his arm, but you just brush past him with a roll of your eyes.

"You're an idiot."

You hear the clunk of his bike chain unhooking from the gate, before a set of wheels pedal up on the sidewalk beside you. "Hey! Where are you going?"

"Uh, to work?" You offer bluntly, squinting at him through the sun. "You should be too, we start in fifteen minutes."

"I mean why are you walking? What happened to your bike?"

You roll your eyes. "Some tourist kids slashed the wheels at the beach."

"Shit. Really?" Jungkook tuts, but you don't miss the glint in his eye as he nods towards the pegs on the back of his bike that were made for carrying a passenger."Then I guess it's my lucky day. Hop on, we can ride together."

You come to a standstill, arms crossed tightly. "I'd rather walk."

"Oh come on!" He wiggles his eyebrows. "It'll take double the time if we go on foot, and I recall it being you who got a final late warning last week."

"If we go on foot?" You laugh breathily, determined to stand your ground. "Just go on ahead, I'm good here."

"Well, I'm not exactly going to leave you here alone on the side of the road now am I? So I'll be forced to walk with you. And I'm older than you remember? Look, I'm already out of breath! My legs aren't what they used to be, y'know."

"Fine!" With a pout you take the helmet resting in his front basket and hook it underneath your chin, biting your lip to stop a smile from gracing your lips at the excitement that lights up Jungkook's features. "But only because I want you to shut up."

"Your wish is my command." He says with a pat to your head. "Hold on tight, okay?"

And as you wrap your arms around his waist, you're sure his ears heat up a deep shade of red, even it could just be the evening light playing tricks on you.

The theatre at the Crestmont feels eerily quiet when its empty.

You know that because even though your shift was supposed to end at 5, you offered to stick around to help clean up after today's performance. Phantom of the Opera.

"Jesus," You groan as you pick up another sticky soda cup that someone had kindly spilled all over the ground for you to clean up, dropping the offender into a black trash bag. "Doesn't anyone around here know how to use a trash can?"

You fall into one of the theatre seats with a sigh and run your fingers over the scarlet velvet, worn yet plush, the texture soothing you instantly. You tilt your head back and let the silence engulf you. No orchestra, no musical numbers, no stage crew shouting directions. No whirring cotton candy machine. Just you and the stage.

From here you can see every detail on the high ceiling littered with renaissance-style paintings of mermaids and babies armed with heart shaped bow and arrows. Your mom was an actress. When you were a kid you used to spent hours staring at them while she rehearsed. You were convinced they came alive once the theatre closed up for the night, their cheeky smiles evidence of a secret only you knew.

A trail of rainbows is cast by the grand chandelier hung in the center, and it draws your attention all the way down the aisles and up to the stage.

The Crestmont is only small, fitting perhaps 200 people at most. It's hardly Broadway. But the fire in your chest ignites as you glance side to side before sidling up the creaking wooden steps that wind up to the Crestmont's center stage. Your favourite part of the whole theatre.

It's not the first time you've done this. You often like to come up here after everyone has gone home, even though you technically aren't supposed to. There's a certain magic about being alone up here as you collect the lone roses that were thrown on stage by tonight's audience. Breathing in the musty smell of butter popcorn that lingers on the velvet curtains, feel the warmth of the bright stage lights glazing your skin. Something about it feels like home.

The first time you ever saw the Crestmont stage was on tv, watching a grainy camera shakily capture your mom in the very same spot you find yourself right now.

Your mom used to have a cardboard box filled with her old audition tapes. Everything from Hamlet to A Streetcar Named Desire, she'd starred in it, and you spent hours together in front of the television set trying to memorise the way she spoke your favourite lines and listening to her lilting voice recite backstage anecdotes about her rendezvous with foreign directors who dined on her in Paris or underground parties with celebrities you had never even heard of as she stroked your hair.

It wasn't until you got a little older that you realised that, just like you, your mom was a dreamer. Sure, she'd visited a couple different states and starred in some makeup commercials once, and that was enough to make her a celebrity in a town as small as this.

But really? She was just a small town actress with dreams larger than herself and way larger than the Crestmont where she made her name. And suddenly the gaps in time where she would disappear for weeks — sometimes months — on end no longer made sense to you. If she wasn't drinking cocktails with the prince of Monaco or clubbing in London, then where was she?

"Down town with those no good roadies," Taehyung told you once. "They made all these empty promises. Told her she'd make it big if she just did what they said. But look how that turned out."

That was the day you realised your mom was a better actress than you ever knew.

She always thought that her dreams would come true. She believed it so hard that you believed it too, naively. But who knows? Maybe they would have if she didn't get into an accident on her way to New York for her big break.

It's easy to imagine how your mom felt up here. She always looked so alive and free in those VHS tapes as she danced effortlessly across the stage with an ethereal weightlessness, the theatre silent except for the melodic sweetness of her monologues that drew tears to the eyes of those who listened eagerly.

If you close your eyes you can hear the roar of the crowd, hands clapping furiously. The orchestra tuning their brass in the pit, bows melodic against strings. Flowers landing at your feet. The deep breath of satisfaction as you take your final bow and the curtain closes.

Just like that you're moving across the stage, reciting the lines you know so well...

"You're gonna be a star like me some day," A voice whispers against your ear, soft and gentle. A memory. Your mom. "Just like me."

And just like that, she's there. In the audience, clapping. For you. And you feel invincible.

The sound of applause breaks you out of your trance. Real applause. You find yourself stood center stage, broom in hand, staring out at row after row of empty seats that gape with the same emptiness that was here when you arrived.

Except one of the velvet lined seats is filled now. Right at the front.

"Encore!" Jungkook whistles, the harsh thwacks of his palms clapping together clanging inside your ears. "Do it again! That was amazing!"

Your chest seizes painfully, a sudden bout of panic turning your blood cold. You feel the colour leave your face. How long has he been here? How long has he been watching?

Jungkook is watching you attentively, eyes soft at the edges with wonder. It makes bile rise in your throat. You can't be up here. Not when there's a pair of eyes looking at you, judging.

"I..." You begin, but the words get caught in your throat.

"I can't do this."

The way Jungkook's eyes widen and he lurches forward to catch you is the last thing you see before your vision goes black.

The boardwalk is strangely quiet for a summer evening. It's happy hour so you suppose most vacationers are already in the bars in their I LOVE OCEAN CITY T-shirts drinking cocktails or whatever. Not that you're complaining.

The smell of hotdogs and vinegar from the vans that line the strip still fill the air, snatches of conversations from children begging their parents to let them go on the waltzer one last time barely audible above the tinkling bells of the carousel. The ride operators drink soda's as they fan themselves with rolled up newspapers, grateful for the gentle hubbub on such a sticky evening, and then there's you, caught up in the middle of it all.

The wooden boards of the pier are warm against he backs of your thighs. You're sat with your legs dangling through the peeling guard rail that lines the strip. It was painted pastel blue at some point but years of sea spray and grubby hands made it fade to a sickly green tinge that matches the ocean.

Speaking of, the ocean would usually be directly below your feet, murky and wild, but today the tide has receded right back to reveal a large strip of sand. The stands suspending the pier rest on top of it so that you could walk right under and around them if you wanted to. You and Taehyung used to do that all the time when you were kids. Searching for barnacles. Exploring the dark places.

"Here. Eat up. You totally passed out on me back there. You could probably do with some sugar."

The soft voice beside you is the only thing loud enough to permeate your daydreams. You don't have look up to know who it belongs to. Jungkook.

He peers down at you, sun beating down against his back. He's holding two vanilla ice cream cones, double scooped, and he thrusts one into your hands before mirroring your position at the edge of the boardwalk.

The walk down here from the Crestmont was more or less silent, and your stomach twists now you realise Jungkook wants to talk.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing." You lie. The ice cream is cold and sweet and covers the bitterness. "I just think it's funny."

Jungkook's tongue sneaks out to lick up the melted cream dribbling down his cone. "What is?"

"How this place stays the same but I feel so different." You were born here, raised here. This place was your whole life once, with it's salty air and bustling casino's. But since the accident, something's been bubbling inside you, swelling and crashing like the ocean below that taunts you and you've never felt farther from home in your life as you do now, looking out over the town that just won't budge, just like the funny ache in your chest. "Forget I said it. I don't know why I'm even telling you this."

Jungkook fidgets beside you and runs a hand through his hair with a sigh."It's okay, y'know. To miss her."

Your mom. You know that's who he means. Just the mention of her stings.

"Mhm." You snort. "Tell that to my family. If we all carried on missing mom then we'd be in pretty hot shit by now."

"If it's Taehyung you're worried about, then don't be. He's stronger than he looks."

"Until he's not anymore. And we lose him again just like—" You pause. You hate how you can hear the pain in your voice so you smooth it out. "Just like before. And I can't let that happen. I won't."

Jungkook shifts. As Taehyung's oldest friend he was there for everything in the aftermath of the accident. He was there when you put on a brave face for the sake of your family. He was there when Taehyung couldn't be any more.

"That doesn't mean you have to be strong all the time. Think about it this way. The ocean isn't always this calm right?" He gazes wistfully out over the ocean that swells and crashes against the shore, fingers twirling the gold chain around his neck. "Last winter when we had that huge storm, the waves were so big they smashed right through the pier support beams."

You furrow your brows. "What about it?"

"The ocean was just too much for the pier to bare and it would've come crashing down forever if half the neighborhood didn't come down to the beach in the dead of night, despite the rain, and hold it together until the storm calmed and the emergency repair boats could get to shore."

It's true. You remember how unforgiving the rain was as it pelted down against your back and froze you through to the bone that night as each and every familiar face from your neighborhood came down to the seafront to lend a hand, your family included.

Jungkook was there too. He was the one who knocked on your door in the early hours to spread the word. He got given free churros for life by one of the pier stall owners as a reward.

"What I'm trying to say Y/N, is that Taehyung has you to lean on, right? So who do you have?" Jungkook says, staring at you head on now. His sincerity almost makes you blush.

You bite your lip. Deep down you know that your beams are just as broken as Taehyung's and it's only a matter of time before they come crashing down into the water, and this time there'll be nobody to hold the pieces together.

"I don't need anyone. I'm just fine on my own. I can handle my ocean."

Jungkook brushes your hand. You flinch, so he pulls it back into his lap. "Well if you ever need a life boat, then you know where I am okay?"

You don't believe him, but he's staring at you so expectantly that you just tell him what he wants to hear. You're good at that.

"Okay." You whisper. "Okay."

Children's laughter bubbles up from the beach. You watch their distant silhouettes dancing among the waves. It's Jungkook who breaks the silence before it settles between you and becomes uncomfortable.

"Anyway, what were you doing up there on the stage today?" He smiles, like he's trying to lighten the mood. "You looked like you were having the time of your life before—"

You feel your cheeks start to burn. How long had Jungkook been watching you at the Crestmont? Had he seen the whole thing?

"It was nothing. I was just being dumb."

"Nothing?" Jungkook cocks his head to the side and punches you playfully. "It didn't seem like nothing."

"It just...it makes me feel close to my mom when I'm on the stage." You admit. "I loved watching her when I was a kid. She was always larger than life in my eyes. She had this way of making you really believe she was someone else. It was like she wasn't just acting -- she was becoming. Sometimes...sometimes I think I liked her better when she was in character."

You shake your head with a small smile. "I like me better when I'm in character. I used to dream about going to New York one day and becoming an actress just like she wanted to. Small town girl making it big in the city and all that." You scoff. "But I'm nothing like her. It's just fun to pretend sometimes."

"You're good. At performing. Like, really good." Jungkook's eyes are wide. When he places a hand on your forearm you don't shake it off this time. "You take after her. Everyone says it."

It's true. There's one photo of your mom in the house. It's in Taehyung's room. When you were younger you thought it was your face staring back at you from behind the glass. Sometimes you'll be walking down the boardwalk or serving soda's at work and you'll hear the whispers. See their heads turn. Is it her?

"Pfft. Looks mean nothing." You scoff. "She was fearless. I can't even speak in front of one person without passing out, let alone a crowd."

Realisation crosses Jungkook's face. "Oh. So that's what happened back there? Stage fright?"

"Uh huh." You roll your eyes. "So don't give me the follow your dreams spiel or whatever."

"Hmm." Jungkook uses his arms as a makeshift pillow so he can lay back against the ground. You mirror him, peering through your fingers to watch how the golden rays of the sun swallow his frame. "Remember that play they made us do in middle school?"

"The Nativity?" You raise your eyebrow. It was the first theatre production you were in, before the accident and way before you had stage fright.

"Yeah." He grins. "I was the sheep. Taehyung made fun of me for months afterwards because of that stupid costume my grandma made."

"Yeah." You snort. "You did look sorta dumb."

Jungkook bumps your arm with a playful pout that makes you giggle. "And do you remember how I forgot my lines on stage and nearly pissed myself with stage fright? God, I still remember how mad my dad looked in the front row. We'd practiced that part for weeks. I don't know why it happened. I just froze—" A small smile forms on his lips. "But you didn't. Next thing I know there's a kid in a gold star of Bethlehem costume running on stage to recite my lines for me. You stole the show, remember that? Everyone loved you."

"That was then." You murmur, but you can't suppress the smile tugging at the corners or your mouth. "I'm not the same person."

"You were a year younger than the rest of my class but you auditioned anyway, because you knew that you were the only person who could play the star. Because you were a star."

Jungkook turns so that his head rests on his elbow and you're suddenly so close you can feel his breath ghost across your cheek. Your heart pumps in your ears as you gaze dips down to his rosy lips and back up to his sparkling eyes which bore into yours.

"You still are a star."

The words echo in your ears, soft and sincere. His tongue snakes out to wet his lips. You lose your breath. And then you jump away, placing a safe distance between your bodies before you can do something you regret.

"And what about you. Are you still a sheep?" You tease, turning your face so he can't see how it burns rosy red.

"Nah. Figured out pretty quickly after that that I was better off behind the camera." He chuckles.

"Oh right. You still have that thing?" You nod to the camera in his lap. It's one of those old ones that looks like the type that needs a film reel and a projector, but it's been modified so there's a little viewfinder at the side to check the footage instead. "Can I see?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks.

"Some of the stuff you've filmed?"

"Oh! Right!" It's his turn to flush now, scratching the back of his neck as he anxiously thrusts the camera into your hands and pays close attention to the hangnail at the edge of his thumb as you watch the footage.

Your eyes widen when a familiar scene rolls out on the tiny screen. You, on stage at the Crestmont. Jungkook filmed you.

"This is..."

"You." He rushes."Yeah, I know. Sorry if this is awkward—"

"No. Not at all. I just—" You watch in awe as the you inside the camera moves across the stage with an effortless grace. How the lights make your eyes shine and your skin brighter than you remember it being in the mirror this morning. "How did you do that?"

Jungkook's forehead creases. "Do what?"

"Make me look like...that."

"I didn't do anything." Jungkook shrugs. "That's just how I see you."

You could listen to him say that all day, but you stop yourself mid swoon.

"Don't say things you don't mean."

"I do mean it. And I'll show you." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"How?"

He grabs your hand and squeezes it. Tight. "I don't know how yet but I will."

You roll your eyes. "Good luck, Jeon."

"You know I like a challenge." Jungkook laughs, and the melodic sound goes right to your chest. "I'll make you see yourself how I see you. Just wait."

"Since when did you have four wheels?" You call to Jungkook with a quirk of your brow, resting your elbows on the window ledge of the beat up truck he pulls up in outside the Crestmont.

It's a sticky August afternoon and the rusty red vehicle purrs— or more like splutters — in the parking lot as Jungkook untangles your bike from the rack and lifts it into the cargo bed like it's weightless. Just yesterday he came by with his pump and a patch to fix that goddamn slashed tyre, and now he's stealing it?

"Hey! What are you doing with my bike?"

He is clad in nothing but a white vest and board shorts, and you can see perspiration glimmering at his temples as the salty breeze blowing from the beach ruffles the dark curls that flop over his forehead.

"This is my dad's truck," His eyes flash with pride as he hops into the open drivers side door and makes the engine growl. He nods to the empty seat beside him and pushes his dark round sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, fanning his face with his hands. "And you won't be needing your bike today. Now hurry up and get in, loser. I've been waiting ages for your shift to finish and the AC is broken."

You raise a brow. "We're going somewhere?"

"Yeah. Why else would I be waiting for you to get in my truck?"

"I mean, we're going somewhere in this?" You nod towards the truck's worn tires, the fumes that wisp from the exhaust pipe like a lit cigar. "Are you sure it's safe?"

Jungkook notices the way you bite your lip. You don't even have to tell him the worries that are running through your mind. It's as if he can read them like an open book.

"Are you still scared of riding in cars?" He questions, softly.

You nod. That's what an accident does to someone. Makes them scared of something they ordinarily wouldn't even question.

"A little." The breeze ruffles your hair and you hide behind it. "I'm getting better." You add, so he doesn't feel bad because you know he does. His face tells you as much.

"It's a short drive, if that helps." He rushes. "And I asked Taehyung and he said you'd be okay, but if you aren't then I can just walk you home—"

"No." You shake your head firmly. There's a funny fizzing in your stomach that's been there ever since that day on the boardwalk, and it's only growing stronger and stronger now you're inches away from Jungkook and his warm eyes and gentle smile. You don't want it to end just yet. It's enough to outweigh the wriggling fear that's always inside you just a little. "Where are we going?"

Jungkook's face lights up and your heart flips when you realise it's because of you.

"I told you I was gonna make you see what I see, didn't I?"

"Oh that was today?" You tease. "Must have missed it it in the calendar."

"Stop asking questions! Just get in. Please?"

"Fine." You walk around to the passenger door, sliding in beside him and throwing your bag into the back seat. "But I need to be home by midnight or Taehyung will worry."

"No problemo." Jungkook salutes as he switches on the engine and the truck roars to life. You clasp your hands tightly in your lap and breathe through your nose. You're okay. You're safe."Home by midnight. It's a promise."

You gaze out of the window to stop your thoughts from running wild. Jungkook turns left, away from town and the beach and everything familiar. You watch it get smaller and smaller in the mirrors, strangely relieved. Strangely excited.

"Now will you tell me where we're going?" You ask.

"Nope." Jungkook chuckles when you pout. "Just sit back. Relax. Take in the view. Listen to the music."

He leans across the dash, making a point to keep his eyes on the road as he fiddles with the stereo. A familiar string of guitar chords fill the truck. You recognise them, even if vaguely. Probably from Taehyung's vast collection of records.

"The Beatles right?" You ask, resting your chin on your knee as you dare to take a peek at him, blushing when you find him already staring at you.

"Pfft, yeah. Of course it's The Beatles! Only their greatest soundtrack, like, ever."

You shrug. "I've never listened to them before, so I wouldn't know."

"Oh come on? You haven't seen A Hard Day's Night?" His eyes widen when you shake your head. "Super Fly? Pulp Fiction? Purple Rain?"

You stifle a giggle at the look of pure shock he's sending you. "Nope. Should I have?"

"Absolutely!" He splutters. Passion shines in his eyes. "You're missing out on some of the greatest cinematography known to man!"

"I guess you have a lot to fill me in on, then."

"I sure do." His eyes soften. "Open the glove box."

You open it. Inside you find an assortment of cassette tapes, old and new. You send him a curious look.

"Close your eyes and choose one." He nods. "Go on."

You do as he says and shut your lids tightly, feeling around until your fingers curl around a tape you're strangely drawn to. When you open your eyes you find a worn box in your palm, yellow at the edges, and you're momentarily disappointed until Jungkook hums in approval beside you.

"Good choice! Dirty Dancing. A classic." He takes it from you and slides the tape into the stereo. It crackles a little before the music starts. "Trust me, you'll love it."

The stereo tracklist flashes amber. 01: Do You Love Me?

"You broke my heart 'cause I couldn't dance," Jungkook sings along in a deep voice, eyebrows bouncing as you loll your head to the side to send him an eye roll. "And now I'm back to let you know I can really shake 'em down!"

The song starts, all vibrant guitar and drums. It has a funky 60's groove, like it belongs in a swing dancing club instead of on the highway at sunset. It's a happy song and you think it suits Jungkook just right.

Speaking of Jungkook, he starts to bob his head in time with the beat, fingertips tapping in rhythm against the steering wheel. He looks adorably dorky, losing himself to the song, like he's forgotten you're even sat beside him.

"You look like an idiot." You deadpan, though you can't cover the laugh that escapes you as he sings along louder.

"No, I look like I'm having fun!" Jungkook rolls down the window and turns up the music so loud he has to shout for you to hear him. "Don't you ever do this? Just give in to the music for a while? Let your body do what it wants?"

"Uh, no. I prefer to just listen." You shout back. "Besides, your body should be focused on driving this car right now--"

"Oh come on! Just try it."

"Try it?" You blink, stomach suddenly knotting."Like now? In front of you?"

"Well duh. Look. Copy me."

He starts to shake his shoulders from side to side, fingers clicking as he nods for you to do the same.

"I...okay." You start to copy, but you catch yourself in the rear view mirror and you just look stiff compared to how effortlessly Jungkook moves to the rhythm.

"See you're doing it!" Jungkook grins, throwing his head back. "Feels good huh?"

"Kinda..." You have to admit there is something liberating about just letting go. "Like this?"

Your knees volunteer themselves to the beat, and then your arms, and before you know it you've got your eyes closed, hair whipping around your face as you speed down the interstate

"That's it. Feel the music!"

Before you know it, the song ends and you realise all at once that you're laughing. Loud and free, enough to make your belly hurt. Jungkook is too, the sound better than any song you've ever heard, and neither of you can seem to stop.

"Oh my god." You pant, covering your face with your fingers, embarrassed. "Now we both look like idiots."

"Don't hide from me." Jungkook bites his lip. You're suddenly aware of how close he is. His arms grab your wrists, pulling them away from your face, but he doesn't drop the one closest to him. Instead he links your fingers and uses your shared grip to change the gear as he turns down a winding road.

"I'm shy." You say, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks.

"Why? You're beautiful." Jungkook puts the car into park. You realise all at once that you've been driving for ages and you didn't even panic once. "Besides, we've arrived. And you're not gonna wanna miss seeing this."

The destination Jungkook seems so excited about turns out to be a concrete parking lot.

"Where are we, Jungkook?" You ask, looking around but finding nothing but tyre tracks and dirt.

Jungkook has already hopped out of the drivers side, sliding over the hood of the car to tug open your door with a quirk of his brow.

He holds out his palm, upturned and calloused. "Do you trust me?"

You bite your lip, heart pounding. Do you trust him?

Your body speaks for you and you slide your hand into his. His thumb traces your knuckles reassuringly.

"Yes." You breathe. "I trust you."

"Good."

You yelp when an arm wraps around your waist and hoists you out of the car, tightly interlocked fingers blocking your vision like a makeshift blindfold. "Don't open your eyes until I tell you to."

"Okay." You giggle, feet stumbling as you try to find your balance with the help of a sturdy hand beneath your elbow.

Jungkook hums gently beneath his breath as he guides you up a path that turns from concrete to loose rock to dampened grass beneath the soles of your beat up sneakers. There's a voice in the back of your mind that tells you to be nervous; who knows where he could be taking you right now.

But as you breathe in the musty notes of his cologne and feel your heart flutter in your chest when he comes to a stop and rests his chin on your shoulder, just close enough to feel his laugh ghost across your neck, you don't care where in the world you are right now as long as it's beside him.

"Now, open."

The sun is startlingly bright when you open your eyes for the first time and see the vibrant meadow that stretches as far as you can see.

Wait — that's not the sun. It's sunflowers. Clusters of them, cheerfully waving with the breeze from where you stand on the path that continues for a few steps before it disappears among their stems.

The sunflowers are a burst of golden colour against the fading green of the meadow, and the horizon beyond that which boasts the silhouette of beach rock against the soft blue of the ocean at sunset. There's tracks here and there where the uncut grass is trampled, like some children had played hide and seek.

You reach out a hand and brush your fingertips over the velvety petals; breathe in the botanical scent of the fresh sunny blooms that dances through the meadow. It's breathtaking, you think. There's no coordination, just freedom choreographed by the wind as the tall stems sway back and forth in their gentle dance.

Before you know it you've taken off into a run, grinning with childlike glee when the tall grass tickles your nose and the sun whispers against your neck.

"Jungkook, this place is—"

"Beautiful right?" You nod breathlessly, blushing deeply when you come to a stop and find him staring right at you. He squeezes your hand and that's when you notice your fingers are still interlinked. "I come here a lot. When I need to think."

"How did you find this place?"

"Taehyung and I stumbled upon it a few summers ago by accident." He says. "Nobody knows about it. It's our secret."

"It's so beautiful." You whisper. "The whole world needs to see this."

Jungkook kicks at a stone with the toe of his boot. "I kinda like it being a secret. This place...is special to me."

"Then why...." The words get caught in your throat. You swallow and try again. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I wanted to show you the things I find most beautiful. Remember?"

"The sunflowers?"

"Well yeah..." He scratches the back of his neck. Swallows thickly, like he's preparing himself. "But I was thinking of something a little different..."

You close your eyes, a smile appearing on your lips as you let the crisp breeze caress your face. "Then what?"

There's a sharp click of a shutter, and when your lashes flutter open in surprise, Jungkook is shaking a Polaroid picture back and forth, his eyes glinting with something mischievous.

"Hey! Give me that—" You reach for the Polaroid, stomach churning with a sudden shyness that makes you hug your arms.

"Just — don't do that okay?" He holds it out of reach, pleading with his eyes. "Please."

"Do what?"

"Give up on what makes you happy just because you're scared." His palm cups your cheek. "You said it yourself. Being in front of the camera is where you belong. Don't you see that?"

"I'm not scared." You feel the heat rise in your cheeks when Jungkook sends you a knowing look. "Okay maybe I am scared. And so what if I am? You've already given me the face your fears spiel and I told you. I'm perfectly happy avoiding every camera known to man for the rest of my life if it means I never have to face them."

"But you've already faced one of your fears today. You got in my car, remember?" He raises an eyebrow, smug. "Well, two technically, 'cause you're here with me now and I know how nervous you used to get around me--"

"Did not!"

"Do too! Every time we talk outside of work you get all shy and--"

"Shut up."

"See! You're doing it right now!"

You don't know what compels you to do it. Maybe it's the heat rising in the apples of your cheeks or the way your heart quickens when Jungkook closes the gap between you, but before you can stop yourself you're reaching up and grasping his face with both hands.

"Oh just shut up and kiss me, doofus."

The smug smirk on Jungkook's face is replaced with wide eyed surprise, his lips falling still for a moment when yours crash against his. But then his steady hands find your waist and he supports you on your tip toes so he can pull you ever closer, melting into the plush press of your lips.

When you pull back, you're smiling. You can't help it. You've been dreaming of this moment since, like, middle school. And goddamn, he even tastes how you imagined. Like black coffee and toothpaste.

"See." He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Happiness suits you."

"Whatever, Jeon." You smirk. "Don't let it go to your head, but it's thanks to you."

Jungkook flashes you the biggest bunny grin you've ever seen, eyes sparkling at your words.

"Wait...stay like that." He reaches for his camcorder in his backpack and points the lens at you. The smile falls from your lips. You place a hand on his arm, grip tighter than you intended.

"Jungkook stop."

"What's wrong? Just keep smiling like that, the shot was perfect—"

"I don't know what to do." You shrug, the lens boring into you like a judgy aunt at Thanksgiving dinner. "The camera makes me nervous."

"Just pretend I'm not here."

You sniff. "I don't want you to not be here..."

"Listen," Jungkook cups your face, thumbs tracing your cheeks fondly. "The reason I brought you here? It's because this place reminds me of you. Beautiful."

"Jungkook--"

"Just like you said, the world needs to see this place. Just like they need to see you."

"I..." Your heart is on the verge of exploding, you would swear it. "Okay." The word rolls off your tongue before you can stop it because somehow you trust him. And deep down, there's still that fizz of excitement mixing in with all the nervousness. The Jungkook Effect. You don't want to lose it to the darkness like everything else.

"I'll try. Just-- don't laugh at me okay?"

"You have my word, sarge." He salutes with a thoughtful grin. "Hold on a sec. I know exactly what you need to get you going."

Jungkook jumps to his feet and you watch with your chin tucked between your knees as he jogs down the rocky path and opens all four of the truck doors, even the trunk, before his head disappears into the vehicle and the same pumping bass from earlier starts blasting into the quiet serene of the sunflower field.

"There," He grins as he returns, out of breath, and sits back down beside you cross legged, holding his camcorder to his eye. "Now do what you were doing before again, but over there. Just pretend you're on stage at the Crestmont, okay?"

You feel the music wash over you and the urge to move hits you like a wave. Jungkook nods encouragingly and there's something in his eyes that flips a switch inside you. And for the first time in a long time, all the passion and spirit and feeling inside you fizzes up to the top and you can't contain it any longer.

"That's it!" Jungkook calls, shutter clicking uncontrollably. "I knew you could do it!"

An oak tree provides sun-flecked shade, a cool sanctuary from the sun that sets on the horizon and splashes the sky's canvas magenta.

Jungkook laid out a checkered blanket from the trunk of his truck which you both lay upon, shoulders pressed together as close as humanly possible, surrounded by your devoured picnic consisting of his mom's fruit punch and bags of snacks he took from the concession stand at the Crestmont when nobody was looking.

"Holy shit, Y/N." He says through a mouthful of popcorn, jabbing his finger at his favourite shot of you in front of the sunflowers. "This is what I've been saying! You're a natural in front of the camera."

"No, you're amazing, Jungkook." You feel for his hand. It's funny how natural it feels already when his pinky links with yours. "Behind the camera."

"You think?" He chews his lip, eyes searching yours for approval.

"I know. You should do something with these. People need to see them."

"I'm thinking of becoming a filmographer, actually"

"Like at the pier?" You think of the tacky photo booth that overlooks the sea in town, fit with all the silly cardboard cut outs that tourists come and take a photo with for a dollar.

"No, I mean a real filmographer." He shrugs, and you're sure there's a trace of a blush on his cheeks. "Y'know. Movies and stuff."

You nod. It makes sense for Jungkook to spend his life with a camera glued to his right hand. You can't imagine Jungkook anywhere else, and you have to ignore the sinking feeling that comes with the realisation that he would eventually leave Ocean City -- and you -- behind for the big screen.

"Well you bet your ass I'll be front row to watch each and every one, Jeon Jungkook."

"My lucky star." Jungkook smiles.

"Always."

He must see the sadness brimming inside you, his body shuffling closer so your knees brush. It's reassuring somewhat.

"Actually...there's something I should tell you."

He shifts under your gaze. The nerves rush back. "What is it?"

"I guess I finished writing my first screenplay..."

"That's like a movie script, right?" You ask eagerly, and he nods. "That's great, Kook!"

"Yeah, it's great it's just --" He pauses, and clutches your hand tighter like he's scared what he says next will make you let go forever. "It's about you."

You pale. "M-me?"

"I mean, it's about you and...and Taehyung! And your mom." Jungkook rushes. "I was inspired by your story at the boardwalk and it just happened! I'm sorry, I know you probably hate me now and think I'm crazy but--"

"Burn it." You deadpan.

Jungkook blinks. "W..what?"

"I said burn it." You pull his hand into your lap and he lets out a sigh of relief. "I don't hate you, Kook. I just think you were right earlier when you said I need to face my fears. And the only way I can do that is by forgetting my past. The last thing I need is a whole freaking movie about it."

He joins in with your strained chuckles. "Sure you aren't mad?"

"Not mad." You assure with a smile.

"Then I'll burn it."

You avoid his gaze shyly. "I'm kinda honoured you wrote about me, though." You admit.

"I guess...I guess I could call you my muse." Jungkook blurts hurriedly. His nose is a deep shade of pink and it makes you want to tease him forever.

"Yeah." You nod to yourself with a smile. "I like that. Your muse."

And then his lips are on yours again, like he can't quite help himself, and you start to forget where yours begin and his end.

This time it's not delicate and sweet. It's slow and languid, hot and heavy. The sunflowers break your fall, Jungkook's lips never leaving yours as he climbs on top of you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other planted beside your head so that his chest hovers above yours. You're almost certain he can feel how hard your heart is pounding in your chest, but you don't care, too lost in the bliss of finally feeling Jungkook's plush lips against your own.

"Come to New York with me." He says breathlessly between kisses, and your heart stops.

"What?" You can hardly drag your lips away from his but you have to be sure you heard him right. New York?

"I mean, in the future. I'm gonna go to New York. Get a job at a film production company or something, I don't know--" He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. "Come with me."

"I...I can't."

"Why?" He frowns. "Is it me?"

"No! God no."

"Then why? You said it was your dream right?" You nod. "So what's stopping you?"

"I..I have to take care of Taehyung, and my job at the Crestmont and--"

"Okay. Lets pretend none of that exists. It's just you and me." His breath ghosts against your forehead. "Y/N, will you come to New York with me?"

"Yes." It comes out breathless, but you mean it. With every atom and nerve and fiber in your body. "Lets go to New York."

Where things change.

3 years later.

A postcard sits on the Welcome Home! Doormat you and Jungkook bought before you left for New York. You recognise the picture perfect image of Ocean City on the front, and Taehyung's messy scrawl on the back that tells you he's doing fine at his new management job at the Crestmont and he will be sending a housewarming gift imminently.

— Stay smiling, Y/N. Miss you already! Taehyung. :)

With a small smile you tack it onto the bare fridge. It brightens up the empty kitchen somewhat, a little piece of home and a reminder that you don't need to worry about leaving your brother behind to fend for himself so much any more. Since he pulled his life together and got a job at the theatre, it's like he came alive again. Found his purpose.

Speaking of purposes, you suppose that's how you found yourself here. In your very own apartment in a nice complex on the east side. The east side of New York City.

There's a pair of satin curtains hung over the balcony doors, probably left behind by the old tenant as it's the only form of furniture in the whole apartment. They rustle in the morning breeze and you tiptoe across the room barefoot to rip them open, letting your eyes flutter shut when the early morning sun filters through the glass and cascades over your face like a warm embrace.

You press a hand to the glass, studying your reflection; the messy lump of hair atop your head, the soft shadow of your lashes atop your cheeks. And beyond it, New York. Your new normal in all it's familiar glory from your dreams, yet still so deliciously foreign it makes your heart leap whenever a cab horn rings out in the distance or you breathe in the smell of fresh bagels from the shop down the street.

Home. You could finally call it that now. But New York is just a city and this apartment is just a house. The real reason you get to call this place home is because of who you came here with.

Jungkook.

You've been dating for two and a half years by now. He let you borrow one of his old much-too-big t-shirts to sleep in last night. There's a hole in the shoulder and the hem brushes your knees but it's warm and smells like his cologne and your heart expands when you close your eyes and remember this is just the beginning. You have so much to do, so many things to see here in New York. So many things to learn. And there's nobody you would want to explore life with more than Jungkook.

His camera equipment lays in a cardboard box by your feet, and something compels you to take out the old-school camcorder he loves. The leather strap tightens perfectly around your hand and the red RECORD button flashes as you open the doors wide and lift the lens to take in the view. Something tells you you're gonna want to remember this moment forever.

It's not long before a pair of arms wrap around your waist, chin tucked cheekily into your shoulder. "There you are." Jungkook husks, stilly groggy with sleep as his lips ghost across your cheek.

Turning around in his grasp, you find him still shirtless, sweatpants slung low around his hips. He's been working out recently, and you can't deny you don't love how firm his shoulders feel when you brace yourself on them to stand on your tip toes and leave a peck to his lips.

"Morning sleepyhead," you say, running your fingers through the strands of his silky bed hair. It's longer these days, whispering across the nape of his neck and falling across his round eyes sweetly. They flutter closed when you massage his scalp just how he likes it. "I was wondering when you'd finally get out of bed."

"Missed you." His lips turn up when he sees the camera pointed at his face. "Whaddya doing with that?"

"Making memories." You say simply, zooming in on him as he rubs his sleepy eyes. "So we never forget this."

A cheeky smirk appears on his lips as he wraps you in his arms, a surprised giggle leaving you when he spins you around and grabs the camera so he can point it at the both of you, his chin resting on your shoulder now as his bare arm snugly wraps around your waist.

"Hey stop! I just woke up, I look bad!"

"Hello us of the future," Jungkook chuckles, pulling your fingers away from your face when you bury your face in his chest to hide from the lens. "It's our first day in New York and Y/N is being all camera shy--okay, okay fine, lets show them the view instead!"

Jungkook finally flips the lens around so it focuses on the distant silhouettes of tall skyscrapers skimming the blue skyline, before he turns it back onto you guys once more with a mischievous look this time.

"But we have to go now because we have far more interesting business to attend to..." He lowers the camera as his lips start to trail up your collar bone and he smiles when your eyes flutter shut and you gasp at the feeling, but it's quickly replaced by a pout when you wriggle out of his embrace with a stern look.

"Not now. Later."

"Mmf? Why?" He whines, making grabby hands towards you. "You're so warm, jus' wanna cuddle for a bit."

"No time!" You call over your shoulder as you grab him by the hand and drag his heavy feet behind you. "We've got an apartment to decorate."

Before you know it you've enlisted Jungkook's help in laying tarps across the living room floor, two pots of bright white paint plonked in the center. It's not like you could afford a decorator after all. You are two broke twenty-something's trying to make it big in New York, and all that cliche stuff. So you would just have to do it yourselves.

Jungkook's over in the corner, miming along to the guitar solo from some rock song playing from the radio balanced on the windowsill, the paint roller his instrument as he dances around the room with giddy impulse. There's paint all over his butt where he accidentally leaned against one of the wet walls and he's got his hair tied back into a bun at the crown of his head and you watch him out of the corner of your eye while an affectionate smile creeps onto your face no matter how hard you try to curb it.

That's when you notice the camera in his other hand. He zooms in on the stepladder in the corner, the paint spillage in the hall, the heart with Y/N + JUNGKOOK FOREVER written inside it on the back wall. Documenting everything as usual.

He was always filming you, too. Whether you were making coffee in the morning or drying your hair. He'd even slow down beside you on the sidewalk to get the perfect shot.

You find it cute, even though you pretend to hate it. It makes your heart flutter every time you catch him rewinding the footage with a contented smile on his face, like he just captured the whole world with his lens.

It's no surprise when you finish putting the final coat on the wall and step back to admire your handy work that you find him wandering around the apartment with his hand curved around the lens of one of his bigger cameras like it's natural to him. You always joke that thing is like an extra limb, but he looks so calm as he looks through his lens at the room that is now drunk on the afternoon sun pouring through the window, the golden rays like honey on his skin, that it's easy to see that the camera really is a part of him. Passion lies in the soft lines of concentration on his face, in the plump lip tugged between teeth as he fiddles with the settings.

Jungkook sees beauty where others don't, where others can't. It might as well pump through his veins. And it's one of the reasons you love him so much.

You shake your head when you see how a small smile finds his lips when he leans a shoulder against the door frame and lets the camera land on the thing he swears is most beautiful.

"Hey." You warn, shooting a side wards glare at the camera lens you spot Jungkook not so discreetly pointing in your direction. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" He runs a hand through his hair, lips pulling back into a sly bunny smile when you bend down to reach a spot you missed at the bottom of the wall. "I'm not doing anything."

Your upper lip twitches. "Are you zooming in on my ass?"

"What? No!" Jungkook scrunches his nose with wide eyes, a habit you knew meant he was guilty, a pout forming on your lips as he snaps the viewfinder closed and shoves the offending piece of his equipment behind his back.

You narrow your eyes affectionately. "Perv."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He blows a strand of hair out of his face innocently but there's a playful glint in his eyes and you can hardly keep a serious face as you plant your hands on your hips in what you hope is a menacing manner.

"Then lemme see it." You challenge with a nod to the camera behind him.

He feigns indifference, cocking his head to the side like an overgrown puppy. "See what?"

"That's it!" You shake your head, charging towards and him making grabby motions towards the camera. Jungkook looks down at you fondly as he holds it above your head, out of reach, and it only makes you you pout harder. "Hey! Give it!

"Never!" You jump pitifully, fingers grasping around nothing. A melodic chuckle spills from Jungkook's lips when you cross your arms over your chest in defeat and blink up at him crossly. "You have to say the magic word first."

You scoff at the teasing look on his face as he wiggles his eyebrows and waves the camera just above your head, before an idea strikes you and within seconds you're wielding a paintbrush, Jungkook's eyes widening when you point the paint coated bristles at his face.

"Give it up." You hold out your palm with a smug look. "Or the walls are not the only thing getting a fresh coat."

"You wouldn't." He smirks, despite being backed into a corner now.

"Oh yeah?" Without further ado you swipe the brush down the bridge of his nose, swallowing a giggle at the white smudge it leaves behind and his shocked expression beneath it. "You underestimate me, Jeon."

Jungkook pushes his tongue into his cheek, eyes dancing up and down your body before they lock with yours daringly. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Or what?" You taunt playfully, a laugh escaping you, but you quickly bite down on your lip when you see the glint in Jungkook's eyes as he submerges both his hands into the nearby bucket of paint.

You don't run when he steps closer. Instead your breathing quickens, heart doing a funny somersault when he brushes your hair to the side and clamps both of his wet hands on the sides of your jaw to bring your face up to his.

He tastes like coffee and desire when your lips crash together in a delicious tangle of teeth and tongue, all the thoughts racing through your mind dripping away like honey until all that's left is the thump of your heart against your chest and Jungkook's warmth as he backs you up against the wall.

When he pulls away he rubs his paint covered nose against yours, cocking his head and smiling sweetly when he leans back and admires his handy work.

"You have paint on your face." He looks down at his white hands innocently with a shrug. "Whoops?"

His hands trail down to your hips. You reach to your side and grab a fistful of paint, wiping it down the centre of his face and giggling when he groans and scrunches his eyes closed . "So do you."

"Okay, that's it. This means war!" Jungkook growls, strong arms wrapping around your waist, and before you know it you're stumbling over to the mattress in the corner, Jungkook's body hovering over yours.

"You wanna play dirty, huh?" Desire-filled eyes trace your face, travelling down the expanse of your neck before zeroing in on your collar bones. You gasp when Jungkook's lips attach themselves to the sensitive skin, every inch of you set alight when his burning fingers slide beneath the hem of your tshirt and find your thighs. "Always being such a bad girl, huh?"

"So? What're you gonna do about it? Punish me?" You say teasingly, and he stiffens, lips leaving a mark behind on your neck with a pop. Jungkook's narrowed eyes meet yours and you feel your heart speed up with anticipation.

His lips twitch, like they're dying to turn up. "Brat."

With that, you're being flipped over onto your knees with a yelp. Jungkook's hands work quickly and before you know it your tshirt is over your head and the sudden breeze from the open balcony doors against your hardened nipples makes you gasp.

"You love it." You laugh breathily.

"Too much," Jungkook confirms, before his large palm presses you down into the bed firmly between the shoulder blades so that your ass is thrust up in the air. You wiggle is teasingly, though the breath catches in your throat when the first spank lands on your bare skin. Then a second, the sound ringing out through the empty room like an echo and making a damp spot appear on your panties.

"Hey!" You chastise when you remember the paint on his hands that just left two glaring handprints right across your ass.

Jungkook just smirks. "What? Now everyone knows it's mine."

A third slap and you have to bite the blanket to stop from groaning, then a fourth, and a fifth and by then your eyes are watering but in the best way. Calloused hands smooth over the burning area, soothing it.

"Good girl," A raspy voice whispers next to your ear. "Such a good girl for me, taking your punishment. I think you deserve your reward now, hm?"

"Please." You moan as he reaches around to grasp your breast, tweaking your nipples in a way that has you writhing beneath him.

"Don't say I didn't warn you though," Jungkook chuckles as he rips your panties down your legs, gasping at the sight of your dripping slit like it's the first time. He runs a finger down your folds, biting back a groan when it makes your legs fall open a little further, desperate for his touch. "I'm not gonna go easy on you."

"Jungkook, what do you-- oh!." Before you can finish, Jungkook is pushing your face back into the comforter, spreading your cheeks with his palms and licking an agonizingly slow stripe up your throbbing core. His tongue finds your clit easily, toying it with the tip playfully until you're gasping for air.

"Mmf, tastes so good." He murmurs against your folds, the vibrations of his chuckle making you moan so hard your legs start to shake. His tongue finds your hole, swirling around teasingly before it slips inside and you can't handle it anymore.

"Jungkook!" You gasp, reaching behind to grab his hair. "I..I can't-"

"You can." He says, almost a command, mouth leaving your pussy only so he can slide over onto his back and pull you back down onto his face by the hips.

"Oh g-god!" Your hand reaches for the headboard, landing on the wall to steady yourself when you remember you still haven't bought a bed frame yet. Your legs are starting to ache from holding yourself up but you don't care, too lost in the feeling of Jungkook's tongue lapping at your swollen folds as you grind in lazy circles on his face.

"C-close, Kook." You manage to splutter, head thrown back with pleasure when he slides two of his fingers inside you and starts to pump in time with his tongue, the sensation of being filled enough to send you over the edge into a shuddering climax that is unlike anything you've felt before, the only thought on your mind the way your hole clenches around your boyfriend's fingers.

It takes a few moments for your legs to stop shaking, your hearing slowly coming back into focus as you hear both of your heavy breaths intermingled. You look between your legs to find Jungkook staring up at you with a grin, eyes filled with wonder. His chin gleams with your juices, the front of his t-shirt damp as you realise with a gasp what just happened.

"Did I--?"

"Yup."

"Holy fuck." You swing your leg over his shoulder so you're beside him, Jungkook sitting up to look at you, still mesmerised. "I...I'm sorry, that was--"

"The hottest thing you've ever done." Jungkook finishes, grinning at you like he just won the lottery.

You raise a brow, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah. Can I fuck you now?"

You can't help but laugh at his eager puppy dog eyes, hands practically twitching at his sides to touch you. A quick glance at his crotch confirms the biggest tent in his pants you've ever seen, and you crook a finger towards him with a sultry smile and a nod.

"Let's see if you can make me do that again."

"O-Okay!" Jungkook pulls his shirt over his head eagerly, and then he's on top of you, burning skin meeting burning skin. Your palm runs down his chest, Jungkook's eyes falling shut when it reaches the hem of his sweatpants. You cant help but gasp when your fingers wrap around his length through his boxers, core already throbbing again to be filled. He shivers when your finger circles his tip, admiring the wet patch on his boxers.

"Eager?" You smirk.

"You squirted on my face, Y/N, of course I'm goddamn eager."

"Get these off then." You tug at his pants and he kicks them off without a second telling.

"Your wish is my command."

When he returns to hovering over you, both completely bare now, he pauses. His eyes meet yours, a gentle smile appearing on his lips as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear and grips your jaw protectively.

"I love you, y'know."

You close the distance between you, pressing your lips against his but barely able to keep yourself from grinning with the elation swirling in your chest. "I love you too, doofus. Now hurry up or I'm gonna have to fuck myself."

"That sounds kinda awesome--"

"Kook!"

"Okay, okay, on it!"

Palms spread your legs, and you both gasp when Jungkook runs the blunt head of his leaking cock up and down your slit, coating himself in your juices before he lines it up with your entrance.

"Ready?" He checks, thumb tracing circles into your inner thigh.

"As I'll ever be."

And with that, he pushes inside, his head falling into the crook of your neck with a sigh of relief at finally feeling your walls clenching around his throbbing length. The stretch of his girth stings, but it makes you feel so deliciously full, so perfectly whole to be connected to Jungkook like this that all you can get out is another soft I love you that earns a blissful smile from your boyfriend as he starts to move.

Each stroke makes you lose your breath, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot just right. It's when Jungkook takes your nipple into his mouth that you feel a second orgasm start to build, one hand gripping the sheets as the other drags scratch marks down his muscular back in blissful agony.

It's not long before Jungkook spills inside you with a deep growl, your own high hitting you as you feel him coat your walls. He collapses onto your chest, breaths deep and exhausted, and wraps you in his arms before you can even catch your breath.

Jungkook pulls the sheets up over your shoulders and places a kiss to the top of your head. He's so warm you feel yourself start to drift off into a blissful sleep, the smile on your lips never faltering.

"I love you too." Is the last thing you hear him say before sleep takes you under, and you're safe wrapped up in each other's arms.

When you open your eyes, the room is warm with sunset's rose tinted blush, and Jungkook's body is no longer beside you. Rubbing your bleary eyes, you sit up on your elbow and find him on the ground in front of the freshly painted wall, intricate petals and stems flowing from the end of the paintbrush he delicately waves across the surface to paint the prettiest sunflower you've ever seen.

"I'm home!" You hear your boyfriend yell out as he shuffles into the apartment, quickly followed by a yelp. "Hey, Gureum, stop trying to lick my face!"

You can't stop the smile that spreads across your features when a ball of white fluff comes bounding into the living room, the puppy that excitedly jumps into your arms tracking a trail of muddy paw prints over the script in your hands.

"Hey Gureum," You coo, scratching him behind the ears where you know his sweet spot is. "You're such a good boy, huh?"

"Don't praise him! He totally ran away from me in Central Park and I had to chase him all the way home!" You can practically hear Jungkook's eye roll, shaking your head fondly at the mock annoyance in his voice. It was Jungkook who begged you to adopt a puppy for months in the first place, and they've been more or less inseparable ever since — the little guy hardly ever leaves his side. It's safe to say Jungkook is definitely Gureum's favourite.

The smell of coffee and fresh bagels wafts through the apartment, a warm sensation settling in your stomach as your boyfriend rounds the corner and waves a brown paper bag.

"Still got us enough coffee to stay up all night learning lines though." Jungkook grins, dumping the contents onto the coffee table and raising his eyebrows when your hands dart straight for the chocolate cookies. "Speaking of learning lines, how is it going, pretty?"

He nods towards the script in your hand. It's worn at the edges and ferociously dog eared from all the nights you have stayed up until sunrise reciting the words littered across the pages over and over, until it's like your lips are moving by muscle memory and the words are a part of you.

After what felt like hundreds of failed auditions, you had started to lose hope. With every letter that landed on the porch with another SORRY or MAYBE NEXT TIME, you felt all the confidence in the dream you worked so hard to uncover start to dwindle.

But Jungkook was always there, by your side no matter what. Encouraging you when you forgot your lines or holding you when you didn't get the callback. Reminding you to eat whenever you were too absorbed in your work to cook or cheering you on from the crowd at your weekly improv performances.

It was Jungkook who cried with you when the director of the small theatre downtown called and gave you the lead part in his upcoming stage production. Your big break. And you were determined to make sure everything ran smoothly at opening night tomorrow, which is how you find yourself snuggled up on the couch rewinding your VHS copy of Dirty Dancing over and over again until you have every word memorised by heart.

"Pretty good." You say as you pop a salted peanut into your mouth while Jungkook slips out of his tweed jacket. He's been trying to dress more New-York-ish these days, or so he says. More dress pants and less sweats. "Final rehearsals start at five."

"Aren't you nervous?" Jungkook squishes into the space beside you, Gureum cuddling up between your bodies.

Tomorrow night's show is sold out, along with every night after that for the next week. You heard there were going to be at least 700 people there each night.

"Terribly." You admit, stomach churning at the thought of 700 pairs of eyes staring right at you. You try to focus on the fizzing excitement that lingers there too, growing stronger and stronger. "But I think I'm more excited".

"I'm excited to see you up there doing what you love." Jungkook smiles, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "My star."

"Well don't get too excited because I still keep messing up this one goddamn scene," You flip the script to a page covered in bright highlighter scribbles and run your fingers through your hair exasperatedly. "I'm totally gonna mess it up and then I'll never get another job and—"

"Shhh," Jungkook takes the script from your hands and runs his eyes over it quickly. "Don't talk like that. You're gonna be amazing — hold up..." He raises an eyebrow. "Is this...the kiss scene?"

You feel your cheeks redden, voice small. "Yes."

"Then you're in luck because who better to help you practice than the best kisser in all of New York?"

You snort. "Wow, I sure could use some of your expertise Good-Sir-Makes-Out-A-Lot."

"Then you're in the right place..." He runs his finger over the script, jabbing at one line in particular.

[Johnny and Baby kiss.]

"Let's start here, hm? For practice, obviously."

"For practice." Your eyes roll but your heart still beats a little faster as he closes the space between you, hand pressing into the wall so his sturdy body hovers over yours, hands instinctively pulling him closer by the collar.

"Come give me a kiss, m'lady..." Jungkook murmurs, but before he can tilt your chin up towards his lips there's a sudden series of frantic knocks at the front door.

"What the heck?"

You both jump out of your skin, Jungkook's eyes narrowing as he glances over his shoulder at the shadowy figure outside, fist pounding the glass fervently, like they're trying to break it down.

"Okay, damn, I'm coming!" He yells with a roll of his eyes. He wraps the blanket around your shoulders as he hops up from the couch with a sigh. "Probably just some dumb marketer again or something — dude, chill! I said I'm coming! — be right back."

The lock slides open and you hear Jungkook gasp. Your stomach drops. "Who is it?"

"Uh, Y/N..." You hear the door click shut and the sound of squeaky shoes shuffling inside. The anxiety in Jungkook's voice makes your heart skip. "You might wanna come see this."

"Huh?" Your legs feel shaky as you follow him out into the hall, chest seizing when you lay eyes on the dripping wet hair and chattering teeth of the shivering man stood before you, eyes dark and grave like they used to be.

"Taehyung?" You splutter, ripping the blanket from around your shoulders and swaddling him in it as quickly as you can, Jungkook already bounding into the other room to get dry clothes and towels after shooting you a terrified glance.

Taehyung grabs your shoulders and pulls you into a tight embrace. His cheeks are wet against your shoulder, but you can't tell if it's because he's been crying or because he's been out in the freezing cold rain — hold on, did he walk here?

"Y/N," He murmurs frantically, eyes darting back and forth but never quite focusing on anything. You knew this look. This is how he looked that day you found out about the accident. Murky, far far away. Devastatingly sad. Something wasn't right.

"What is it?" You ask, pulling him into the living room and sitting him on the couch before his shaking knees buckle beneath him. "What are you doing here, Tae?"

"It's...it's the Crestmont." He whispers.

"What about the Crestmont?" Jungkook appears behind Taehyung, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it's like your brother doesn't even feel it.

"They're tearing it down." He mumbles. "They're tearing down the Crestmont. Forever."

"Okay, now let's start from the beginning."

Jungkook's calm voice lilts from beside Taehyung who, after a warm shower and two cups of cocoa, has stopped shivering and seems to be ready to talk.

A hand reaches across the coffee table to tug on your wrist mid-lift to your mouth, a reminder from Jungkook to stop biting your nails. An old nervous habit you thought you'd left behind in Ocean City but apparently more than just Taehyung showed up here unannounced tonight.

"I...I got a call this morning." Taehyung begins, pausing to take a sip from the mug he cradles in his lap. His hands are shaking so he places it on the coffee table for safe keeping, right beside your discarded script. "It was from a construction company."

"And?" You prod, somewhat impatiently, making Taehyung jump.

"And apparently the owner of the theatre is behind on rent and...and..." He swallows hard. "And they're buying the rights to tear it down and build an apartment complex in its place."

"What?" Both you and Jungkook exclaim at the same time.

Jungkook's fists clench. "I always knew that old man was shady."

Taehyung fumbles in the pocket of the coat he arrived with, retrieving a brochure which he thrusts towards you.

The image on the front is of a metal skyscraper, far too shiny and new to belong in a seaside town like Ocean City. Fusion Apartments — modern living.

Jungkook rakes a hand through his hair, eyes sorrowful as you pass it over to him. "This sucks. Big time." He murmurs. "The Crestmont is the heart of Ocean City. How can they just bulldoze it like it means nothing?"

"That's why..." Taehyung swallows. "That's why I came here. I thought maybe you guys could help me, and we could do something before they—"

"We?" You furrow your brows. "You want us to help stop them from tearing down the Crestmont?"

"I mean yeah, I guess? I figured you guys would understand how important it is—"

You bite your lip. Taehyung flinches when you place a hand on his knee. "Tae. It seems like they've already got it figured out I mean...what can we do about it? The Crestmont has had a long run and maybe it's time for something new in Ocean City..."

"Y/N?" Jungkook warns, but there's a betrayal in his voice. How could you say that? It pains you, but you continue anyway. "What are you saying?"

"I just...I think it's time to let the Crestmont go."

Taehyung stands up so abruptly his mug smashes onto the marble tile.

"How could you?" He roars, but his bottom lip trembles. "The Crestmont is mom's place! It's all we have left of her in that fucking town and you want to just let them burn it to the ground?"

You tut, kneeling to pick up the broken pieces of china with a sharp glance at your brother. "For goodness sake, Taehyung. Mom isn't there anymore. She never was. She was always running off with some roadies and leaving us behind because she thought she was something special."

Taehyung scoffs. "What? Just like you?" He grabs the cocoa sodden script, crumpling it up in his shaking fist. "You are exactly the same as her. Running off to New York and leaving me behind to get your big break."

Jungkook steps forward warily. "Taehyung, you don't mean that—"

"Yes I do! If Y/N had just gotten in the car that day she wouldn't have died. It was all her fault. And now she's just gonna let them take what we have left of her."

"What?" Jungkook blinks.

Your stomach sinks. Is that really what Taehyung thinks? You wouldn't blame him. Deep down, his words strike a nerve. Because you know they're true.

Taehyung's eyes are hazy, unfocused. You reach for him dizzily, but he backs away into the hall.

"I shouldn't have come here." Taehyung whispers. He looks between you and Jungkook one last time before he's grabbing his coat and running down the steps to the first floor.

"Taehyung, wait!" You hear Jungkook's footsteps follow him out into the stairwell, but you're trapped on the ground, heaving for air.

Your hands shake as you pull yourself up to the window pane and watch Taehyung disappear into the gloom of the city, the sorrowful raindrops that lash against the glass mirroring the ones on your cheeks.

YOU: Taehyung??? YOU: [CALL IGNORED] YOU: please Tae YOU: can we at least talk about this? YOU: we're worried about you

It's been nearly 12 hours since you watched Taehyung disappear among the hustle and bustle of New York from your apartment window.

You and Jungkook were out all night searching for him. By the time you gave up the sun was rising and the birds were chirping and Jungkook somehow convinced your shivering form to return home to rest with a Taehyung shaped hole in your heart.

"It'll be okay. He'll be okay. He always is."

A phone call to your dad revealed he hadn't returned home that night; so where did he go exactly?

The weight of that question sits heavy in your chest as you sit backstage at the theatre, staring into your own vacant eyes in the dressing room mirror.

It's opening night. The show is due to start in fifteen minutes. Your lips are painted a deep shade of red, hair backcombed to perfection by one of the makeup artists. Beneath the harsh lights of the exposed bulbs that line the mirror, you look almost unrecognisable.

Confident, strong, successful.

Anyone would say your dreams had come true, or something sappy to that effect. But even as you sit among the hustle and bustle of the costume team and breathe in the fragrance of perfume and powder blush, you couldn't feel further away from the New York version of yourself if you tried.

Staring back at you is a reflection of the shy, terrified girl from Ocean City you worked so hard to forget. Yet here she is, mind whirring with worries for her brother instead of the lines she should be rehearsing to death before curtain call.

This should be your big moment. One which you will remember forever. But all you want to do right now is hold Taehyung close like you used to and tell him you're sorry and that you won't leave him again.

"Y/N!" You're snapped out of your thoughts by a familiar hand on your shoulder. You cover it with your own, instantly eased somewhat when you glance up and lock eyes with Jungkook in the mirror.

"Y/N, I found him."

"What?!" You jump to your feet, chair scraping obscenely. It draws the eyes of the people around you who quickly register Jungkook's polite smile as their cue to shuffle out of the dressing room and leave you two to talk. "Where is he? I need to talk to him—"

"He's not coming."

"What?"

Jungkook sinks into the chair beside you, forehead creased. He runs a hand through his hair and momentarily you catch a glimpse of the old Jungkook. The Jungkook that always took care of his best friend Taehyung.

"I...I gave him a ticket for the show tonight and told him to come. To see how much this really means to you...but—"

Your finger nails press half moons into your palms. "But what, Kook?"

"He was already leaving for Ocean City."

A sob wracks your frame. "Do you think he hates me?"

Jungkook's arms engulf you before the first tear can roll down your cheek, his chin tucking perfectly into the cleft of your shoulder. "Of course not, he's just...he's hurting right now."

"I can't lose him — not like this, Kook..."

"Shh. It'll all be okay."

You jump back and start to pace. "But it's not okay! What he said last night is true!"

Jungkook sucks in a breath. "What?"

Your knees buckle and you crumple. You can hardly breathe, shame washing over you as you admit the truth for the first time.

"I caused the accident! I'm the reason my mom's...she's..."

Jungkook wraps his arm around your shoulder, voice soothing. "What are you talking about?"

"The night of the accident she got a call from some big buck director. She was cast in this huge movie. Her big break." You're speaking to fast, but Jungkook nods to tell you he's listening.

"So she told Taehyung and I we were leaving for New York that night. And we were packing our bags before my dad got home and...and I said I wasn't coming. I didn't wanna leave Ocean City behind."

"I kicked and cried and said I didn't want to go, so her and Taehyung took off by themselves and that's when they got into the crash. She was upset and going too fast. It was all because of me." You start to sob. You've never admitted this to anyone before. Not even yourself. It tears your heart in two to say it out loud. "I'm the reason Taehyung's broken."

"You can't think like that." Jungkook clasps your face in his hands, thumb wiping away a stray tear. He looks scared, but his voice stays calm and convincing. "What happened was an accident. You were a kid. None of this is your fault."

"That's why Taehyung must hate me so much." You choke. "I'm doing what mom always wanted to, but she never had the chance because of me."

"Y/N?" A crew member steps into the room awkwardly with a cough. "I'm sorry to interrupt but the show is about to start. The audience is getting restless."

"Go. I'll take care of Taehyung, okay?" Jungkook pulls you to your feet, engulfing you in a final hug before he pushes you towards the stage entrance at the small of your back. "You're needed out there. Show them what you're made of."

Your eyes widen. This can't be happening. Not now.

"I...I can't."

"You can." Jungkook grabs your face and captures your lips, hard. It tastes salty with tears. "You're my star remember?"

"I love you." You whisper when you pull back, fingers reaching for him weakly as a costume designer hurries you towards the door.

"I love you too." Jungkook calls. His smile is the last thing you see before the door slams shut and there's no going back. "Now go break a leg, pretty!"

Particles of dust float in and out of your vision beneath the blinding stage lights.

Everything feels different from side stage. Your heart races as you press your ear to the velvet curtain separating you from the world, listening to the hubbub of laughing children and chattering adults filtering into the theatre. You imagine them taking their seats, buying icecream from the vendors, alive with anticipation.

The lights dim. You hear the director behind you, shouting something about places please! but it's like you're underwater, limbs weighted as you move like a ghost to your position for the opening number.

Your palms are clammy and you wipe them on your dress.

Show starting in 5...

Your legs turn to jelly. You close your eyes and try to calm your racing thoughts.

4...

Taehyung. Is he okay? Why didn't he come tonight?

3...

Shit! What was your opening line again? Goddamnit, Y/N, think!

2...

Mom. Would she be proud?

1...

You open your eyes.

The curtain is gone, and a pair of hands pushes you out into the harsh white spotlight. You shield your eyes with your fingers, heart dropping when you look up and find hundreds of eyes staring. Staring right at you.

It's like you're on the edge of a cliff, about to dive into the cool water below. Or fall.

Everything starts to blur. You're a teenager again, stood on the stage at the Crestmont. Panic rises like bile in your throat, and you don't know whether to scream or to run.

Run. Run. Run.

Your mouth opens, then closes. There's an awkward cough from the audience. Words run your mind in circles, but none of them are right, and before they can reach your lips they evaporate on your tongue.

Your panicked eyes roam the sea of seats that zoom in and out of focus. Your knees buckle, and you're sure you are going to pass out right here in front of everyone, but then your eyes meet a familiar pair of brown ones that makes the room stop spinning for a moment.

Jungkook. He's smiling at you, fingers crossed in his lap. There's not a trace of nerves in his gaze as he nods for you to go ahead.

I believe in you.

Just then the door to the theatre flies open and every head in the audience turns towards the darkly clothed figure shuffling through the aisles, mumbling sorry's and excuse me's until he reaches the empty seat beside your boyfriend.

He lets down his hood, shakes free a head of blonde hair that's still damp from the rain. He's out of breath, like he ran here.

Taehyung.

Your brother looks up at you, frozen in place, and his eyes soften. He flashes you a thumbs up and his lips curl around the four words you needed to hear.

You can do this.

And just like that, the panic disappears. The words come flooding back, and your body flies into action, moving across the stage

You forget all about the fear, and the anxiety, and Taehyung and the Crestmont. For now it's just you and the stage, together in harmony.

And you've never felt more alive than when you take your final bow and the crowd roars to life, just like you always imagined it would.

Your jaw hurts from smiling, and before you know it you're crying. Because when you squint against the theatre lights, you see Taehyung and Jungkook in the front row, holding each other and shouting your name.

Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!

"Hey! Be careful!"

The bouquet of congratulatory geraniums cradled in your arms gets crushed between your body and your brother's. He practically tackled you as soon as you entered the dressing room, carried on the cheering shoulders of the other cast and crew members.

"Holy shit." Taehyung holds you at arms length. His eyes are ringed red around the edges. "You were amazing, Y/N."

"You really think so?" Tears start to well and you're so happy to see him that you throw your arms around his waist. "I'm so glad you came, Tae."

"Yeah. You were just like her." He smiles. "Just like mom."

You share a small, sad smile. You've heard those words all your life but it feels different when it comes from Taehyung.

Jungkook pops his head into the room. He catches your eye over Taehyung's shoulder, and flashes you a small smile when he sees you cradling him in your arms.

Talk to him. He mouths, and you're suddenly reminded of why Taehyung came here in the first place.

"Hey listen—"

"Taehyung—"

You both start to talk, bursting into easy laughter when the other stops, seemingly hit with the same idea at the same time.

"You go first." You smile, encouragingly.

"Okay." He pulls you over to the couch. "I'm just...I'm sorry for storming out last night. I shouldn't have come here and expected you to help me—"

"No, stop. I'm sorry." You place a hand over his. "I want to help." You hold an arm out to Jungkook, who crosses the room and slides his hand into yours. "We want to help. We want to save the Crestmont."

Taehyung's eyes bulge. His voice drops to a whisper. "Really?"

"You were right. The Crestmont was mom's place."

You think about how it felt to be out there on the stage, in front of a crowd cheering your name. The excitement, the exhilaration. Your first stage.

The Crestmont is your mom's first stage. It's where she felt those same emotions for the first time. You can't let it be demolished. Not for anything.

"She deserves a legacy. We can't let them tear it down. I don't know how yet, but we'll save it."

"Thank you." A tear streaks his cheek, and his arms pull you and Jungkook into a tight bear hug.

"Thank you. For showing me what really matters, Tae." You whisper. "Let's do this together, okay?"

"For mom."

Taehyung holds out his pinky finger, and you link yours with his.

"For mom."

Where things go wrong.

Six months later.

Every second that passes is marked by a deafening tick from the kitchen clock.

Jungkook was supposed to be home 10 minutes ago. You're sat alone at the dinner table, a carefully presented meal for two spread across your mom's old polka dot table cloth. You even lit candles.

With a sigh you drop your chin into your hand, absentmindedly pushing your spaghetti around the dish while your eyes remain trained to the front door that will open any moment.

To be honest, it's been months since you and Jungkook shared a meal together. He spends most of his nights in his office, hunched over his laptop staring at the blinking cursor on some script he'll never finish. And ever since Jungkook's big script got rejected and he fell into a slump of no work, he had to get a job at a local convenience store all day for some spare cash to get you through the month.

You know he hates it. He hates the rude customers and how he can never shower the smell of grease out of his hair.

You know the bickering that turned into arguing that turned into fighting was just a result of his restless aggravation at being shot down too many times. Of watching his dream slip right through his fingers.

But you haven't exactly been as understanding as you should have been. You're overworked too, with the play, and The Crestmont, and you hate how easy it was to accept sleeping apart and missing dinner dates.

So you texted him to tell him you were making dinner tonight. A cease fire of sorts, or maybe just a feeble attempt at glueing back together the cracks that have appeared between you recently with pasta sauce and meatballs.

But he's late. Again.

And it makes you wonder whether there was any point in trying.

"Y/N?"

A gravelly voice jolts you out of your thoughts. Keys jangle onto the counter, shoes are slipped from feet and thrown into the storage cupboard with the creaky door.

"I'm in here." Your voice sounds meek, but you straighten and muster up a smile. To show at least one of you is making an effort.

Jungkook appears in the doorway, clad in his ugly traffic cone orange uniform. His shoulders are slumped, bangs limply stuck to his forehead. He looks tired, exhausted.

"What's all this?" He nods disinterestedly towards your untouched homemade buffet before heading to the sink to fix himself a glass of water.

"Dinner." You cough. He stiffens. "Remember?"

"Oh." He scratches the back of his neck. His eyes flash with something close to guilt momentarily, but then he smoothes it out. "Yeah. Dinner."

"It's okay, you're not too late. We can just heat this up in the microwave—"

"I already ate, Y/N." The glass in his hand slams onto the counter a little too loudly. "At the store."

You can't hide the way your face drops.

"Please." You whisper. "For me?"

Jungkook stares at you for a few seconds, unblinking, before he exhales shakily and pulls out the seat opposite you.

"What's on the menu?" He asks, hands already grabbing for the bottle of red wine in the middle of the table without so much as a glance at the food you worked so hard to prepare.

"Pasta."

"Right."

An uncomfortable silence settles. Jungkook nibbles at a meatball, and you suddenly feel too sick to the stomach to keep anything down.

You jump when Jungkook's fork clatters to the table. He wipes pasta sauce from the corners of his mouth with a napkin and you're sure you can see a slight tremor in his grasp.

"There's something I need to tell you."

His words ring out into the deafening silence that shrouds the apartment. You train your eyes to the candle in the middle of the table that flickers back and forth and carefully place down your own cutlery.

"Should I be worried?"

"No...I mean, I don't know. Maybe." Jungkook waves his hands around and when his eyes meet yours they're distant. Like the table that separates you spans oceans. "Just promise not to freak out."

"I'm not promising anything. Why are you looking at me like that?"

He shifts and the cheap flat pack dining chairs you bought when you moved in creak like they always do. "I...I got a movie deal. They loved the script I told them I've been working on and they want me to direct it."

Your heart fills with something sweet; pride. Even despite your downs recently this is still incredible news. You knew your boyfriend should be ecstatic...so why is he staring intently at the table cloth like it killed his whole family? "That's awesome, Kook. So what's the problem?"

"I gave them a different script."

Something shifts in the air. You hold your breath.

"Huh?"

"The script. The one you told me to burn before we came to New York. The one about you...your life."

Your blood runs cold and it's like your frozen. Just searching through the never ending blackness behind Jungkook's eyes that fails to falter, no matter how hard you pinch your inner thigh and hope you're about to wake up from a bad dream.

"You wouldn't." Your voice sounds strained and Jungkook doesn't even flinch. "You...I don't believe you."

"I'm sorry." He runs an exasperated hand through his hair. "It's just that they hated the first one and I wanted this deal so bad. It's a once in a lifetime chance Y/N, don't you see?"

The boy staring back at you isn't the sweet and sensitive Jungkook from Ocean City or the strong and passionate man from New York. His words get all mixed up in your head as you repeat them over and over and it's as if you don't even know him at all. All you can feel now is betrayal. And just like that all the anger that has been building inside you for months explodes.

"So my life is just a fucking plot for one of your indie movies, Jungkook?"

"It's always your life isn't it? Never mine." He slams his hands on the table hard enough to make your insides shake. "Ever since we came to New York I've supported you, sat back and watched as you achieved all your dreams. And it hurts, Y/N. To come home from my dead end job, and write another goddamn script that nobody wants to even read."

"I came to New York because of you!" You don't even realise you're crying until you taste the hot salty tears that won't seem to stop. "I came here so you could make it big! You're the one who encouraged me to audition for the play in the first place!"

"God, are you really that naive? Don't you see? I came to New York because I saw how much it meant to you." Jungkook lowers his voice, and there's something in his words that makes your heart twist. Pain. His eyes look watery and you long to reach out for him. Like the skin on skin contact will somehow make all of this okay. "And not once have you ever considered how it might feel for me to sit back in your shadow."

"So that's what this is? Jealousy?" You shake your head and get up from the table and turn to leave, but Jungkook grasps your wrist.

"Why can't you be happy for me?"

"I am happy for you Jungkook. And I always will be." Your heart softens and you're reminded of the boyfriend you know. The boyfriend you love. You want to believe he's in there somewhere so you place your hand over his, and for a second he looks hopeful. "But this was never your story to tell. That's what hurts."

He drops your arm, gaze cold and distant. "Then I guess that's it then."

"What?"

The room starts to spin.

"If you can't accept my decision to go ahead with the project then I guess we can't do this anymore."

"This?" You whisper.

"Us."

"Jungkook...Are you saying we're over?"

He drops his head into his hands and lets out a sigh. "Maybe. I don't know."

"You don't know?" You chuckle but it's hollow, empty. "You don't know if you love me any more?"

Jungkook's face drops and he lurches towards you, but you step back.

"No, shit Y/N I didn't mean it like that!" He looks scared. "I was just angry and it slipped out."

"Don't." His arms reach for you again but the brush of his fingertips feels scalding hot, wrong. "Don't fucking touch me."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't lie to me Jungkook." Your vision is blurred with tears as you rip open the closet and yank out a suitcase. "You're not sorry. I was never your muse. I was just a stepping stool to the top."

"Where are you going?" Jungkook's crying now too. It comes out as a sob.

"Home." You say as you rip open your shared closet door and start throwing your things into the case. "I'm going home. Where I belong."

"I can't lose you like this. Please." He reaches for your wrist again but you're already half way to the door.

"Too late." You say. "I'm going home. And I'm never coming back."

The familiar scent of burned popcorn and candyfloss soothes you as you creep through the backdoor of the Crestmont. It always had a broken hinge which opened just enough for a body to squeeze through. Seems not a lot has changed since you left Ocean City.

It's dark inside. Silent too, without the popcorn machine running and the movie trailers playing on LED screens. You don't know what you expected. It's gone midnight by the time you get back to Ocean City, but you don't want to go home just yet.

Comfort washes over you as you run your fingers over the gilded edges of the counter, and slip beneath the hatch on auto pilot. It feels strange to be back here without the starched shirt and bow tie you used to hate. You've swapped out worn sneakers for heels that click against the tiles and you've performed on stages for crowd's bigger than the Crestmont's but here and now, you feel like yourself. Even though everything in your life has changed, you're still the same small town girl underneath it all.

Without thinking your legs carry you to the wall of fame. The faces smile up at you, like they're saying welcome back.

"Hey mom," You whisper, stopping momentarily in front of her portrait. You stared at it for so long as a kid that you have every detail committed to memory but seeing it up this close makes your breath hitch. "It's me."

With a sigh you force yourself past into the hall. Your hands tremble as you push open the door to the theatre. It's just how you remember it, sparkling gold and red velvet and mystery. But there's yellow tape strung up across all the seats and a sign has been propped up on the stage, red glaring letters burning a hole in your heart as you read them.

DANGER. DUE FOR DEMOLISHMENT. STAY AWAY.

All you can do is let your legs buckle, back sliding down the wall as you hug your knees to your chest and let out a throaty sob that echoes from the high ceiling.

When did everything go so wrong? You must be cursed. Everything you touch gets destroyed.

"Y/N?"

The lights flicker on, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. You wipe your tears, but that doesn't stop them from coming.

"Over here."

Your voice is small but a few seconds later Taehyung's face appears from behind one of the velvet seats. His eyes soften when he sees you curled up in the corner.

"What are you doing down here?" He clambers over the seat to join you, his long legs folded awkwardly in the small space.

"Having a one man party." You snort and point to your tear stained cheeks.

"Are you okay?" His hand covers yours and the contact makes you jump.

"Yes..." You sniff. He raises a brow. "No. Jungkook broke up with me."

Taehyung chokes. "What?!"

"I mean, we fought and then he...he said we were over." Your heart stabs painfully but you shrug. "So I came here. Didn't know where else to go."

He places an encouraging hand on your shoulder. "Listen...I know I haven't always been there for you when I should've. Hell, you always took care of me and I never even asked how you were doing." He offers a small smile. "But I'm here now. And you can tell me anything. If...if you want to."

A few seconds tick by in silence. You try to form a sentence but everything just comes back to the same three words.

"I miss mom." You blurt.

It echoes through the theatre, and you can practically hear the mermaids and the cupids painted on the ceiling gasp. It surprises you too, the combination of grief and relief that washes over you at finally admitting it.

"I know." Taehyung pulls you into his chest, lips whispering against your hair as you let out a sob and it's like all the sadness and denial is rushing out of you like a faucet, filling the whole room up like a water tank. You're terrified of the moment it gets too full, and you stop being able to breathe. "But you're a lot like her, y'know."

"That's exactly the problem!" Your words come out as a yell and it makes you both jump. "Everyone always says I look like her, I talk like her, I act like her. And I hated it for the longest time because I hated her for leaving us!"

"But without even realising it I became her, Tae. I did what I always said I wouldn't and became selfish. I hurt you, and Jungkook and even the Crestmont."

"That's not true."

"It is! And the worst part is I don't even hate her any more. I need her. To hold me, and tell me it's going to be alright. But she isn't here!"

"What does this have to do with Jungkook?"

"Jungkook wrote a script. A long time ago. About mom. And you and I. And everything that happened." You swallow, Taehyung's eyebrow raises though he doesn't look at all surprised by this information, nor as horrified as you that a record of your bleak shortcomings exists for anyone to read. "He got a movie deal. That's why we fought."

Taehyung hums. "You don't want him to make the movie?"

"It's not that I...I want to be happy for him. But I can't." You choke. "It's too painful. Remembering."

Accepting.

"When I said you were a lot like mom, I meant that you are headstrong." Taehyung pauses. "I felt that way once too. Like I hated mom and the goddamn world for taking her too soon. But in the end, the only person I hated was myself. Like however hard I tried I could never get over her, and all the pain I was pushing down into a dark place kept taunting me through the nightmares." He shivers, and you grip his hand tighter. "But one day I realised I don't have to be afraid of that pain any more. That pain is a part of me. But that doesn't mean I have to let it win."

"So what did you do?"

"I let myself feel it . I faced it. The only way I could let mom go was to stop running away." He pats your shoulder. "You need to set the girl in that script free, so you can move on."

And just like that, you're swimming...up, up, up, until you reach the surface of the water tank and you can take a heaving breath for the first time.

You throw your arms around his neck. It feels weird to hug him like this, but it's nice. "I missed you, Tae. Thank you.”

"I didn't do anything." He says. "The strength is inside you, you just need to find it. Just like you need to stop holding on to the past and let the new you shine for once."

You shake your head. "I need to talk to Jungkook. I don't know why I stormed off like that and..." You trail off. "Wait, how did you know I was here?"

Taehyung grins. "I didn't. I got called in to sort some paperwork and I noticed the back door ajar. Good thing it was you and not some crazy with a baseball bat, right?"

"At this time?" You nod to his still pyjama clad state. "Is it important?"

"Y/N," He laughs lightly. There's excitement shining in his eyes. "Someone just bought the Crestmont."

You scramble to your knees. "What?"

"We're staying open, and I get to keep my job."

And then you're hugging again, and laughing and crying because the Crestmont is going to be okay. You're going to be okay.

"That's incredible, Tae! Who is it? Who bought the Crestmont?"

"I don't know, it was an anonymous transaction. But the guy said he would be here...." He glances at his wrist watch, and as he does, the door creaks open. "Around now."

"Hello? Anyone here?" A familiar voice calls out.

"Jungkook?" Both of your jaws drop as you poke up from behind the seats. Sure enough your heart flutters when you see him, all wind swept and out of breath like he ran here.

"I thought you might be here." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "Can we talk?"

The car ride to the pier was mostly silent. Jungkook borrowed his dad's old beat up truck -- it was that or his old bike with the pegs on the back -- and it still smelled like leather and petrol like it used to.

Everything about Ocean City is the same as you remember it. The pier stands strong atop the rocky sand, sea air deliciously fresh as it fills your lungs. The rolling waves shimmer like gold dust below the wisps of pink clouds that greet the rising sun. The beach is a peaceful view at this time. No tourists, all of yesterdays sandcastles swallowed by the sea spray. It took a couple hours to work through the paperwork so by now it's early morning — 5:30am according to your phone lockscreen.

It's chilly, and your skin is covered with goose bumps even despite Jungkook's suede jacket wrapped loosely around your shoulders. But you don't mind.

You've missed this. You've missed Ocean City.

"No ice cream, I'm afraid." The breeze ruffles Jungkook's hair as he emerges from the fairground and settles beside you with his legs poking through the rails. He flashes you an apologetic smile. "I guess the parlour doesn't open until 9..."

You feel a pang in your chest. Being here is like a serious case of deja vu. Countless hours spent in this very spot, eating vanilla scoops with rainbow sprinkles beside Jungkook used to be so normal. When did you grow so far apart that you're surprised he even remembers?

"Jungkook..." You swallow hard when you meet his eyes, hands longing to reach out and stroke the stream of sunrise on his cheek that makes his dark eyes sparkle. "We...we need to talk. About everything."

There's a moment of silence filled only by the calls of seagulls greeting the morning before he speaks. "I sold the script."

He sounds nervous. Like he's not quite sure what your reaction will be.

You swallow. "And you used the money to buy the Crestmont?"

"Yeah." He says matter of factly, scratching a phantom itch at his nape. "I guess I did."

"Why?" Your voice is small.

"I can't loose you, Y/N." He murmurs. "Just like you can't loose your mom. The Crestmont was her everything. But you are mine. And loosing the Crestmont would be loosing a piece of you, and I couldn't stand that."

The breeze ruffles his hair as he reaches for your hand and links your fingers and squeezes hard. You don't make any move to stop him. You know what it means, so you squeeze back and return the sentiment. I'm sorry.

Before you can stop yourself you lurch forward, arms curling around his neck and it's like coming home. His hands pull you flush to his chest, hearts beating in sync and you know everything is going to be okay now.

"Thank you." You whisper against his nape. A tear rolls down your cheek and soaks into his collar and before you know it you're blubbering. "Thank you so much, Kook."

"You aren't mad?" His voice is muffled but you can hear the quirk of his brow.

"Mad? No..no..." You lean back and wipe your eyes with your sleeve. "But what about the movie? And your dream to be a director and--"

Jungkook grabs your shoulders. His own eyes are glassy as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

"That was never what mattered to me, Y/N. Not even a little bit. There's one reason I went to New York and it's the same reason I came back to Ocean City tonight. You."

"But--"

"No but's. As long as we're together, I'm already living my dream." His lips turn up into a smile, his eyes tracing your face like it's the first time and he can't get enough. "And I never ever want to wake up."

You shift in your spot to face him properly for the first time, and emotion hits you like a tidal wave. It's like all of a sudden you realize how stupid you've been; to fight with the man before you, a man who only knows kindness, about the trivial when the things that mattered the most were always right here, in front of you. The things that mattered most were always in Ocean City.

You brace your hands on his shoulders and lean up so your lips are inches apart. His eyes fall shut naturally, and you can't help but laugh with what you can only describe as one thing: happiness.

"I love you." You whisper against his lips. A warm palm cups your jaw and closes the distance between them and you're almost too lost in the way Jungkook's kiss takes your breath away to hear his response.

"I love you too."

"Sooo..." You bite your lip with a coy smile when Jungkook pulls away, the blush upon his cheeks scarlet beneath the sun which is rapidly rising. "I take it we're no longer broken up?"

"Well duh," He swats you playfully. "You think I'd do all this just to dump your ass?"

"Hey!" You pout. "I dumped your ass."

Jungkook shakes his head with a laugh.

"Besides," He glances out over the horizon nonchalantly and shrugs. "I'm gonna need help if I'm gonna start my own film company and run the Crestmont."

Your jaw drops. "A what now?"

"A film company." He explains. "A different type of film company, right here in Ocean City. For the outcasts like me who have a vision that even the biggest names in New York can't see yet." He smiles, so big and bright it makes your heart leap. "I'm gonna show them, Y/N. And everything I need to do it is right here in Ocean City."

"I know you will. I never doubted you for a second." You take his hand and link your fingers, squeezing hard. "And you bet your ass I'll be front row to watch each and every one, Jeon Jungkook."

Epilogue.

"Just keep your eyes shut!"

"I already know where we're going, so why can't I look?" You laugh, attempting and failing to tug Jungkook's interlocked fingers away from your eyes.

"Shush, it's a surprise! Just roll with it."

A surprise. That's what Jungkook said earlier too when he woke you up at the crack of dawn by throwing a dress at your head and telling you to meet him outside in the truck in 10 minutes or else.

By the time you pulled up into the familiar parking lot of your not-so-mysterious destination, the sky was already aflame with the glow of morning skimming the horizon, and Jungkook practically leapt out of the truck, palms unusually sweaty as he grasped your hand and pulled you towards the path quicker than your feet could carry you.

"What's the hurry, Kook?" You get out between heavy breaths, quads burning as the path gets steeper beneath your feet.

Come to think of it, your boyfriend has been acting strangely all week. Like hiding things behind his back when you walk into a room or talking in hushed whispers on the phone to Taehyung when he thought you were sleeping.

"You'll see." The path levels out and you stop. Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist, chin tucked into the cleft of your shoulder like a perfect puzzle piece. "Okay. Now you can look."

You round the corner, heart racing when your eyes flutter open and your vision is filled with a sea of yellow flowers. Your place.

The meadow is just how you left it, tall grass and sunny blooms dancing beneath the rays of morning sun peeking out from between the clouds. A warmth spreads through your chest and you both laugh when Gureum lets out an excited yelp, before bounding off between the stems playfully.

"I think the little guy wants us to follow him." Jungkook raises a brow and throws you a knowing shrug.

Excitement flutters in your stomach like a butterfly trapped between cupped palms. "How could I refuse?"

Fingers interlinked, you part the sunflowers and jog after the ball off fluff bouncing across the meadow, the breeze cool and forgiving as it ruffles the strands of hair that billow behind you.

Eventually you reach the clearing, and Gureum wags his tail at you proudly when you stoop down to scratch him behind his ears.

The sun reflects in Jungkook's eyes, turning them a warm golden brown. "Turn around."

You spin on your heels with a questioning glance. "Why?" That's when you see it. The spot where everything began. The tree where Jungkook kissed you all those years ago has bloomed with fragrant blossoms, and twinkle lights glow like tiny stars around it's branches. A blanket is laid out in the sun flecked shade beneath it, littered with feather cushions and lanterns and a trail of sunflower petals that begin at your feet.

"You did this?" You take his chin in your palms, face beaming despite the tears that have started to blur your vision. "Oh, Kook."

"Surprise." He smiles knowingly, grabbing you from behind and spinning you round and round until you both land with a soft thump in the middle of the outdoor cushion fort. "You haven't even seen the best part yet." He says with a nod to his right.

It's then that you notice the white sheet that's strung up a couple meters away between the trunks of two trees, Jungkook's vintage projector set up in front of it.

"What is this?" You ask, bewilderment evident in your voice.

"Gureum, would you do the honours?" Jungkook chuckles, extending a finger to point at a remote that your puppy obediently picks up with his teeth and drops into your lap with a wag of his tail.

Jungkook tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and takes a deep breath, like he's been waiting for this moment for a long time. "Go ahead. Press play and find out."

Your head shakes fondly, but your fingers tremble with anticipation as they find the PLAY button. You press it and the projector starts turning, a light flicking on at the top that makes a grainy image appear on the sheet.

The first scene is you. A teenager, dancing through the sunflower field, laughter spilling from your lips. The first time you hung out. And then it switches. You, again. Cleaning up a spill at the Crestmont, unaware of the camera. You. Paint in your hair as Jungkook chases you around the apartment in New York. You. Tears in your eyes as you hold baby Gureum for the first time. You. Asleep on Jungkook's shoulder on the subway, the camera panning to his face which lights up in a big grin, lips mouthing three words.

I love you.

Tears are hot on your cheeks, laughing as you remember the good moments and the bad, the funny and the sad, all immortalized forever through Jungkook's eyes.

The film fades out, and you throw your arms around your boyfriends neck. He chuckles when you tackle him to the ground, throwing a leg over his lap so that you can lean down and capture his lips between yours in a kiss that says all the words you want to say but you don't know how to. I love you too.

"I take it you liked it, then?" Jungkook says coyly, thumb stroking your cheek.

"It was beautiful Jungkook." You place your hand over his. "Now I know why you're always goddamn filming me."

"What can I say? You're my muse."

"Shut up." You punch him playfully. "You're gonna make me blush."

It's Jungkook's cheeks that flush pink. "Actually..." He starts to sit up, fumbling around in his back pocket. "There's something else."

"Oh?"

He clears his throat. "The first time we came to this place I knew I loved you. Back then, I said I wanted to show you what I found most beautiful. And it was you. It's always been you." He takes your hand, grip tight. "When we met we were just kids with big dreams. We might be older now but heck -- I still don't know what I'm doing. All I know is dreams come and go but you never left. You always stayed by my side. Which is why I want to promise you something."

"What, Kook?" You manage to whisper. Your heart is beating a million miles a minute in your ears. Is this what you think it is?

Jungkook swallows hard, eyes boring into yours.

"That I'll go wherever you go. New York, across oceans, up mountains -- you name it. As long as we're together, everything will be okay. So that's why I wanted to ask..." His fingers tremble as he produces a tiny black box, flicking it open to reveal a ring that sparkles see through in the sun. "Y/N, will you marry me?"

"Oh Jungkook," You throw your arms around his neck, overcome with emotion now as you capture his lips with your own. "Of course I'll marry you. You didn't even have to ask."

He lets out a sigh of relief, and then he's spinning you around in circles until you're both dizzy with love and belly laughter.

"I love you." He whispers, eyes shiny. His hand gently grasps your wrist as he slides the ring onto your finger.

You've heard him say it a hundred times before, but this time it's different. This time it's forever. Your heart flutters.

"I love you too, Kook."

Where there are new beginnings

Ocean City is the same as it always was.

You wake up each morning to the distant crash or waves, and you fall asleep each night to the tinkling fairground music that makes your heart sing. Tourists come and go, flooding the casinos and eating churros on the beach.

The Crestmont is doing better than ever. Once Taehyung took over as owner, the theatre became the heart of the city, attracting visitors from near and far to see the renowned plays directed by none other than Jeon Jungkook, the most sought after playwright and filmographer in all of the East Coast.

And then there's you. Ever since you starred in one of Jungkook's plays, about a girl from a seaside city moving to New York with big dreams, there's been no shortage of movie deals and acting opportunities thrown your way.

But in the end, you always find yourself coming back to Ocean City.

Tonight the Crestmont reopens for business after some much needed renovations. Taehyung is throwing a party, and there will be plenty of big Hollywood faces attending to see the brand new theatre and the updated __.

But one thing will always remain the same. The picture of your mom hung in the gallery. Her big smile is the heart of the Crestmont, greeting each and every visitor with pride.

And in the empty frame at the end of the wall of fame, there's a new picture.

You. Smiling, with your hair over one shoulder, just how you imagined. And beside you is Jungkook, with his arm wrapped around your waist and Taehyung holding Gureum and making a silly peace sign behind your head.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

Okay so hi if you’re still here!! I decided to put this at the end because I didn’t wanna spoil the ending so please send love to @brekkiejeon !! They sent me the request for the ending of this fic all the way back in January and i’m trash and took like 7 months to finish writing it so i hope you enjoyed it even so lovely !!! <3 thank you for the request and sorry for the wait, this one really got me creative lol!

Also I’d like to dedicate the smut in this fic to @atastefulwonderland because I know you love some good ole JK loving!! Hehe, ily~~

Also lemme know if this was bad because I never usually give OC so much backstory because I want it to be as relatable to the reader as poss obvi but these characters wrote themselves lmao like i’m just the writer i had no control okay???? I just do what these mfkers say. LOL.

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my-unmanageable-mischief · 4 years ago

Text

New Norm

For the Anon who requested : Hey can I get a Sirius black x reader fic where their parents arrange their marriage.

Part 2

Trigger warning : Vomiting

Sirius Black x Reader

You were practically inconsolable. Sobbing deeply into your pillow as your mother rubbed your back, your grandmother was behind her standing in the doorway with her nose slightly in the air. She was never fond of you- a troublemaker since you could walk. The family disappointment. The moment you were sorted into Gryffindor you expected to be disowned. Your paternal grandparents took it hard, your father even harder, but your mother- a soft spoken and at her core, kind hearted woman, still loved you. You were her only daughter after all.

“This is no way for a young lady to behave.” Your grandmother tisked, and your mother looked over her shoulder, eyes pleading, “You’ve been given a gift greater then you deserve, to marry into the noble house of Black is a great honor.” That’s all she kept saying. How honorable it was, how lucky you were. You didn’t feel lucky. You choked slightly on your tears and your mother rubbed your back slightly harder.

“I don’t want to be married! Not to a Black, not to anyone!” You sobbed, punching your pillow before shoving your face into it and letting out a scream.

“Despicable.” Your grandmother scoffed. “You should be grateful, for a girl like you to marry a man like-”

“Mother.” Your mother spoke firmly, never raising her voice, “Give us some privacy please.” Your grandmother was displeased but she turned and walked swiftly from the room, allowing your door to slam shut behind her. It sounded like the lid of your coffin closing. Once you were alone your mother wrapped you in her arms, pulling you to her chest, allowing you to cry it out. When you were good and done and fully exhausted she pulled back looking at you.

“I am sorry.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?” You asked, voice pleading as you looked at the woman who was supposed to protect you. She smiled sadly, wiping the tears from your face with the sleeve of her robe.

“We’re not doing anything to you, my love. This truly is for your own benefit. A good husband with a good name will take you far in life. You know, your father and I had an arranged marriage. We turned out alright, and we had you- and all your lovely brothers. Good will come from this.” You wanted to argue with her. To tell her that your father was a bastard and that they didn’t turn out alright. Your eldest brother hadn’t spoken to your family since he graduated and your youngest brother was so brainwashed he had never had an original though in his life. Nothing about your family was fine. “Besides, your father has already set these plans in stone. This summer you are going to marry Sirius Black. That is final, my love.” Final. If the door was the lid to your coffin closing then those words were the nails keeping it shut.

“Okay,” You croaked.

“Wash up and come downstairs for dinner, we will talk more then.”

“Okay,” Your voice was broken and hoarse from your sobbing. “Will grandmother be there?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

On the other side of London Sirius Black was having a very similar and entirely different conversation with his own dotting parents. Much more screaming, and a lot less sobbing but the sentiment was the same. He did not want to be married. Not to you, not to anymore, especially not to someone his mother picked out for him.

“I’M NOT GETTING MARRIED!” He roared at his mother who threw another curse in his direction, Sirius dodged it.

“You will do as you’re told your ungrateful bastard! You bring shame on this family every single day, this is the least you can do!” She screamed back, his father sat in the parlor reading the Daily Prophet, ignoring them both.

“I haven’t even graduated! And you expect me to be married? To some bitch you’ve picked out for me?” His mother sneered.

“A bitch she is, perfect for you. I couldn’t get anyone worthy of the Black name, since you’ve disgraced yourself. You will be marrying Y/N Y/L/N. I think you’ll have more in common then you know, both pure-blooded family disappointments. The bottom of the barrel. You deserve each other. Maybe you’ll learn then.” He stopped when she said your name, surprised. He knew you, sure he did. A fellow Gryffindor a year below himself. He knew you were smart, and pretty and as far as he could tell, kind. Frankly, he didn’t even know you came from a pure-blooded family. When Sirius said no more his mother lowered her wand slightly, still sneering.

“Go to your room immediately and do not leave until you’re fetched. We will be dining at the Y/L/N’s house later this week to finalize the plans for the ceremony. You will be ready to go, and you will be on your best behavior. Or else.”

“Or else what?” Sirius muttered, moving towards the stairs.

“Or else your father will have to deal with you.” He wouldn’t admit it but that frightened Sirius to the bone. He and his mother could fight and yell their heads off for hours uninterrupted, but once his father got involved it ended swiftly and painfully. Sirius nodded once before stomping up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom, content to lock himself inside for the remainder of the week.

A week later you sat in your kitchen fidgeting awkwardly in a dress you would have never voluntarily worn. But your grandmother had bought it, and your mother insisted saying it was a gift and a kind gesture. You were convinced it wasn’t. A green light flashed from the next room over, where your grandfather and father were waiting for the Blacks to arrive, and you heard an unfamiliar voice going through introductions.

“Get up,” Your grandmother snapped at you, and you stood but didn’t move. “Go!” She barked out, “If you’re to be the lady of the house it’s high time you learned some manors. Go greet your guests.”

“Yes, grandmother.” You muttered, walking from the kitchen into the sitting room. You knew Sirius from school, mostly from the gossip of your dormmates- according to them he was a god and could do no wrong. You couldn’t deny he was fit and he and his mates were a laugh, but the Sirius you saw in your home was not the Sirius from Hogwarts. Gone was his usual laid back demeanor and it had been replaced with cold eyes and a painfully neural look. You were used to the rule breaking wild child you heard epic tails about. You were surprised he wasn’t brought here kicking and screaming. His parents looked just like him, and there was a younger boy with them, something with an R if you remembered correctly.

“Hello,” You greeted them, glancing at your father and grandfather sideways as you attempted to muster a smile- it came out more of a grimace. “Welcome to our home, Mrs. Black, Mr. Black. Sirius. R-erm...”

“Regulus.” The mother spoke curtly. You nodded.

“Regulus. Welcome.”

“Thank you child,” She was a stern looking woman with a voice that cut through your thin dress, chilling your bones. But the father was even worse. He barely spoke a word, only stared at you disapprovingly.

“Come to the dining room, dinner is ready,” You father offered, gesturing, the Blacks filed past him and you into the other room, Sirius glancing down at you and meeting your eye as we went. Dinner was awkward, the talk was strained and sparse. You ate your food quietly, keeping your eyes downcast and only speaking when directly addressed, which was rarely. You caught Sirius’s eye a few times during the meal and offered him a small shrug and halfhearted smile which he barely returned. At least you had one thing in common; your shared misery.

“The wedding will be in July,” Mrs. Black stated, and that got both of your attention, two heads turned.

“This summer? I’m-”

“Thrilled.” Your grandmother completed for you, sending you a chilling look. You swallowed thickly and looked back down at your lap for a moment as the conversation finally shifted to why you were all gathered.

“We can hold it here, if you’d like, in the yard.” Your mother offered, eyes misty with tears of joy at the idea. You were going to be sick.

“May I be excused to go to the loo?” You managed to choke out, everyone looked at you, and your mother nodded.

“Of course, dear, everything alright?”

“Fine,” You spoke but you were already out of your chair as you practically ran from the room. You heard your grandmother’s voice before you shut yourself into the bathroom.

“She’s just nervous, you remember how it was.” Nervous wasn’t the word you would use. Disgusted was more accurate. Destroyed. Completely and utterly devastated. You retched into the toilet, spilling the contents of your dinner you had forced down. When you were done you laid on the floor for a few minutes, trying to calm yourself.

“Sirius,” His mother pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yes?” He asked boredly, pushing his food around with his fork.

“Why don’t you go check on your fiance.” It wasn’t a suggestion as much as it was an order politely delivered for the sake of their company.

“I’m sure she didn’t fall in,” He responded dirly and his mother’s face darkened.

“Go. Now.” Sirius tossed his napkin down onto the table and glared back as he got up, following you in the direction you had went. He knocked on a door and opened it when no one responded and was met with a large office. Not the loo. He found another door and knocked sharply.

“Be out in a mo,” Your voice called weakly from inside, he frowned.

“It’s Sirius. I’ve been sent to make sure you’re not trying to escape through the pipes.” He joked lamely and listened to some shuffling on the other side of the door, when you opened it, it was from a seated position on the floor. He smirked slightly. “What are you doing down there?” He asked, stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him, “Alright?” You scooted back towards the toilet and shook your head going green.

“I think I’m going to be sick again, you might want to go,” You warned, gripping the toilet bowl with white knuckles. Sirius felt something for you in that moment- pity maybe. You seemed so young sitting on the floor of your bathroom, and that’s because you were.

“I’ve seen worse,” He assured, wincing as you began to heave into the basen. He came forward awkwardly, scooping your hair into his hands, trying to keep it out of your face. “You should see James after a bottle of firewhiskey.” You snorted out a laugh before retching again violently. When you were done you sat back and wiped your mouth and Sirius dropped your hair, going to the sink to get you a glass of water.

“Thank you,” You croaked, taking it and sipping it slowly, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s alright. Are you okay?” He asked, knowing the answer but wondering if you would grace him with honesty.

“No,” You whimpered, “This is all... too much.”

“Understandable,” He agreed, sitting on the bathroom floor beside you, “I am sorry. About this, the situation we have found ourselves in.” You shrugged meekly and continued to sip on the water.

“According to my grandmother marrying you is a blessing for a disgrace like me,” You spat the words, not looking at the boy. “Like I’m supposed to be grateful I’m marrying virtually a stranger. Like I’m supposed to be happy to be married right after I turn sixteen for Merlin’s sake.” He nodded sympathetically.

“Well trust me, being seventeen doesn’t make it much easier. And according to my mother this is my punishment for being the family fuck up, no offense.” You waved him off with a hand, “So at least we’ve got that in common.”

“What a wonderful thing to share.” You mused and he chuckled. There was another knock on the bathroom door before it opened your mother poking her head in. “Mum,” You greeted her, how long had you been gone?

“Y/N, are you alright?” She asked, coming fully into the bathroom eyes worried.

“I think I’m ill, must be grandmother’s cooking.” You quipped and Sirius hid his laugh behind a cough. Your mother looked at you sternly for a moment before her eyes went soft.

“Poor dear, come back to the table, say your goodnights and then go to bed, we can finish the planning without you, it’s not a worry.” You wanted to tell her you weren’t a part of the planning to start with but refrained.

“Yes, mum.” Sirius got up first and took the glass from your hand, setting it on the sink before offering you his hand, which you took, allowing him to pull you up. “Thank you,”

“Don’t mention it.” He assured and your mother led you both back to the dining room.

“Y/N isn’t feeling well,” She announced, and at the look of you no one could accuse you of lying, you were pale and clammy and still a bit green.

“My apologies, Mrs. Black, Mr. Black. I wish I could have been better company.” You didn’t. Mr. Black simply nodded and you while Mrs. Black managed to barely hide a sneer.

“Poor dear.” She stated drily, but you had an inkling that she could simply care less. “Feel better and worry not, your wedding will be taken care of, nothing for you fret over.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” You managed a weak smile at her which she did not reciprocate. Your mother ushered you off towards your bedroom and you managed to send Sirius a thankful glance over your shoulder as you went.

You took solace in the little things over the next month of wedding planning. Mainly, that your mother allowed you to choose your own wedding dress much to your grandmother’s dismay.

“It’s hideous.” She commented when you had brought it home.

“I think it’s lovely,” you answered smugly before being forced to sit through another lecure about how ungrateful you were. She was right, you weren’t grateful for the torture they were putting you through. Your birthday came and went with little fuss, the only gift you received came late at night by owl. You went to your window, letting in the unfamiliar owl, and taking the small simply wrapped parcel from his leg before opening the attached note.

Happy Birthday Y/N,

My mother said I should get you a gift for your birthday, and you’re lucky I talked her into letting me pick it out on my own, she’s got awful taste. You should see the dress robes she wanted me in for the wedding, even my father had to veto them. Anyroads, hope your birthday was good, happy sweet sixteen. Enjoy the wedding planning, I sure am. (Sarcasm if you didn’t pick up on it,). I will see you in a few weeks.

Sirius

You smiled at the kind words, thankful for them. You set the letter aside and opened the package genly, revealing a small jewelry box, you opened it and allowed yourself a small gasp. It was a simple gold chain with a small ruby pendant, Gryffindor colors. You smirked, knowing it was a direct disrespect of his parents to get you such a gift, it made you love it more. You put it on and looked at yourself in the mirror, touching the jewel gently.

The two weeks flew by sickenly fast and you found yourself laying in bed wide awake at three a.m. on your wedding eve. Your grandmother had denied your request to have some of your school friends attend, citing that there was no room on the guest list for half-bloods and blood traitors. When you finally slept, it was restless and you kept waking up, a pit in the bottom of your stomach. Finally, about the fifth time you woke up it was light enough outside that you could call it morning, so you dressed in a dressing gown and tiptoed downstairs.

Your house was spotless, covered in flowers and decoration even though the ceremony would be held outside. You snuck into the kitchen and snagged an apple before going to the window to look at the backyard. Every bush was meticulously manicured. Chairs were set up with a white runner between them, leading to an altar adorned in more flowers. It was a bit too frilly for your taste but it wasn’t bad. You ate your apple, staring out over the scene before you, trying to picture yourself walking down that aisle, Sirius at the other end. You shuddered.

“Y/N, you’re up early.” You turned to look at your mother and shrugged.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Too excited?”

“Something like that,” You murmured and your mother looked at you with pity.

“Come here dear child,” She offered you a hand and you came forward, taking it. She pulled you into a hug and you went limp in her arms. “It will be alright. I promise you.” You didn’t believe her but you still tried to seek comfort in her words. You found none.

“I don’t want to be married,” You whispered.

“I know, darling, but this is what is best for you, you must trust me.” You continued to cling to your mother like you were a little girl again. “You will return to Black manor after the wedding and I will miss you dearly.” You’d already had this conversation, this argument. “You will go to school, Sirius will graduate, and you will have a home of your own to return to by next summer. One more year of school for you and you’re done. You’ll be all set. A home, a husband, a life. It will be fine.”

“Right,” Fine.

You spent hours getting your hair and makeup done perfectly, all the while micromanaged by your grandmother who was in full force. If she couldn’t pick your dress out she was going to have a say in the rest of the ensemble. Finally, you were left alone for a few moments. You looked around at your bedroom, most of the important things already packed into a few trunks to be moved to Black manor. Your door opened and your father stood there, he was to give you away- literally and figuratively.

“It is time. Come.” You walked to him taking his offered arm. He led you through the home you had grown up in and you felt a swell of emotions within you that you did your best to suppress. He stopped at the doors to the garden and waited for the music to start. One of your cousins was a flower girl and she stepped out first, throwing more petals onto the runner as she went. You were next. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as your father covered your face with your veil. Another few seconds past and he began walking, taking you with him. It felt like a dream- or maybe it was a nightmare. Either way you didn’t feel like it was real. The guest list was small and intimate, which made it easier. You kept your eyes trained forward as you walked and they landed on your soon to be husband. He looked handsome, standing there in his black dress robes, a flower pinned to his chest. He was looking back at you, an unreadable expression on his aristocratic features.

You stopped just in front of him. Your father turned you towards him and lifted the veil again, leaning down to kiss your cheek with an emotionless face. This entire event was all for show, to fulfill some meaningless expectations that didn’t matter. He turned you back towards Sirius who offered you his hand, you took it, allowing yourself to move up to stand across from him. You didn’t listen to a word of the ceremony, only tuning in when your hand was squeezed.

“Do you, Sirius Black, take Y/N Y/L/N to be your wedded wife, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to her, for as long as you both shall live?” So many promises in such a fleeting moment for a union without any love. Sirius looked at you, holding your gaze.

“I do. I take you, Y/N, to be my wife from this day forward, to join with you and share with you all that is to come, and I promise to be faithful to you, to protect you, until death do us part.” He went off script. The script you had been forced to sit down and memorize for the last three weeks. What did you need protecting from?

Do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Sirius Black to be your wedded husband, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful only to him, for as long as you both shall live?” You felt your throat closing up with panic as you looked at the man-the boy in front of you. As long as you both shall live, you repeated to yourself. He squeezed your hand again and you took a deep breath.

“I-I do. I, Y/N, take you, Sirius, to be my wedded husband, with your faults and your strengths, as I offer myself to you with my faults and my strengths. I will help you when you need help, and turn to you when I need help. I choose you as the person with whom I will spend my life." As if it were a choice.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride. May Merlin bless this union.” Sirius took your other hand in his as well, so he was holding both in his. You never expected to be kissing your husband for the first time in front of a crowd of people- and you certainly didn’t expect the man in front of you to be Sirius Black. He leaned in and you fought to keep from pulling back. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, letting it linger for a moment as the guest applauded. When he pulled away he offered you a gentle smile which you returned.

The reception was dull, even with Sirius by your side and the several glasses of wine you managed to consume. You danced when you were ordered to dance, socialized when you were ordered to socialize and ate at the designated times. Pictures were taken and you couldn’t help but wonder how they would look tacked up on the wall of your future home. Together. It was a weird feeling, to think about a future with the man, but it was becoming slowly less unpleasant. Towards the end of the night, Mrs. Black approached the two of you, placing an iron grip on Sirius’s arm and you didn’t miss how his entire mood shifted.

“You will go inside, and floo home. There is more business to tend to here, for the adults. We will be home in an hour or so, you two will be in bed.”

“Alright,”

“Yes mother.” She corrected and he merely rolled his eyes at her. You began to panic. You were leaving? Now? You hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to your mother. Sirius lead you into your house, into the quiet stillness that was welcomed. You stopped just inside, putting a hand on his shoulder as you slipped off your heels, holding them in your hand offering him a slightly lopsided and halfhearted smile.

“I’ve been waiting to take these off all night,” You admitted, and he chuckled, offering you his arm as you walked through the house.

“I don’t blame you, I couldn’t imagine going through that torture with the added bonus of being on stilts.” You snorted and he gave you the first genuine smile of the evening.

“You’re cute when you do that.” Your cheeks burned as you entered the parlor where the fireplace was. Sirius helped you inside and took a handful of floo powder before announcing ‘Black manor’ and you were gone. Gone from your home you had grown up in, gone from your mother and your life and everything you were used to. You were now in an unfamiliar sitting room, surrounded by unfamiliar walls. Regulus sat on one of the sofas a book in hand.

“Congratulations to the happy couple,” He drawled.

“Shove it.” Sirius muttered, taking your hand and leading you from the room, up the stairs, and down the hall. He opened his bedroom door and ushered you inside. You looked around your husband’s room. You were hit with a wave of something. Sadness? It was the room of a boy, not a man, not a husband. A boy, because that’s what he was after all. Quidditch posters littered the walls, along with a grand Gryffindor banner that looked like it was stolen straight from the great hall- hell it probably was. Knick knacks and books and magazines littered his desk; at least he managed to put his laundry in the hamper.

“It’s not much but it’s home.”

“It’s lovely, very... you.” Sirius went to his bed, pulling a box out from underneath, opening it to reveal a full bottle of firewhiskey. “Shall we have a toast?” He asked hesitantly and your shoulders relaxed.

“God yes,” You breathed and he chuckled, opening it. You came to the bed, sitting down beside him. Sirius took a long swig from the bottle before handing it over to you, and you did the same.

“So... wife,” He started and you smirked slightly, handing the bottle back and watching him take another large gulp.

“Yes, husband?”

“Weird isn’t it?” He asked and you nodded, accepting the bottle when he handed it back.

“Really weird.”

“Bad?” He asked and you smiled slightly, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Could be worse. They could have married me off to a Malfoy.” He laughed at that. You continued to talk about anything besides the wedding, besides your future. You became more and more relaxed in his presence as you drank and finally got the chance to properly talk. You moved from sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed to lounging across it, you laying on your stomach and Sirius laying with his back against his pillows. You felt light and happy for the first time in a month. You two sat, giggling as Sirius recounted one of his finer pranks against Severus Snape. You snorted again, covering your mouth as you pictured the look on the slimy gits face.

“Have you always done that?” He asked and you quirked a brow at him.

“Done what?”

“Snort when you laugh, I never noticed it before.”

“I didn’t think you noticed anything about me before..” You admitted. Sirius nudged you.

“Course I did. Smart, funny, and pretty. You’re a trifecta my dear.” You felt yourself blush again, looking down at the half empty bottle between you.

“Thank you,” You murmured and he shrugged. You stifled a yawn as Sirius looked at you softly.

“Sleepy?”

“A bit.”

“We can go to bed.” He offered and you nodded. You looked around, suddenly aware that your trunks weren’t there in his room, they had probably been delivered downstairs, if they’d been delivered yet. Seeming to read your mind Sirius peeled himself from the bed, going over to his dresser. He took out a t-shirt of a muggle band you didn’t recognize and tossed it towards you. He went to another drawer and rooted around for a moment before coming up with a pair of boxers.

“These are old, they should fit you,” He stated, tossing them as well, you caught them, rosy cheeks. He pointed to the door that was slightly ajar, “Bathroom is in there,” You nodded, and climbed out of the bed, smoothing out your dress.

“Thank you.” You went into the bathroom and once you were changed you reemerged. The t-shirt was long on you, covering the boxers you were wearing. Sirius was lounging on the bed in a pair of sweatpants, shirtless. You averted your gaze, scratching the back of your neck. Sirius sat up, seeing you hesitate.

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” He asked and you shook your head, going to place your dress over the back of his desk chair.

“No, that’s alright.” You promised. He looked handsome basked in nothing but the light of the moon and the small oil lamp on his bedside table. You climbed into bed beside the boy and he pulled the covers over both of you, reaching over you to turn the lamp off. You flushed again with him so close to you. He moved away and you a moment past where you missed the proximity. Sirius laid back into his pillows, and you curled up on your side facing him. He turned his head and smiled at you.

“Goodnight, my wife.” He raised a hand, brushing a lock of your hair away from your face.

“Goodnight, Sirius.” He leaned over then, placing a small kiss on your cheek before settling back in with a large yawn. You remained curled up on your side until well after he had fallen asleep. You were exhausted but being surrounded by so much unfamiliarity you couldn’t sleep. Eventually you drifted off to the tune of your husband's light breathing. Your new norm.

#Harry Potter #Sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you

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shawn-mendes-post · 4 years ago

Text

Truth

A/n: This is part two of the new series. The first, part is called Broken Promises. Hope you like this chapter. I have a few ideas for the next and how I want her to meet Timothee again.

You stared at him, debating on if you should tell him the truth, knowing it will be painful. 'Talking could help me process how our relationship got to this point. It is also, Dyl, and he knows how to keep a secret,' you think, biting your lower lip, unsure. You start thinking about the rough drafts of many songs about this break-up, lying in your journal, waiting to finish. A ton of songs waiting to release to the world, not even your manager knew about the countless songs that sit completed and the ones that still need work.

"Nothing, " you spoke in a quiet voice, shrugging your shoulders, wanting to do anything but talk about what was the issue. You remain silent, glancing anywhere but Dylan. Talking was not a strong suit of yours because of how weak you might seem to that person. Bottling up your feelings is more your route until you dedicate a day of watching sad movies to cry your emotions out.

" You know, I will keep things between us? I would never tell anyone what we talk about," Dylan said, placing a hand on your shoulder, wanting to give you some comfort. He knew something weighing on you and decided he would help in whatever way he can. He sees you as a little sister and would always be overprotective of you on set where other guys would try to flirt with you.

"I will tell you, but it is a long story. I should make coffee," You said, heading to the kitchen to make a pot since filming starts tomorrow, and there will be no sleep tonight. You knew Dylan would keep pestering until you broke down, so you tried to prepare yourself for this series of conversations. How would I tell him I had a secret fiancee who ended up being unfaithful. 'How am I supposed to tell him the guy was Shawn Mendes, the lovable, sweet, no cussing, Canadian. No one would in their right mind think he would be capable of cheating. Hell, I am still wrapping my mind around this.'

Dylan nods, following you to the tidy kitchen, where Dylan placed the grocery bags when he came in. He got a few things for you, thinking you would want to go shopping in a few days. Dylan helps unload the bags, placing the items on the counter, keeping an eye on your figure. He felt like he had to brace himself for what you will tell him since he knew there are some things you keep to yourself. 'She could have this whole double life, and I would not know,' Dylan thinks because most of the time you spend is filming. He is usually touring or spending time with Lydia, but there are some times he can take you out. Another issue is how busy you are and the need to travel all over the place. He questions how you could still have the energy to act in all these movies without feeling drained. Dylan worried about you at times, sending messages to remind you to take a break whether, to read a book or get something to eat, knowing you might forget to eat.

You are tense when you make the coffee, hands shaking when you pour the water in the pot. Some of the water splashes on the counter, "Shit," you mumbled, looking for something to clean up the spill. Paper towels handed to you, which you thank Dylan for, sending a grateful smile in his direction.

---

The two of you sit down with a cup of coffee cooling on the table, both not knowing what to say. Sighing, you open your mouth to spill everything.

"I was in....no, that is not right. I have been in a secret relationship for the past two years," you blurted out, straightforward, not wanting to beat around the bush. Dylan, who took a sip of his coffee, started choking; his eyes widen at what he heard. You would not look Dylan in the eye, waiting for his response.

"How come the two of you never told anyone?" Dylan asked through his wheezing, catching his breath. You frown, moving to pat Dylan on his back lightly, understanding it is a big deal to date a famous singer, adored by many fans. 'He has not figured out who the guy I was with yet.'

"Wait, who was he," Dylan asked, curiously, recalling all the guys it could be, from someone on set to a fan. "In the beginning, it seemed exciting that no one knew, but it started to get old." You explained, skipping Dylan's question on purpose to explain the relationship first.

"We met through mutual friends, but no one knew due to me liking my personal life private. We were perfect, Dyl. I don't know what happened to us, " you sigh, blowing to help cool down the coffee. "We spent as much time with each other as we could without getting suspicious, not wanting the paparazzi from finding out. We would stay in and have dinner, depending on if we here free," you stop talking to take a sip of the coffee.

Dylan stays quiet, wanting to listen to every single word, knowing this must be very serious to talk about; especially, with how long the relationship was a secret. Dylan watched the heartbreak flash across your face, wishing he could take the pain away from you. You did not deserve to feel any pain but did deserve all the happiness in the world.

"Well, this summer, things changed in our relationship. He was working on a project with his friend, the one I felt insecure around sometimes due to their close bond. Their song is released, and their fans went into a frenzy, questioning if the two were dating. At the time, she was in a relationship herself, so that did give me some comfort. However, that did not stop something from happening between the two. He would not answer my calls, and I just had a feeling something horrible happen. He lied to me, and the paparazzi found him and her together. I kept trying to get in contact with him, but he did not respond. I knew something about their relationship was off, but I did not expect this."

Dylan listens, trying to find out the man that hurt his friend, not wanting to bring any more pain for you. He felt like this is the start of getting over the heartbreak. He sets the cups of coffee down before wrapping you into a tight hug, hoping to bring some comfort. You sniffle, starting to break down once more, feeling safe in his arms. He has a comforting aroma of pine and sandalwood, which surprises you, thinking he would smell more like the ocean.

Breaking down, you hide your face in his chest, not liking the idea of anyone seeing you cry. You felt him comforting you, making you wonder what happened to your relationship. "I...am...sorry," you said, hiccuping now and then, feeling slightly better than before.

"You do not need to apologize for anything. I love you (Y/N). You are one of my best friends, and I said I am by your side. Now, let your feelings out," He whisperers, running his fingers through her silky hair, knowing she likes when he does it. The two stay like that for some time until you fall asleep in his arms.

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

A few weeks have passed, and you have been feeling slightly better with each day. Shawn has left multiple voicemails, but you have not listened to them. You are preoccupied with shooting season four and do not have a lot of time to think about Shawn. You have even been writing more songs and talking to your manager about taking a break from acting to pursue music.

Right now, you are shooting a scene with Dyl outside by the docks, having a sibling moment between the two Jensens before Justin comes in.

Clay is standing next to the pier, staring into the ocean, with a troubled look on his face. He does not know what is going on in his life. He jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder, making him look back to see his younger sister, Jona.

Jona's eyes filled with worry and unshed tears, which made her (e/c) pop out, which could have any man on his knees for her. Her (h/c) locks swaying from the air gently as she moves closer to him.

"I knew you would be here, Clay. I know something is going on with you, and you don't need to tell me. I want you to know I will always be by your side, never doubting you." Jona moves to wrap her arms around his waist, head laying on his chest, looking up at him.

"You can tell me anything, and I will never think less of you. You are my big brother, Clay. I will always look up to you, and that won't change. I hate seeing you have the world on your shoulders, Clay. Not everything is up to you alone; allow others to help," Jona says before stopping when she spots Justin coming their way.

Clay felt tears streaming down his face, wrapping Jona in his arms, needing this support. He knows the others are worried about him breaking, but that is because of their secrets. He knew his parents worry about him and making him see the therapist again. However, Jona saying these things make him want to spill his guts about everything. Hannah, the mixtape, Bruce, Ani, Taylor, spring dance, Monty, and even Jeff, everything, but he did not want to drag her into this mess. He holds her tight against him, trying to remember how things used to be before Hannah Baker walked into their lives.

Justin comes close, standing awkwardly, feeling left out, but does not say a thing. He waits for the two to break up their hug to look at him. "They are wondering where the two of you are," he says, rubbing the back of his neck, a nervous habit of his.

"Cut!"

You smile nostalgic, knowing the series is coming to an end. Your smile dropped when a familiar singer is in the crowd of people, where fans are surrounding him. You could see him holding something but could not see exactly what. Dylan notices your change of mood, glancing to see what has your attention. His eyes widen, noticing that Shawn Mendes is here but not understanding why. Then suddenly, everything clicks in his mind, making him glare at the man. Dylan starts to stride towards this man, ready to cuss this man out for hurting you. However, someone grabs him, making him stop to look at the person. His glare softens when he meets your eyes, knowing to stop.

"Do you want me to go with you?" He whispered, feeling the curious glances from the cast and crew. She nods her head before grabbing her phone. She sends a quick text before heading to get change, not wanting to deal with the conversation at her job. Dylan follows her, but not without noticing Mendes walking off in a different direction.

---

You took your time to change, not wanting to confront Shawn at the moment. You could hear the gossip between the crew, wondering why Shawn Mendes is here on set, knowing he should be off somewhere for his concert. Your name got mentioned a couple of times, but you do not butt in, not wanting to give them a reaction. Slowly, Dylan comes to finds you, wondering how you are feeling but not wanting to say anything to upset you.

"Where did you tell him to go?" Dylan spoke up, getting closer to his car since they carpool together and switch cars to make it fair. She sighs, not wanting to deal with anything but wanting to sleep in her bed after a long cry.

"I told him not at my job. He wants me to come to a restaurant and talk in a quiet setting. I have the location on my phone," you said, starting the GPS. The drive is quiet, the two listings to the radio, both thinking about how things will go down.

"Are you sure it is okay for me to come?" Dylan asked, noticing how fancy and romantic the restaurant is, not wanting to be a third wheel.

You sigh, running your hand through your hair, feeling uncomfortable with the thought of going alone. " I am pretty sure we won't stay long. I have to get this over with, and I know I will take Shawn back if I am alone."

Dylan nods, getting out to open her door, lending his arm for her to take. They start to walk towards the entrance, dread filling their stomachs for different reasons. They are lead to a table where Shawn sat with flowers and a box of chocolates on the table in a dark corner. Shawn smiles when he sees you but frowns when he notices Dylan is there with you.

---

You plop down onto the bed, sighing after the long day you had. The quiet room helps calm your racing heart as you close your eyes, thoughts wandering back to the awkward dinner.

You stare at the other occupants eating dinner, having an ordinary evening, not knowing what is happening. The atmosphere is calm and collected. The fancy restaurant is not busy, which made you feel more at ease.

"Hi," Shawn said meekly, getting up, opening his arms as if to hug her, but she moves out the way. A frown flashes on his face before he moves to sit down again.

"How are you?" He asked after coughing awkwardly. Shawn glance at Dylan with curious eyes but does not comment on his presence.

"Fine," You comment shortly, not wanting to break down your walls. Dylan moves to sit down next to you, wanting to help you get through this dinner.

Shawn runs his hands through his curls, thinking about what he can do to make things up to her. " I am sorry," Shawn said, after a few moments of silence after ordering some food.

Your eyes feel watery as you stare at him, reflecting all the memories with him. Your right hand goes to your chest, your heart aching at the visions of Shawn laying in bed, her laying on his chest. The two kissings while Shawn runs his hands through Camilia's hair.

Maybe I should be more like her, you think, trying to blink away the tears.

"(Y/N), " Dylan spoke quietly, placing a hand on your shoulder, worried about you. Your eyes flicker towards his before glancing at the table.

"Shawn, I need you to answer two questions. I want you to be truthful." You croak, feeling your throat clog up.

"Anything," Shawn said, breathless, wanting to fix things. He fidgets in his seat, wanting to reach out to grab her hands, to kiss her, to touch her.

" Did you sleep with her?" You whisper, not wanting anyone to overhear the conversation to be in their business. Shawn's eyes widen, cheeks flush as he remembers that night. Her soft skin on his, her lips around his..., he bites his lower lip.

"I... I " He starts to speak but stops trying to think about what he is going to say. He stays silent, avoiding looking at both of them, knowing he is hurting her more by being silent.

"Do you love her?" You spew out, knowing you had to get the question out before it was too late. You narrow your eyes, wanting his every movement, needing to get the truth even if it hurts. You always had a feeling his songs were about her, despite him reassuring you.

Your eyes draw to how tense he becomes, his hands fidgeting, eyes shift towards her face to the table. His lips thin as his eyebrows furrowed, as if in deep thought.

Shaking your head, your hand seeks Dylan's, needing the strength to get through this moment.

"I do," Shawn confesses, glancing at (Y/N) with sad eyes, knowing this will destroy their relationship.

(Y/N) the grip tightens on Dylan's hand, closing his eyes to take a deep breath, not wanting to lash out in public. You move to get up, shaking your head in denial.

" I can't. I want nothing to do with you, Shawn Peter Raul Mendes," You hissed, in a low voice, feeling the tears slip out. Quicky, you leave, making sure your head is down, exiting the restaurant hearing clicks. Your hair is in your face as you walk away, not caring about the paparazzi, not caring, you left Dylan, not caring that cheater was alone, not caring about anything.

tag list

@hxneybee-uwu

@shawn-youth

@sspidermanss

@turtoix

@unpredictabledinosaur

#shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes #reader insert #shawn #shawn peter raul mendes #you #reader #shawn x camila #shawn x reader x timothee #timothee chalamet x reader #dylan minnette

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chrysalispen · 4 years ago

Text

upon pale dawns, prologue I: to be the water’s care,

my adaptation of a realm reborn- this will probably go up to praetorium and then have a separate longfic for the patches, but we’ll see how long the drafts get.

at any rate! two prologues. you can find the AO3 link HERE

chapter under the cut.

====

“Land!”

It was a blessed word after weeks at sea. The shout arose from the sailor standing watch at the ship’s prow, leather-bound spyglass in one meaty paw.

At that single utterance, every passenger aboard the Explorer found themselves immediately drawn topside, and the snow-tressed Elezen girl standing on tiptoes to tilt over the tarred and salt-crusted wooden railing was no exception. The ocean crossing from Sharlayan was long and rarely uneventful and the ship’s passengers had spent most of it below decks, weathering the heavy rains and stomach-turning waves from perilous storms grown only more tempestuous in the handful of years since the Calamity.

A burly Roegadyn crewman standing nearby, his hands busied with rope, squinted sharply at his unexpected visitor. She ignored his presence with a single-minded determination- there were more important matters afoot. Her focus lay upon the half-obscured outline of grey-blue and faded silver that broke the endless monotony of the open sea. Setting one patten-clad foot in the deck railing, she hoisted her weight up and forward to get a better view.

“Alisaie,” a young voice cut in, sharp and authoritative, “get down from there. If you lose your balance you’ll fall overboard.”

“I won’t lose my balance.”

“I sincerely doubt the good crew of our passenger ship would fancy diving into the water to pluck you from the waves, sister.” Alisaie spared a glance over her shoulder, bristling at the speaker. He could have been her mirror image right down to their attire, save the blue ribbon fluttering from its secured place at the base of a thin length of braided platinum hair, identical to her own. “You can see perfectly well with both your feet upon the deck.”

Alisaie responded with an indignant huff, but lowered herself so that her feet were once more flush with the oaken planks. “Seven hells, if there is one thing I will not miss about this journey, it is your incessant clucking.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Alphinaud. Like a mother hen, if she had fewer feathers than words.”

“I am only trying to look out for you. For both of us.” His brow knitted as he spoke- with either worry or disapproval, Alisaie couldn’t say. “Father would never let me hear the end of it if I let you fall into the ocean of all things.”

“I know! I know.”

“And if you keep fidgeting with your hair-ribbon like that you’re going to lose it.”

As if to punctuate his words, an errant gust whipped the end of her braid from its loose pin between her fingers. Her eye caught a flash of bright red from the tapered ends of the ribbon as it fluttered in the salty breeze like a loosened sail.

“Yes, mother,” her fingers fell away to fidget at her sides instead, “Do I have your permission to remain above deck, at the very least?”

Alphinaud gave her a startled series of blinks. He hadn’t slept well on the trip, being far more prone to seasickness, and the deep bruised circles beneath his eyes gave them an owlish cast. “Of course you can stay here, if you like,” he said. “It’ll be several bells before we reach the harbor, after all.”

Gods! Why are you always like this? The furious thought flitted through the shallows of her mind, surfacing briefly with the flare of her temper. It’s hardly a wonder that father wouldn’t trust you to-

Hells. Wasn’t worth it. Like as not he’d barely noticed her fatigue let alone her frustration.

Alisaie suppressed an exasperated sigh and watched her twin’s retreating back for a moment as he made his way down the stair into the bowels of the ship, before turning her attention once more to the encroaching sliver of shoreline that sat just beyond the white-capped waves.

Landfall couldn’t come soon enough.

~*~

"It's seen better days, hasn't it," he opined, "Tupsimati."

They had only just managed to scrape together the funds to afford proper furniture, rather than borrowing pieces or using what few battered desks and chairs remained upon the premises. Surplus cots and side tables for the shared sleeping quarters were still in the process of arriving at the Waking Sands, piece by piece, at great expense and after a good deal of haggling over the cost to bring them by chocobo carriage from Ul’dah.

Given the recent rise in imperial activity throughout the region, none of them had felt it particularly prudent to advertise their presence to the realm at large and so in the years since the merging of the two organizations, much smaller in the wake of the Carteneau disaster, the center of operations had remained austere by dint of necessity. There was little of value or note even in the solar save the large mahogany desk with its teak inlay - a gift (others might call it a bribe, he thought with sour good humor) from their erstwhile landlord - and the reliquary which had been mounted upon the wall since that fateful day of their ‘founding’.

His companion stood behind the desk with her back to the door, and her posture had not once wavered from the moment he had entered to the moment he had spoken.

"As have we all, Thancred."

He did not miss the gentle rebuke within her words. The smile that played upon his lips became faintly rueful - as conversation starters went, he supposed it had been rather lacking - and without another word approached until he could round the desk to stand at her side. Five years barely seemed enough for all the growing she had done, assailed by mysterious visions and driven by internal conflict over her strange gift all the while.

Nevertheless, in that short amount of time the girl he had known had become a charismatic young woman.

As Thancred watched the paths of her fingers in their idle drifting, crossing the surface of the newly varnished wood over grain and groove, he followed her gaze to its focus upon the wall. The mounted case which she now contemplated was new, although its contents were not. It sat a few fulms behind and above the bulky mahogany desk at the solar’s heart, and tucked behind the transparent bulwark of crystal glass lay all that remained of Louisoix Leveilleur’s final and heroic deed: the crest of a splintered cane with a stone bearing the symbol of Thaliak.

Metaphor, he mused, for the disaster wrought upon the realm five summers past. Or perhaps one better suited for the old man’s ghost- one which seemed to linger still within these halls.

“You don’t seem as well pleased as one would expect.” His words rang through the sandstone-walled solar, their echoes hollow and bland. He noted with some small concern the distant cast to her expression, as though she were listening to something he could not hear. “Is it not to your liking?”

“Hm? Oh, no. ‘Tis not the arrangements which bother me. In fact, I think this shall serve our needs quite well for the time being.” Her fingers tapped a quiet rhythm against the desk’s surface and her attention returned to the broken artifact above. “...Not a day goes by that I don’t find myself wishing Master Louisoix were still here with us. I suspect in my heart- I like to think- that he has gone to a well deserved rest. But I still…”

She didn’t finish the statement, but further words were unnecessary. Sorrow muted the bright spring sky blue of her eyes.

“I shouldn’t carry on like this,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“It is unbecoming of me to bemoan my lot. Everyone has lost so much to the Calamity, and we have borne far lighter burdens than most.” Her shoulders slumped for just the briefest moment before righting her posture again, but not so quickly that it escaped Thancred’s notice. “Even so, I can’t help but wonder what he would have done differently. Whether or not he would have negotiated better terms for-”

“Minfilia, please.” Her hands, seemingly placid at her sides, gripped the leathers of her tassets with a nigh-bruising force. Thancred unfolded one fist with care, as he might have done with an infant’s fingers, cradling them in one rough palm. “I don’t think anyone here is expecting you to be Louisoix Leveilleur, or even to fill his shoes. Besides which, the circumstances are entirely different.”

“I suppose.”

“Everyone else has had to start anew on some level or other. We’re hardly an exception,” Thancred shrugged. “And you have the words from your vision to guide us.”

“Yes,” she said, with a note of quiet conviction. He answered with a brief squeeze of her fingers before releasing her hand. “Yes, of course.”

“If you think this ‘crystal bearer’ She mentioned will make themselves known soon, then ‘twould be a benefit to us all to keep our eyes open for their coming. Would it not?” Thancred paused. “Is that what you wished to discuss?”

“Once the others arrive, yes.” Whatever hidden place to which Minfilia’s mind had wandered in that moment, she had clearly returned from it. Her gaze was clear and steady and her voice firm. “Truly, ‘tis wonderful - and serendipitous - that we have managed to keep this roof over our heads. And of course, I am grateful for the sultana’s continued assistance-”

“If not her ministers’ patronage,” Thancred said dryly.

“Quite.” Minfilia drummed close-trimmed nails thoughtfully against the desk. “But I do worry that it isn’t enough. These advantages will avail us little if we do not take steps to sustain our presence. It has been nearly five summers since we chose to join forces and disband the Path, and we are still struggling merely to make enough coin to pay for this space. We need more people, Thancred.”

His smile faded and the furrow of his brow deepened.

“I can’t help but feel as though I’m missing something. Should we be concerned about our funds?”

“Tataru came to me a few days past. We’ve received notification from the East Aldenard Trading Company stating that the lease on the land will be up for renewal by the end of the year, and that the rate will be increasing accordingly.” Minfilia winced. “...By which I mean to say: yes, I think it prudent to find other means to fund our activities. She agreed.”

“Then seek other means we must,” he shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I think Tataru is within her rights to be concerned. The whole realm is still barely keeping its head above water as it is. We can ill afford to remain dormant, especially if it means insolvency.”

“Nor can we tarry overlong in debating the best approach to our other concerns,” she said. “The beast tribes have made it clear they will not wait for us to replenish our numbers ere they attempt to summon their gods yet again.”

“And there is also the Empire to consider,” Thancred pointed out dryly. “Two new castra in the space of as many years. Either the Garleans turned to engineering projects to amuse themselves, or the Black Wolf has been quite busy.”

“Have you heard anything?”

“Hm. Not as such, but... I have received requests from the sultana as to whether or not we believe there is aught to fear from the Garleans. More than once.”

“It’s a valid concern,” Minfilia pointed out. “Castrum Meridianum is but a stone’s throw away from one of the biggest Syndicate concerns in the realm.”

“Yes, and what concerns me the most is that at present I cannot say definitively, one way or another, if we face further incursions. We need more information on their movements.”

“On that we most certainly agree. I realize we’re stretched thin, but we need more people.”

“Agreed. But all things considered, I doubt any of us have the time or inclination for a recruitment drive. Necessary or not.”

Minfilia said, very carefully:

“Perhaps not. But… if, while you are afield, you should happen to come across more… talents, then ‘tis all the better if you send them our way. Not everyone you meet will be suitable, of course, but some few will and I think we can only be stronger for it if we increase our numbers as we go.”

Thancred flashed her a roguish grin. “That’s a very roundabout way of saying you wish for me to return to Ul’dah, Lady Antecedent.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“You could have asked! As well you know,” he countered. “I have enjoyed my little vacation, but there is much to be done still.”

“If you prefer,” Minfilia said, her eyes twinkling with suppressed amusement, “I could send Urianger to the sultana’s court in your stead.”

“Urianger! Gods forbid. He’d hate every second.” He could just picture it. Bookish, eccentric Urianger looming over the diminutive lord of the Syndicate’s trading routes, intoning a passage from one of his scrolls. “I see no need to fix a method that is not broken. Leave us each to our own devices. I’ll go to Ul’dah and do what I do best.”

One of her slim brows tilted. “Charming the local maidens?”

“Young lady,” he said, dark eyes narrowed, but the corners of his mouth, twitching upwards, betrayed his hidden mirth. Minfilia only laughed and patted his smooth cheek.

“Jests aside, there are other reasons I would have an ear kept to the ground just now, and I would hardly trust anyone else with such a sensitive task. Will you do this for me?”

His teasing smile faded as he looked down at the person whose steady presence he prized above all else upon the star. She was his family, this slim graceful girl with her wide eyes and gentle, knowing smile and quiet strength - it would be easy to mistake her softness for weakness, not to see the steel within.

So thinking, his keen eye caught the slight tilt of Minfilia’s chin.

She was not asking, he realized. She was informing him. All she needed was the affirmation they both knew would be forthcoming, and she awaited it with her customary patience. And why should she not expect it? There was, after all, precious little she could ask of him that Thancred Waters would not be willing to attempt. He knew it as well as she did.

His smile returned in force.

“Tell me what you need from me,” he said, “and I’ll see it done.”

#upon pale dawns #aurelia laskaris #garlean warrior of light #a realm reborn #ARR retelling #chrysalispen writes

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baby-grayson · 4 years ago

Text

Sweet Enigma: Part 3

Word Count: 2716

Tags: @wheezeatmedolans @styles-dolan @prettyboydolan @evergreendolan @baby-turtles @dolanstacoma @kombuchagray @not-gbd @graysavant @someonetogray @dolansficsandpics @batgirl009 @voguekristens @letsgoget-high

The Thanksgiving after the summer they met, Kate went home to Philly to see her mother, grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins for the first time since she moved to California. She felt comforted by the warm aroma of pumpkin soup and the familiar sound of her family’s chatter. Her inner peace was disturbed when her young cousin Daisy, who was nearly twelve at the time, excitedly asked Kate if she had met a celebrity while in LA.

Kate stuttered. She grabbed her glass of cranberry juice and drank it, a little too willingly, as she tried to think of her answer. Her bottom jaw stammered against her top lip. In the months prior, she tried hard to push any images, memories, and thoughts of Grayson to the back corner of her mind. In that moment, a part of her wanted to scream to her family: to tell them every detail about how Grayson Dolan had single handedly caressed and destroyed her heart that summer.

Her top lip hit her bottom once with a smack. She looked Daisy in the eyes with a pointed look and told her cousin, matter of factly, “No. I have not met a single celebrity. Guess I’m not cool enough.”

***

Grayson’s tiny house sat nestled in a picturesque corner of the New Jersey woods. The A frame home looked like it had been stolen from the sketches in an aged copy of Grimm’s fairytales. The little cottage wore large windows on the front and back, situated on dark timber siding between two slanted roof pieces. The tiny home was one of Grayson’s most prized possessions: he designed it himself and built most of it with the help of his uncle Brian.

Upon entering the house, the front door was fixed between a door on the left, the coat closet, and a door on the right, the bathroom. A stairway sat against one of the slanted roof pieces, leading to a lofted bed. Beneath the stairway, the fridge, stove, sink, and counter were nestled across the hall from a square dining table, two chairs, and a small fireplace. At the very back of the house sat a two-seater sofa that Grayson built himself. The intimate interior smelled of cedarwood, cinnamon, and a hint of bergamot. When the fireplace was lit, the entire home was covered in a dim, golden light.

The tiny home was Grayson’s cozy, New Jersey get away from the LA experience. On that January morning, the home was Grayson’s only escape from the hurricane of commitment, emotions, and responsibilities he left brewing on the west coast.

If Kate wasn’t exhausted and spent from the overnight cross-country plane ride, she would have congratulated Grayson on the home and complimented his craftmanship. Instead, she dropped her backpacks with a sigh and leaned against the closet door.

Grayson dropped his own duffel bag on the dining table, one of the only surfaces in the small space and turned to look at her, “Tired?” When Kate nodded in response, Grayson felt a pang of guilt. Since he had busted through her laboratory door last night, he had not stopped feeling guilty for the positions he was putting her in. Grayson nodded toward the lofted bed, “Go sleep, I’ll make something for dinner.”

Kate shook her head, still leaning against the closet door. She fought to keep her eyes open, her body slowly slumping into the door frame as if it was a feather mattress, “This is your house,” her words nearly slurred, “You take the bed.”

Grayson ran a hand through his hair and waved the other in front of him at a slightly angle, “No,” his voice was light, “I dragged you along with me. The least I can do is—”

“You didn’t drag me anywhere,” Kate corrected, her tone laced with sass, “I’m here because I want to be here.”

Grayson exhaled and forced himself not to role his eyes, “Okay, so you’re my guest. And the least I can do is let you take the bed.” He turned slightly and pointed at the loveseat at the back of this house, “I’ll take the sofa tonight.” Kate weighed this option in her mind for a moment, her eyes shifting between Grayson, the couch, and the loft.

Before she could speak, Grayson started again, “Are you telling me you would prefer the cramped couch to a real person sized bed?”

Kate chuckled, her tired brain finally understanding what she was fighting for, “You’re right.” She exhaled and lifted a backpack over her arm. As she started up the stairs, Grayson’s phone began to ring.

He stared at it in his palm. He bit his lip, asking himself what the consequences would be of not answering it. He realized that running to his tiny home, did not mean running away from his problems. He held the phone to his ear, “Hello?”

Elizabeth Maddox’s voice met Grayson’s ears with the signature sound of the honey tongued Southern belle. Grayson’s previous conversations with Elizabeth, his would be mother-in-law, were all incredibly cordial and polite. Grayson would have thought the woman cold, if she wasn’t constantly undressing him with hungry eyes. Elizabeth’s long nails were almost always either wrapped around an ice-cold glass or pointed at someone who had done her wrong. “Oh, Grayson dear,” her accent was thick, “We need to chat about whatever this little…episode…is that you are dealing with.”

Grayson sucked in his top lip and rolled his eyes, grateful that she was not in the room to see his reaction, “I’m sorry for what happened Mrs. Maddox.”

Kate had just settled herself on the lofted bed when she heard his voice. Intrigued, she shuffled forward and sat at the end of the bed. The tiny home was tiny enough that she could listen to his conversation without trying, so she figured she should at least get comfy.

“Now Grayson, I told you to call me Elizabeth,” Grayson sat at the bottom of the stairs as she spoke, “But we really do need to talk.” Her voice was haughty and superior, “I think I have the advice you need to hear.”

Grayson nearly spat out a laugh, he wondered if his impish grin was noticeable through his words, “Oh really?” “It’s just cold feet Grayson,” Elizabeth spoke with confidence, “Everyone gets them.” Grayson raised an eyebrow from where he sat on the stairs, resting an arm on his knee as she continued, “Even Calvin did before he married me—he ran off with some stripper from Orlando before his best man knocked some sense into the old fool.” She adjusted the phone in her hand before continuing, “I know Sherry will forgive you darling, just like I forgave old Calvin back in the day: it’s what good wives do. And I know you are marrying Sherry because she’ll be a good wife,” Grayson felt a heat ignite in his neck. “You know she loves you Grayson, we all love you—I almost with we could stamp Maddox on your birth certificate, that’s how much we love you.”

Grayson’s blend of embarrassment, shame, and perturbation boiled over, he spoke sharply over her, “I appreciate your help, Elizabeth.” He pronounced the syllables of her name with specific enunciation, “Thanks for calling, we should talk soon” Without waiting for her response, he hung up the phone.

He exhaled and hung his head between his knees, disappointed in himself for not handling the phone call better—for not handing everything better. He heard a rustling noise and looked over his shoulder to find Kate settling down on the step behind him, one leg stretched around him and laying on his step. “Hey,” her voice was soft: comforting but shy.

He bit his lip, not facing her, “Hey.”

Kate’s eyes skirted around the scene, noticing how his hands went limp and his neck held tension. She lightly placed a hand on his shoulder, “It’s going to be okay.” Grayson turned his head to face her, meeting her eyes. He tightened his mouth, “You think so?” Kate nodded softly, “Yeah,” her voice was breathy, “Not right away. But it will be.” She thumbed his shoulder softly, drawing little circles. He kept her gaze, finding so much familiar comfort in her gold flecks.

Kate broke their silent first, “Did you really—” she cleared her throat, “Did you break up with her? Like actually?”

Grayson shook his head. Another pang of guilt shot through his body when he saw the disappointment hit Kate’s eyes. She stopped thumbing his shoulder, “I saw her,” he swallowed, “When I went to get my clothes from the house.” He exhaled in a low tone, “She’s upset.” Kate let out an egregious chuckle, “Yeah, I would be too.” Grayson gave her a flat look, not finding humor in the situation, “We’re not broken up—at least—I don’t think. She was still wearing her ring.” Kate nodded, sucking in her upper lip, “Tough.” Grayson nodded and exhaled. He shifted his body to lean against the wall, facing Kate from one side. They sat like that, a few inches away from being tangled up on the steps but far away from each other.

It was at that moment that Grayson realized he was not looking at the girl he met two and a half years ago. He was looking at a stranger who shared the same body with the Kate he knew, but who’s mind was decorated in new experiences and different emotions. He ran a hand through his hair and wondered if there was a maximum amount of guilt that could reside in a single human body.

He caught her eye as his hand landed on the back of his head, “That guy,” he started, “Back at your apartment. That’s your boyfriend,” he meant for it to be a question, but it sounded like a statement.

Kate nodded slowly, “Yeah, he is.” She bit the corner of her mouth and started exploring the tiny home with her eyes, “His name is Wesley,” she shifted on her step, “We met last summer.”

“He treats you well?” “Better than you ever did,” Kate’s eyes met Grayson’s as she formed a playful smirk. Grayson’s mouth fell slightly agape, he rolled his eyes when she started to chuckle. “I deserved that.” “No,” her tone became light, “You didn’t.” She rubbed a hand against his back, “I know better than to kick a man when he’s down.” She looked at her hand on the small of his back, something about it sent her mind ablaze with memories of his bare skin underneath her fingertips. She quickly retracted her hand and began to play with the hem of her sweatshirt.

“Is it serious?” Grayson felt his thoughts slip into treacherous territory, but decided it was better to face them in his current state than a day when he was in a better mood.

Kate took a deep breath, struggling to figure out an explanation for him. “You remember that time you said you loved me more than I loved you? Back in the day?” Grayson looked at her with a straight face, “I thought you weren’t going to kick me when I was down?” Kate chuckled, “I’m not.” She leaned back, “It’s like that, but real this time.” She gnawed at her lip, “I know he loves me, I just—” she signed, “I just don’t know if it’s a …forever kind of thing.” She let go of her shirt, “For me at least.”

Grayson nodded and leaned his head back against the wall, “I know the feeling.” Kate laughed and hit his shoulder playfully, “Stop it.”

Grayson shook his head, slightly satisfied that he had done one right thing that day: he made Kate laugh. He would have preferred if she hadn’t continued talking about her boyfriend.

“He just—” she reached for something invisible in the air, “he lives in such a happy world.” She said the words as if they were blasphemous. “And things aren’t always happy, you know? Well yeah, you know.” Grayson nodded beside her with a plain look on her face.

Kate continued, as if she was talking to herself, “If you’re with someone, you should be able to share the good and bad with them. Right? I shouldn’t ask you.” Grayson shot her a flat look while she continued, “Sorry, you’re down. But like—” she gnawed her lip, sinking her incisors into the corner of her mouth. She signed and looked at the ground. Her next words exploded out of her, as if saying them quickly made them any easier to say, “My mom’s sick—cancer—I—I don’t know what to do—But if I ask Wes---Well it’s all about probabilities and odds and she’ll be fine because she’s young and time is on her side but like—” her fasts words morphed into chokes from deep in her throat, “My mom has cancer. I’m sad. I need to be sad. And he can’t---he can’t let me be sad.”

Grayson placed a knowing hand on Kate’s knee and squeezed. He looked at her, meeting her eyes as tears formed in the corners, “I know.”

She gave him a weak smile. They stayed like that, draped across the stairs for the next half hour. They wallowed in the silence and sadness of their own lives: so different from the ethereal happiness they knew two and a half years prior. Something about the tight space of that A frame cottage emphasized that they were more distant than ever: two ships that had passed in the night only to weather their own personal storms.

Grayson’s stomach broke their moment, gurgling in an audible way. Kate raised her eyebrow, slightly impressed with his gut’s vigor. Grayson’s mouth fell into a flat line, “You didn’t sleep?” Kate shook her head plainly. Grayson exhaled and stood up from his step, “I’m going to make dinner.”

Kate held onto the railing and pulled herself up, denying his hand on her way up, “I’ll help you.”

Grayson kept his tiny home stocked with a few, essential non-perishables. Together, he and Kate forged a dinner of pasta, tomato sauce, and an assortment of canned vegetables. In the cramped kitchen space of the tiny home, Kate swayed around as she lithely stirred two pots of vegetables. Grayson’s hip brushed against hers as he started to drain pasta, shooting steam into the hair. Kate pulled her hair away from her face, peering over into the sink. Grayson breathed in to find himself sent back a different time and place. When her sweet, citrus scent met his nostrils, he stopped himself from giving an audible moan. He was grateful for the steamy air as he felt the blush hit his cheeks: her scent triggered his brain to replay a series of kisses where he remembered the precise feeling of her plump pink lips dancing on his. He had to make a mental note to remain calm during their dinner, trying not to let his own bodily functions and hormones defeat him in his emotionally desolate state.

A few miles away from Grayson’s tiny house, a man in a black hood sulked into the driver’s seat of his beat-up sedan. He opened the screen on his camera to smile, grinning madly at the clear images of run-away fiancé, Grayson Dolan, arriving at his New Jersey tiny home with a woman, who was most definitely not his betrothed. The internet had been up in a blaze since Grayson ran out on his own party: a few people thought he had actually gone missing, some thought this was the end of ‘Shayson’, and a small faction took his disappearance as evidence of the long standing rumor he was gay. The paparazzi smugly sneered at the images, wondering exactly how much he could sell them for.

#grayson dolan #dolan twins #series #fanfic #long fic #grayson x oc #oc #original character #ethan #ethan dolan #blurb #concept #writer #story

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saudadeonly · 4 years ago

Text

never doubt never fear

Read on ao3. Part seven.

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

The year after Andromeda Tonks and her family are declared dead to the rest of the Wizarding Britain is the most confusing, most unnerving year she's experienced in her life but she wouldn't change it for the world.

(Spans from February 1982 to March 1983.)

Word count: 11577

___

Andromeda Tonks, formerly Black, which she still has trouble forgetting on the worst of days, considers herself to be a fairly put-together person, able to keep her wits about herself in the direst of situations and her cool even when faced with emotional turmoil.

(“Maybe usually,” says Marina, her friend of too many years, sipping her whiskey, probably the third or fourth one since she arrived. She drinks like it’s a lifeline and has for longer than Andromeda has loved her, but she’s the only one that’s ever cared enough to stay. “But you do have some very specific exceptions.”

“You’re going to die from that,” Andromeda tells her in lieu of an answer, taking a sip of her tea.

Marina laughs, raspy around the edges. “I’ll be gone long before that,” she says.)

(The Dark Mark appears above her apartment three weeks later, the walls painted with her blood, so she’s right, in the end, as she always is—was.

For the first time, Andromeda resents the fact that she can’t sit and listen to Marina tell her, I told you so.)

But waking up in a house she has not been able to visit in a decade, her daughter and husband nowhere in sight when her last memory is of her sister’s manic laugh as she flees through the woods away from her, then walking out of her room only to find her cousin that’s been presumed dead for years in the kitchen is a bit of a stretch, even for her.

Let alone the fact that said cousin, one Regulus Arcturus Black, is currently wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt and stirring a pan full of what look like scrambled eggs. He looks up when she enters, black hair sleep-messy around his face, grey eyes bright. “Good,” he says, blinking slowly at her. “You’re awake.”

“Regulus—” Andromeda starts, then finds she has no words yet and sits down on one of the high stools at the island counter. She goes over the previous night in her head. Dinner, riddle-solving with Ted, getting Dora to bed, pouring tea in the kitchen; then a group of wizards inside her house, Bella’s grin, the dark woods around her. After that, nothing at all—certainly not anything involving Regulus.

She watches as Regulus ladles the eggs onto two plates, adds an abundance of bread slices to both, and sets one of them in front of Andromeda. He flicks his wand and a kettle from the stove flies toward the counter, pouring tea into the two mugs resting there. Once poured, Regulus pushes one toward Andromeda and takes the other one for himself, putting it down beside his plate of eggs as he starts to eat.

He nods toward her plate. “You should eat,” he says. “You’ll feel better.”

Andromeda stares and finds she has no energy to stop, which, considering the years of etiquette lessons her mother imposed on her, is a surprise in itself. It’s not so much the fact that he’s here as it the fact that he’s here like this, domestic and relaxed as she’s never seen him, at ease with himself and the space around him. He’s taller, too, and broader, a new weight to him that only age could have brought along. Age that, as far as she knew only a few minutes ago, Regulus never got to experience.

“Am I dead?” she asks, clearing her throat. It’s the only explanation that comes to mind.

He huffs a breath between two bites and looks up at her, brows and the corners of his mouth raised. She doesn’t remember his smiles, however small, coming as easy as they do now. “Not unless I am, too,” he says.

Andromeda blinks. The irony isn’t lost on her, nor him, judging by the remains of his smile. “Well, legally,” she says, slowly finding footing on this rocky ground, “you are.”

Regulus considers, mouth pulling to the side. “So are you.” He points his fork at her and adds, “Legally.”

“And Dora?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper, the name like a jolt of that peculiar thing Muggles call electricity. She can’t believe it’s taken her this much time to ask about it. “Ted?”

Regulus’s eyes darken, mouth settling into a firm line. “Alive but, like you, considered dead to the majority of the wizarding world. And in much worse condition.” He nods toward the room at the beginning of the hall, the one Cissy always claimed as hers because it had the best view. “In there.”

Andromeda makes to stand up but Regulus catches her wrist before she can take a single step. She reaches for her wand, only to find it’s not in the inner pocket of her robes where she usually keeps it. “Where’s my wand?”

“Let them sleep it off, Dromeda,” Regulus murmurs. “Bella got to them before she got to you.”

Andromeda’s heart slams against her ribcage, as if it could jump out and reach Ted and Dora all by itself. Bella’s cruelty has always aged like fine wine and Andromeda dreads to find out what new expanses she’s discovered in the years since they parted ways. “Then let me see them,” she says, ripping her wrist out of his grip.

He draws his hand back, letting it rest against his side, but he doesn’t back down. “Eat first,” he insists with a stubborn frown that is at once familiar and strange; she’s not used to it on his face but she’s seen it plenty of times before on another. “You need it. You won’t be of any help to them like this.” He runs a hand through his hair, the waves an enviable mix of elegant and mussed. “Your wand broke,” he adds in a quiet, careful voice, so much more like the reserved boy she remembers, “when they got to you. I’m sorry.”

Andromeda’s throat closes up. That wand was one of the few constants she had been allowed for most of her life. From that first summer before her first year, through all the years at Hogwarts, through her elopement, her pregnancy, every good and every horrible part of her life. It was the only thing given to her by her parents that she still truly adored.

“We’ll find you a temporary replacement later,” Regulus says. “I promise.” He nods toward the plates, the food probably cold by now. “Now you sit down and eat.”

Andromeda looks up at him. The last time she properly saw him he was only eleven years old, more skin and bone than anything else, all sharp edges and big eyes, small enough she could use him as an armrest. Now he towers over her, looks at her with patient eyes, all that skin filled out, that sharp edges softened.

She collapses onto the stool. “How did you pull it off?” she asks before she brings a spoonful of eggs into her mouth. They’re not bad, certainly worse than she could have made but they might as well be the best thing she’s tasted in years. They’re not yet cold, at least.

He copies her, then takes a sip of his tea. “I didn’t,” he says, shrugging with tense shoulders, which is a contrast that she can’t find strange, not on him. “Sirius did.”

Andromeda is suddenly grateful that she’s sitting down. Her knees might have gone out from underneath her otherwise. Finding out that Regulus is alive is one thing but to know that Sirius, who has despite her best efforts to convince herself and others the opposite always been her favourite family member, is the one responsible for the survival of her entire family, the only thing she still cares about in this wretched world, feels larger than life. She's spent years of anger at the betrayal he seemingly so carelessly executed, not only at her but at his friends. It hurt more than finding out about Bella’s admittedly expected affiliation with Voldemort or Cissy’s marriage into the Malfoy family. She's never been able to put a finger on why exactly.

“Let’s talk,” Regulus says, giving her a soft smile that she might have once thought shy or unsure. “There are so many things you don’t know.”

***********

Andromeda gets used to the old house slowly at first, then quicker every day. It was always a warm, welcoming place but it was slowly falling apart when she last saw it. Uncle Alphard, always a bit eccentric, had never had much interest in keeping a house elf or keeping up the house himself—a trait that was later only amplified by his years-long sickness. But now, with Regulus as the main resident, the house has been fixed up, the rooms put to good use and all of Alphard’s peculiar collections thoroughly sorted through. Andromeda enjoys finding the unfamiliar in the familiar, the little changes that tell her that the shelter of her childhood has become a haven of her adulthood.

Regulus, however, demands a little more adjusting. Andromeda learns quick enough that any change she might have thought superficial at first goes deeper than she could even imagine. There aren’t just the wardrobe change and the growth spurt in play. He’s still distant and considerate, but there is a new sense of strength in him, like his spine has become unbreakable, like it’s been coated in steel and tempered in fire. He dotes on Dora, redresses her wounds, coaxes her to drink her potions and is nothing but patient with her. He’s more reserved with Ted but no less respectful, no less mindful of his newly-obtained injuries – broken ribs, gouged face, cracked spine – and Andromeda can only marvel at the kindness, the one that has despite his mother’s best efforts always simmered inside him, he can so freely give now; there was a time she never would have dared to hope of such a kind fate for her little cousin.

He has his secrets and, as he always has, guards them well, with smooth, easy-flowing movements and an impassive face but Andromeda still manages to catch little glimpses of dark books and large maps he pores over early in the morning or late in the night when he thinks everyone else is asleep.

She doesn’t mind, is quite used to it after years of having to keep secrets herself and even finds comfort in the fact that this is a part of Regulus that hasn’t changed, a part that she still—quite ironically—knows.

*********

Dora, wedged between Andromeda and Ted in the large bed, is just drifting off to sleep when the door to the cottage bangs open. Andromeda’s first thought is that Dora was finally, finally calm enough to have fallen asleep and she is going to kill whomever just woke her up. Then it occurs to her that she might actually have to.

She jumps up and is out of the room before she remembers to grab for the wand Regulus found in the old study. It’s not fit for her at all but it’s better than nothing, especially in a situation like this one.

Ted calls out after her, unable to follow her, but Andromeda ignores him. She trusts him to keep Dora safe while she deals with the intruders or if it comes to the point where he has to take them on by himself. She’ll be damned if she lets her family get hurt again just because her sister has some kind of a desire to get rid of everything she considers to be tainting her past.

But it’s not Bellatrix or even a barrage of Death Eaters that stand in the living room. At first glance, Andromeda almost mistakes the tall, lean man for Regulus; but his hair is too long, his face too pale. He is swaying on his feet and he is much too thin under the cloak he’s taking off. The spike of recognition is more pain than relief.

“Sirius,” she breathes, her wand lowering with the frantic beat of her heart.

Sirius gives her a slow, small smile, an alien thing on his hollow face that was so full of life the last time she saw him. Years have passed since then, long, difficult years for him; she shouldn’t be surprised that he is so, so different now. “Hi, Dromeda,” he says, voice scratching against the walls of her heart. “How have you been?”

Andromeda takes a breath, then another. In between, Sirius throws off his robes with shaking limbs, revealing a white shirt underneath. A white shirt that is, from the side of his ribs down to his hipbone, stained red.

“Sirius,” she chokes out, taking one staggering step forward.

“I know,” he says, glancing at her before he rips the shirt off as well, grey eyes glassy.

For a moment, all she can notice is the ribs pressing up through the too-pale skin, the scars littering the expanse of his torso and his arms, white on white, blades of grass through paper. Then she sees the long, narrow gash down his side, streaming red, and it’s so much worse.

Sirius coughs, a dry, heaving thing, and sways back on his feet. He’s always been a steady boy, unperturbed in the harshest of conditions, resilient where all others failed. It’s the first time Andromeda thinks that that strength will fail him, that he might crumple in on himself.

Funnily enough, that’s what snaps her out of the trance she’s fallen in. She steps forward, wand once again poised but with a different intention this time. “Let me help you,” she says.

Sirius huffs a laugh but he doesn’t stop her as she taps her wand against the wound and murmurs a low incantation, pushing against the will of the wand as it seeks to evade. The gash simmers at the edges, the flesh almost knitting together, but then spreads further back, the blood more like a river now. A leaden ball settles in the pit of Andromeda’s stomach.

“Hardly can be helped,” Sirius says, looking down from the wound towards her with dark eyes. If possible, his face has paled. “It’s cursed, probably.”

Before Andromeda can say he should have told her that before she made it worse, the door bangs open again, this time indeed announcing Regulus with flushed cheeks and wind-tussled hair. His eyes take the scene in within seconds, his hands already throwing off his cloak. “What happened?” he asks, calm despite the situation. He reaches for Sirius and catches him just as Sirius’s knees buckle.

“Bloody Dorcas,” Sirius rasps as Regulus deposits him on the sofa. The plush soft-blue material is dark with blood within seconds. Sirius bares his teeth in what might be a self-deprecating smile, the sound that escapes him almost a laugh. “Knew she’d get me back for Marlene eventually.”

“Talented witch,” Regulus murmurs, turning Sirius onto his side, fingers skimming along the edges of the wound. He reaches for his wand, hidden in the inner pockets of his robes, but Andromeda catches his wrist.

“Magic makes it worse.”

Regulus blinks, swallowing as he tucks the wand away again. “Blood-replenishing potions,” he mutters instead, then gets up and disappears into the kitchen.

“Andromeda,” Sirius says as his eyes flick away from Regulus and towards her, clearing and blurring almost in time with his breaths. He presses his hand over the wound, blood seeping through his fingers. His voice is steady despite all of it. “Right pocket of my robes. There’s a book. Get it.” He coughs, his chest heaving with it, and adds, “Please.”

Andromeda’s eyes burn as she reaches for the robes, blindly digging through the pockets until she grabs a leather-bound book. The thought of losing Sirius just as he’s so close turns over her stomach. She makes to give it to Sirius but he shakes his head.

“Page 23.”

She dutifully flips it open, finding the pages filled with a familiar, elegant script. There are sketches, too, quick but precise, more beautiful than Andromeda would have managed to draw in her entire life. She looks back at Sirius. “These are spells.” Newly invented spells, from the looks of it – Andromeda has never heard of any of them.

Sirius nods, swallowing. “Healing spells, mostly,” he says.

Regulus appears back in the living room, levitating a number of potion vials beside himself. He grabs a dark red one and shoves it at Sirius. “Drink it.” He glances at the book in Andromeda’s hands. “What’s that?” he asks as he hands another potion to Sirius.

“A spell Andromeda will try out on me,” Sirius answers between gulps of the potion. He makes a face and leans his head back against the armrest. His hair lies plastered against his forehead, perspiration gleaming down his neck and chest.

Bile rises in Andromeda’s throat, her fingers shaking. She closes them around the book, refusing to be anything but useful here. She cannot afford to be anything else. “You mean to tell me you haven’t tested it yet?” she asks, managing to keep her voice even.

“Not that one, no. Haven’t had the time.”

“Sirius,” Regulus says, locking his jaw as he glares down at Sirius. They look so alike in the bright room, the lines of their regal faces nearly matching, both of their mouths set in a stubborn frown. “You can’t.”

“What is it going to do?” Sirius shoots back, lifting his chin as far as he can in his reclining position. His voice trembles but his eyes on Regulus’s remain steady. “Kill me?”

*********

After, Andromeda sits by Sirius’s bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest, tightly bound with Muggle bandages. She fiddles with the book, fingering the pattern pressed into the soft leather to set herself at ease; it’s a beautiful, intricate thing – a stag, a dog, a wolf, and a rat, standing side by side, the moon arcing high above them. It’s nearly as peaceful an image as the one before her.

Sirius’s breaths are slow and deep, his heartbeat steady. He is in no danger of dying, at least not from this wound, but Andromeda can’t bring herself to walk away. It’s been so long since she saw him, since she heard his laugh, since she listened to one of his stories. She only now notices the gaping hole in the side of her heart that has existed since she first heard the news.

In the months after Remus and James stopped by for tea, with darker bags under their eyes than Andromeda had in the first year of Nymphadora’s life, Andromeda stayed up for hours at a time, finding ways to berate herself for not having foreseen it, for not doing more to stop it, for not helping Sirius. She was just a renounced heiress back then, struggling with relying on anyone but herself and discovering the difficulties of having a child, but there had been so many occasions Sirius had found the time for them, for her, and she never repaid the favour. The guilt tore its way through her for a long time before she found a way to check it, burying it underneath her love for the only family she had left.

To know now that that was all an illusion is a relief but the guilt has broken through the dam she so carefully built around it, the one that remained firmly intact even after Regulus told her everything, and it now burns like acid, clawing its way into every crevice of her body.

Andromeda takes Sirius’s hand. It’s long-fingered and elegant but even the back of it is flecked with tiny scars. She bows down low over it, forehead touching his wrist, and murmurs, “Je suis désolé, Sirius.” The tears are not unexpected but they feel wrong somehow, too hot and heavy for someone who did so little to help at all. The tightness in her chest eases, though, and her next breath is easier to draw in. So she lets them spill over, lets the acid burn and hopes that tomorrow she can begin to make amends for her mistakes.

*********

Sirius more or less sleeps for the next few days. He wakes intermittently, sometimes murmuring names Andromeda can’t decipher but mostly reaching for the refilling glass of water they deposited on his nightstand. He just lies there, filled to the brim with various potions Regulus practically had to force down his throat, looking more dead than alive even on the best of days.

Dora glides by his room most of the time, drawing back at the smallest of sounds Sirius makes, and Andromeda’s heart aches with the knowledge that her daughter would have been the first to spend her nights watching over her uncle only a week ago. Now, she is just a girl whose normally vibrantly pink hair has remained short-shorn and dark brown since the night she had the misfortune of meeting her older aunt.

She inches her way into the room after a couple of days, drawing herself up against Andromeda as soon as she’s close enough, and watches as Sirius’s eyelids flutter in his sleep. He looks, for a lack of a better word, different than the last time Dora, only five years old then, saw him but when she reaches out to touch the ends of his hair, dark against the white pillows, Andromeda knows she remembers the boy who used to upend her by her ankle and make her shriek with laughter, who spent hours listening to her babbling and answering every one of her concerns with utmost honesty.

“Will Sirius be alright, mum?” she asks quietly, curling into the warmth of Andromeda’s arms in the small armchair. She smells like the sea and chamomile tea Regulus must have just made her. She'll have to remember to thank him later for so diligently taking care of her daughter.

“I hope so, sweetheart,” Andromeda answers, curving her body around Dora’s, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. Here, in the quiet, in the dimness, the memory of Dora’s small body, broken and beaten, is clearer than the daylight skies. Andromeda shudders. She cannot lose another person she loves. She will not. “We’re doing everything we can to help him and Papa.”

*********

There is a tapestry of the Black family tree in the dining room. It is reminiscent of the one at Grimmlaud Place, with the vastness and the pompous names, but this one has no scorch marks. It is strange to see her own name, written out in a slanting, copperplate script, right between Bellatrix and Narcissa’s. She can’t imagine that its twin was so lucky.

It’s the first time Andromeda has even been in the dining room since she came here. She usually avoids it like the plague because she nearly suffocates with the memory of long, stuffy family dinners she had to endure in here but it is the fastest way from the kitchen to the small wooden terrace in the back where Ted and Dora are and she stepped right into the rabbit hole of their beloved family. She readjusts her grip on the tray with tea and glances at her name again, eyeing the golden thread proclaiming her death to have been in 1982. She has yet to step beyond the border of the Fidelius charm guarding the house so it might as well be true, for all anyone in this world knows. Although only a few steps away, the prospect of it seems daunting now that she’s got used to this small haven, unaffected by the war raging on outside.

“I was all for painting over the damn thing but Regulus insisted we keep it,” says a voice from her left and she whirls on the spot, miraculously managing to not slosh the tea all over the place. Sirius stands in the doorway, half leaning against the frame, dressed in a loose shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He grimaces as he pushes off of the frame and steps further into the room, adding flippantly, “Something about tradition and legacy.”

“Sirius,” she says, pausing long enough to put the tray down on the table. She turns back around to find she has no idea what to do next. She’d like to hug him but she doesn’t know how well he would take it, or if at all. The few feet between them feel like a chasm, started by war and gouged by time.

Sirius saves her the trouble and positions himself next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder. She can feel the rhythm of his breathing, just a tad quicker now that he is awake. “At least this one is complete,” he murmurs, reaching out to touch the names of the people whose faces had been burned off in Grimmauld Place. Isla. Phineas. Marius. Cedrella. All names the two of them spent their childhood searching, if only to know what things they had done to have earned to be cast out of their family. Their findings only ever offered a horrible insight into what kind of family they had been cursed with. Andromeda had barely been able to look at her father for weeks after.

Sirius’s finger touches uncle Alphard’s name and stills.

Andromeda’s hand trembles and she clenches it into a fist, tight enough to hurt. Her favourite uncle, the dearest soul she has ever known. “He left me some money,” she says, then adds unnecessarily, “In his will.” She chances a glance at Sirius, finding his jaw firmly set. “Is that why—?”

Sirius nods. “Cygnus flew into a rage when he found out. It was the last straw for him and mother dearest wasn’t about to disagree with him. She didn’t waste her time either.” He scoffs, though the corners of his mouth turn up with it. “Alphard left most of the money to me but he wasn’t about to go out of this world without one last dig at the two of them.” He taps his finger against the tapestry, once, twice, then drops his hand. “Stubborn man,” he murmurs, looking all over the tapestry with dark, grey eyes; eyes that, now that they are not closed or glassy with the haze of pain, Andromeda can barely recognise.

“How are you?” she asks softly. She reaches out a hand and hesitates. She keeps it still mid-air for a moment then decides to damn it all and puts her hand on his shoulder. “Sirius, comment tu te sens?”

Sirius glances down at her. He’s been taller than her for some years now, even before they last saw each other, but he seems small now, stooped over in the kitchen where they spent some of their best years, finally, finally not just groomed to be scions of the House of Black, but allowed to be children. He touches her hand, lightly, with the tips of his fingers. “Ça va.” He looks out the window, his chin lifted as he watches the clouds roll past. “I should go,” he says, the words like a splash of cold water in her face; his duties don’t end here, not by a long shot, and she cannot save him from them. “They’ll be wondering where I’ve been.”

Andromeda doesn’t let herself look down at his forearm where the mark rests, dark and too alive across the veins rising against his thin skin. “Not right now.” She grabs his upper arm again and doesn’t let go as she levitates the tea tray with her other hand. “Come outside, for a little while.”

“Are the others there?”

“Just Dora and Ted. I think they’d both like to thank you while you’re awake.” She pulls at his sleeve gently, bites back the urge to beg him to stay. She’d go in his stead if she could. “Come on.”

Sirius glances at the window again, then sighs and lets her lead him out into the sun. He seems a stranger to it.

*********

Regulus doesn’t settle for days after Sirius has left. He is quicker with his movements, more intense when he studies his books, constantly looking between them and the door from the couch he’s nestled himself in.

“It’s been a hard couple of months for Sirius,” he explains softly when Andromeda nudges him. “I always fear I won’t see him after he goes.”

“Not hard years?” Ted asks from where he’s stretched out on the couch. Like this, underneath a red blanket, he looks nearly as he once did, content and dozing in the afternoon, not confined to the couch and a prisoner in his own body.

Regulus looks up at Ted, his hand almost absent-mindedly reaching up to touch the scar resting across his throat. His fingers move when he swallows. “Not like this.” He taps the corner of a small, dark book resting on the coffee table. “He lost a lot.”

And Andromeda finally sees something that she can recognise in Regulus – the fall of his eyes, stubbornly firm, the way he pulls his mouth to the side as if he’s biting the inside of his cheek; guilt has always been easy to notice with Regulus and she can do little to hold down the wave of her own that whirls up at the bottom of her stomach.

“He’ll be back, Regulus,” says Ted. His eyes are dark and gentle, even with a boy that he never met before two weeks ago, and Andromeda’s chest feels tight with the appreciation for this kind, patient man she was thankfully not stupid enough to let go. “He still has you.”

“Yes,” Regulus agrees softly. “Yes, he does.” He readjusts himself when Dora slots onto the couch between him and Andromeda and only once she’s safely curled against the two of them does he add, “I just hope he knows that, too.”

*********

Sirius comes back, of course.

He puts his hand on Regulus’s shoulder when he comes into the kitchen, quiet and unassuming; he moves like a ghost sometimes, half-there, half-alive, trapped between two worlds and welcome in none. Though Andromeda has seen ghosts who suffered a kinder fate. He goes to draw his hand away but Regulus turns toward him, giving him a slow, sad upturn of lips, and puts his hand over his, squeezing it once, quickly.

“Alright?” Regulus asks after he’s let go.

“Alright,” Sirius says, nodding. He reaches around Regulus to steal a piece of bacon from his plate and bites off half of it. “Bella is still on a rampage so they were all sufficiently distracted.” He looks at the remaining piece of bacon, frowning, then up at Andromeda. “Did you make this?” he asks.

Andromeda nods, still not finding the right words to say anything else, too busy scrutinising Sirius. He seems better and worse at the same time – he’s paler than he was when he left but he holds himself upright now and doesn’t grimace anymore when he moves.

“It’s good.”

Regulus glares up at Sirius. “Are you implying mine isn’t?

Sirius shrugs. “I’m not not implying it,” he says and Regulus shoves him.

*********

Sirius and Regulus filter in and out of the house from then on. Regulus, who used to disappear for scraps of time during the day, now stays away for hours, although he always comes back before the dark has settled in, usually smiling softly at himself or humming under his breath. On some days, even both.

“He has someone,” Sirius says on one of the rare days he’s with them. He’s gone for days at a time and unlike Regulus, rarely spends the night and even then, he is gone before the sun has risen. He spends most of his time with Regulus and his books and parchments, scribbling in the margins, or with Dora, playing chess with her or showing her various wand tricks to entertain her. He is always kind, always patient, but the scars and wounds underneath are visible even on the best of days. Andromeda wonders sometimes if he sees Bellatrix when he looks at Dora with her dark hair and high-cheeked face, or when he looks at Andromeda herself; she doesn’t blame him for getting lost in the pain sometimes. “He won’t tell me but I see him.”

“Are you sure?” Andromeda asks. It seems unimaginable, not because Regulus would be incapable of forming such a relationship, but because it seems almost bizarre that he might allow himself such a comfort, such a liability when he and Sirius are clearly mixed up in something that goes beyond Sirius’s affiliation with Voldemort.

Sirius nods, dragging on the cigarette he’s lit. “I don’t blame him for it,” he says, puffing out the smoke, his voice caught with it. “I had things I didn’t tell him about, too.”

There are so few things Andromeda thinks Sirius has left to keep to himself, to cherish. She cannot imagine the pain he must have felt leaving his friends in the dark and with every loss after it – there can’t have been just a few of them. Her heart aches with the thought of how alone he must have been that first year before Regulus joined him.

“He’s happy,” Sirius says, pressing his shoulder against Andromeda’s briefly. “I can never resent him for it.”

“I’m glad,” Andromeda says and pushes the question bubbling up her throat back into her lungs, squeezed between her ribs, storing it for a day she might get a satisfactory answer. Are you happy?

*********

Days bleed by, then weeks, during which Andromeda learns to exercise a degree of patience she has never known before. It takes hours to put Dora to sleep sometimes, days to help Ted master a new level of mobility, but Andromeda never for one second wishes it were any different; she has them still and that is more than she can ask for.

Sirius examined Ted the second time he came back and his diagnosis, coming from someone who Andromeda has known to be exceptionally talented at healing, offered little hope; but Ted is trying with everything he has, religiously doing all exercises and drinking his potions—the results are defying all expectations.

Currently, he’s learning to use the wheelchair Sirius has procured and magically enhanced for him, using the wheels to propel himself backwards and forwards, back and forth, back and forth. “This is quite nice,” he says, smiling up at Andromeda with tired eyes, set strangely into his thin, scarred face. He’s always been a bit on the stout side, but he’s lost a lot of weight during his recovery, his rehabilitation; it’s not a bad change but the reasons for it are. She misses, sometimes, her cheerful husband and her bubbly daughter but always catches herself before she wishes to go back. There are so many things she has gained now that she would never have managed to see otherwise. It is hard to be resentful of that. “Come on,” he proclaims as he tugs on her hand and then lets go to push himself forward, past the kitchen and towards the front door. “Let’s take it out for a test drive.”

Andromeda follows, opens the door and steps out. It’s a beautiful day, cold but not unpleasant, the sun shining high up in the clear sky. She hasn’t made it a habit to remind herself of it lately.

Ted is a bit unsure in the wheelchair, rolling over the grassy knolls and dips, but it is wonderful to see him enjoy the outside world without having to rely on anyone’s assistance, to be self-sufficient, if only for the time being.

She stands next to him once he’s stopped and reaches for his hand on the armrest. “I love you,” she tells him. “And I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much pain.”

Ted smiles at her, wide and unrestrained, but weak around the edges. He wraps his fingers around her and brings their joined hands up to his mouth to kiss the back of hers. “My Dromeda,” he murmurs. “You’ve only ever brought joy to my life.” He pulls on her hand until she gives and climbs into his lap, curling into his firm torso, into his smell of chamomile and healing potions. He wheels them forward, slowly and unsurely, but Andromeda trusts him enough to keep her eyes closed until he stops. He’s brought them all the way to the end of the path leading to the village below, where Regulus has taken Dora, heavily masked, for the day.

It takes her a moment to realise that they’ve crossed the border of the Fidelius charm and there’s a painful tug in her chest, an old panic finally rearing its ugly head; but it’s Ted and she trusts him. So she noses against the curve of his neck as he wraps his arms around her and she breathes him in, lets the sunrays wash over them. With him by her side, she isn’t afraid.

*********

“How’s Cissy?” she asks Sirius when she finally dares.

He looks up from a parchment, depicting strange, mangled creatures. He and Regulus have been becoming more open with their research, leaving them to lie on the table even if they’ve left their spot for longer than a minute; she thinks they might tell her what they’re up to soon. “Good,” he says, grey eyes unreadable. He takes a bite of the sandwich she’s made him and it seems almost absent-minded or at least not deliberate. Regulus told her Sirius practically has had to have food forced down his throat for months, if not years. “Surviving,” he adds after he’s swallowed the bite; then, even softer, “She fears for her son.”

Andromeda thinks back to the family tree in the dining room, the gold thread tracing down from the line connecting Narcissa and Lucius. “Draco,” she says and he nods.

“He’ll be two soon,” he tells her, a distant look crossing his face; it seems at once caught between reminiscence and regret. “I’d help her if I could but Lucius would kill her before he’d let her go and she won’t risk Draco.”

Andromeda’s throat burns, a familiar sensation by now, older even than Sirius’s servitude. It’s been a constant companion since she last closed the door of her childhood home. Bella, she had little qualms about leaving behind, but Cissy, pliable Cissy who would do anything to please their parents and Bella; she would have taken her with if she had been able to. She cannot blame Sirius for having the same conflict within himself, for failing to come up with a solution when his circumstances are so much worse.

“I’m sorry you’re alone,” she says, leaning back against the counter, gripping the old, hideous wand like it’s her lifeline; she hates it, its history, its character and everything in-between—but it’s all she has right now and it has to be enough.

“I wasn’t always,” Sirius says, the long, elegant lines of his face shifting as he reaches up to touch a small carnation pendant resting just below the hollow of his throat. She has the sudden image of the boy he was, rising from the stool at the Sorting, equal parts elated and terrified. She really thought that he was safe then, that he would get away. “But I am now.”

*********

Regulus teaches Dora to fly on a broom, leading her high up into the sky and guiding her through easy manoeuvres. It makes her laugh, makes her giddy with excitement and she comes back into the house rosy-cheeked and with shining eyes.

Ted reads bedtime stories to her, has her tucked against his chest until late in the night, until she’s been asleep for hours and not mere restless minutes. He kisses her hair and tells her he loves her and doesn’t let go of her unless she asks him to.

Andromeda sings her lullabies until her throat hurts and brushes her hair and plays with her. She shows her all the wonderful things Alphard kept in his house, all the knowledge he kept in his books. She teaches her to dance every ballroom dance she remembers and doesn’t once mind any antiquity Dora breaks.

But Dora’s hair remains dark, her features familiar and painful not because they remind Andromeda of a past she’d rather forget, especially now, but because they are not her daughter’s, who has made it her personal mission to be her own and no one else’s since the day she first figured out how to control her abilities. They are a reminder that Dora lost something – that she was robbed of it – she can’t ever get back.

Then Andromeda goes for a glass of water in the middle of the night and she finds Sirius sprawled out on the couch, a thin blanket over him. He rarely goes to his room to sleep, instead preferring to crash in the living room; Andromeda hasn’t dared to ask him why yet. His chest is rising and falling steadily, his breaths blowing his hair away from his face. He has his arm around Dora, who is snuggled into his chest, her own arm barely reaching up to be wrapped around him. The embers in the fireplace cast a soft, warm light over the two of them, just enough that Andromeda can see that there, just above the swell of Nymphadora’s ear, her short hair glows pink.

*********

Snow melts under the relentless onslaught of the sun and gives way to blooming flowers. The days grow warmer, longer.

Andromeda starts tending to the old garden and Dora, with her hair a beautiful, beautiful pattern of pink and brown, joins her. They work while Ted sits in his chair nearby, reading or simply watching them. Sometimes he tells them stories or jokes; on other days, they are all content to stay in silence, to enjoy all the things that they nearly lost. Here, in the small world they’ve built for themselves, occupied and protected by people Andromeda loves most, they start healing.

*********

The newspapers grow darker and Regulus’s eyes become stormier, his face worn with frowns. He stays inside day and night, digging through old texts that probably haven’t seen the light of day for decades.

Sirius doesn’t come home for weeks.

*********

It’s nearly June when he does. The garden outside is blooming, bright with colours and life, but the house doesn’t light up until he bursts through the door.

“I got it!” Sirius yells. He’s smiling, honest-to-god smiling, when he barrages directly into Regulus and knocks the two of them off-balance, nearly onto the floor. “I got it, Regulus,” he says into his shoulder, muffled and fuzzy with the shock. He’s still grinning when he pulls back but now, so is Regulus.

“How did you get it?” Regulus asks, reaching out a hand.

“I convinced Narcissa.”

It’s not until Regulus takes the small black book from Sirius’s hands that Andromeda even notices he had it. It’s an old, unassuming thing but Andromeda spent nearly half her life in houses where she learnt the hard way that most things weren’t what they appeared to be; even just looking at it makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, her chest heavy with the weight it has brought to the room. Whatever it is, it isn’t harmless.

“What is that?” she asks.

Regulus and Sirius exchange a dark look, an old sort of connection she remembers the two of them sharing since they were children; they have always known best how to exclude others from their conversations without even trying. Sirius’s face remains for the most part impassive, but Regulus’s mouth twitches to the side.

“I’m not stupid,” Andromeda tells them, which they should already know. She was the mastermind behind most of their pranks in their youth, after all. “You’ve already done it now.”

Sirius sighs, a deep, long thing that seems at once strange and usual for him. “Fair enough,” he says, sweeping his hair out of his eyes with practised ease. It’s getting long again; Andromeda should make him sit down and cut his hair. “You should sit down.”

*********

Sirius brings a dagger that Andromeda’s seen in one of the display cases in the study and offers it to her. It’s goblin-wrought silver, he tells her, coated in basilisk venom, a thing a friend of his managed to procure for him. It is one of the few things that can destroy the soul inside the diary.

“Your honours, Dromeda,” Regulus says softly, standing against the wall next to the fireplace. She only now notices the golden chain of the locket resting against his chest, the shape of it obvious underneath his white shirt now that she knows what to look for.

“This is how we end it?” she asks, looking between him and Sirius, unsure at whom the question is directed.

But it’s Sirius, with his eyes like shards of ice, his back like a pillar of steel, that says in a firm, cool voice, “Yes.”

Andromeda nods, steeling herself, grips the dagger and stabs it into the middle of the leather diary. Black ink bleeds out, pulsing in time with the shrill, dull screams that tear out of it. Andromeda dives to the side, the dagger clattering to the ground as she covers her ears. Sirius catches her, pressing her against his chest with a quiet, soothing murmur, the sensation unfamiliar after so many years but Andromeda can’t look away from the horror before her, knowing that it’s a piece of someone’s soul dying, something she caused. Voldemort was, despite everything, human once, too.

The diary heaves one last spurt of black blood, then goes silent and lies there. The weight in the room lifts.

*********

“What else could be a Horcrux?” she asks Regulus the next morning. Ted and Dora are still asleep in their rooms and there’s no one else to overhear them.

Regulus looks up from his breakfast, swallowing before he answers, “Anything. Voldemort seems partial to sentimental items – his diary, Slytherin’s locket, Hufflepuff’s cup, his family’s ring.”

“Items relating to Hogwarts?” Andromeda muses, taking a sip of her tea. “Sword of Gryffindor?”

Regulus shakes his head, eyes sharp. Andromeda doesn’t doubt that everything she might come up with he has already thought of. “Only a true Gryffindor can get his hands on that one.”

“Ravenclaw’s Diadem?”

“In theory. But it’s been lost for centuries.”

Andromeda knows, of course, so she nods and doesn’t mention it again; but something trickles against her mind, an old memory, a passing thought, and it doesn’t let go.

*********

Regulus pokes Sirius, dozing on the couch next to them, while they file through different texts. It’s tedious and gruesome work, Horcrux hunting, and no one can blame him for not wanting to participate in it after having to deal with the Death Eaters for weeks. “How did you convince Narcissa?” he asks.

It makes sense that he would; if Sirius was Andromeda’s favourite cousin, then Narcissa was Regulus’s, the feeling no doubt mutual. Although years apart, they both found solace in the quiet things, the unassuming ones; they have always been the counterweights to Sirius and Andromeda. Regulus must have kept the worry for her despite everything that happened—or perhaps exactly because of it.

Sirius blinks open his eyes, languid. The dark bags underneath them are a horrible sight to behold but not an unusual one. “I mentioned Draco – that it might help keep him safe if she did what I asked.” He makes a face, absent. “I’m not proud of it.”

Regulus glances at him, then back down at the parchment in his hands. “Had to be done,” he murmurs.

“He’s a good kid,” Sirius says, a tinge of fondness creeping into his voice. “Happy.” He adds, to Regulus or Andromeda, she doesn’t know, “You’d like him.”

Andromeda knows he doesn’t mean to hurt them but it stings, the knowledge that he gets to know their nephew, gets to see him grow up while they are stuck here, grasping at dragon’s breath. The darkness rises up in her for a moment, two, then dies down. It doesn’t disappear exactly – but Sirius has sacrificed so much for them and still does, on a daily basis. Having that small reprieve, that one little gift, is the least that he deserves.

He’s happy. I can never resent him for it.

Besides, it is just a matter of time.

*********

Regulus turns twenty-one years old in the hottest week of the summer. Andromeda forgets sometimes, how young they all are, how much they have already suffered.

She bakes him a cake, the cranberry one he so adored as a child. Dora draws him a picture of him, Sirius and the three of them, prouder of it than she ever has been of any other accomplishment. Sirius buys him a set of books and even hugs him, a quick, brief thing that nonetheless makes Andromeda’s eyes sting.

He blows out the candles and Dora asks him, “Did you wish for anything?”

Regulus cradles the back of her head, fingers carding through the purplish hair there. “Oui,” he says, “I did.”

He doesn’t tell them, of course, and Dora is content with that, but he slips out of the house in the evening and Andromeda has an inkling anyway.

*********

Andromeda doesn’t look at the newspapers anymore. She stopped long before Bellatrix came crashing through her front door and the idea is to never start doing it again until she dies or until Voldemort is defeated, whichever comes first—and she’s having her doubts.

But it’s pointless not to look at newspapers when she can just take one look at Sirius when he comes through the door and know how bad it is anyway. Given the fact that most of the media is currently already controlled by the Death Eaters, that way is even more accurate than the Daily Prophet itself. She wishes she didn’t have to know, that she could just curl into the space between Ted and Dora and stay there forever, the rest of the world be damned.

There are people in the rest of the world, though, people she loves, people she knows, people she wishes she could make amends with. Sirius. Narcissa. Lucretia. Her classmates, her colleagues. They’re all fighting, in their own way, she’s sure of it. It seems unfair that she gets to step away from that.

The thing is, she could. Sirius is the Secret Keeper of this house and she knows he would let her if she asked; even if his cover was blown, even if he was tortured to death, she knows he would not give them up and they would all be safe for the rest of their lives.

But at the end of the day, Andromeda knows who she wants under the roof of this house if the worst time comes and it’s not just her small family and Regulus; it’s Sirius and Narcissa and a dozen people in-between. So she covers Regulus with a blanket, kisses the top of his head as he moves and murmurs in his sleep, and brushes Sirius’s hair away from his face, presses a kiss to the edge of the scar across his cheek. Then she settles against them, opens the book again and starts reading.

The war isn’t going to end itself.

*********

“He has the Ministry,” Sirius says with a hoarse voice on a November morning. He came sometime during the night, slept on the couch again. It’s the first thing he’s said since they woke up.

Regulus frowns. “There hasn’t been any indication—”

“Imperius,” Sirius says, shrugging. “Bagnold and most of her office – I don’t know exactly who, though. He didn’t put me on the job.”

“Who then?” Andromeda asks and dreads the answer even before Sirius’s eyes, dull and dark, catch hers.

“Lucius. Bellatrix. Rodolphus.”

“Why not you?” says Regulus. “We wouldn’t—” He rubs a hand across his face, makes a soft, agitated noise. “We were doing so well.”

“I know, Reg,” Sirius says softly. “Believe me, I know.” He worries his lip and sucks his cheeks in; they look even more hollow now, his face as white as death. “He’s sending me to the werewolves.”

Regulus blanches. “Again?”

Sirius’s nod is short, curt, like he’s already resigned. “He wants them ready. He has something up his sleeve, I don’t know what. He’s not telling me. I don’t think he’s telling Bellatrix either.”

One short conversation, a few scraps of information and the world is already infinitely worse than it was mere minutes ago. A lump gathers in Andromeda’s throat. The Ministry being done for was to be expected, of course it was, but it’s worse now that it’s actually happening, when the possibility of the people outside being protected is completely gone, not only because the government has fallen but because Sirius won’t be there either.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, trying for a reassuring smile but his mouth trembles. “They’re not such big bad wolves as they’re painted to be. Preferrable to the Death Eaters, really.”

*********

Dora cries when he tells her, throwing her arms around him and clinging to him long enough that Andromeda has to look away.

Sirius holds her, murmuring soft words to her, shushing and rocking her to the side. “C'est d'accord, ” he says, soft against the wild purple of Dora’s hair. “It’s just a couple months, Dora. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“But it’s your birthday tomorrow,” Dora tells him between sniffles. “I haven’t finished your present yet.”

Sirius blinks, mouth open, and Andromeda wonders if he even remembered – or maybe he didn’t expect that they would remember, that she and Regulus would care enough to tell Dora. Oh, Sirius. “Your presence is present enough, Dora,” he says finally, pulling her into another hug. His head is tucked against hers, his eyes closed, the gentle expression on his face at odds with the strength he’s holding her against him. “Besides,” he says, slowly drawing back, “you can give it to me when I come back.” He pokes her in the belly and that makes her crack a reluctant smile. “Gives me something to look forward to.”

*********

It’s worse, somehow. It’s not like he wasn’t gone before but at least they knew he was around somewhere. Regulus could reach him when the need called for it and it was a matter of days, or weeks, at worst, before he came home. Now, it’s months, an endless stretch of time that only seems to draw on longer with the lack of success their research offers.

Then Regulus says, “A Horcrux can be a living thing.”

Andromeda looks up from her parchment, the image of Ravenclaw’s lost diadem now permanently scorched into her mind, all too familiar, then blinks at Regulus. “What?”

He stretches across the coffee table to hand her the piece of an old text. It’s in Ancient Runes, her brain blanking for a second before it starts translating, but Regulus has already continued by the time she’s halfway through. “The soul can be placed inside a living thing – an animal, a plant, a human, probably.” His eyes are shining when she glances at him. “Sirius said Voldemort found this snake, Nagini. He always keeps her at his side and with his obsession with being the Heir of Slytherin—” He tilts his head to the side, like a cat, giving a slow one-shouldered shrug.

“He made her a Horcrux,” Andromeda finishes, her mouth tugging up at the corners.

Regulus nods, running a hand through his tousled hair. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes twinkling. “We’d have to check— Sirius would have to check,” he corrects, his forehead creasing up, his eyes blinking closed for a second, “but it’s likely.” He takes a quill and scribbles a quick message onto a small piece of parchment lying to the side. He slices the tip of his finger open and presses it to the top of the parchment, leaving behind a bloody fingerprint when he pulls it back. He taps his wand against it, once, twice, then sits back. The parchment disappears in a puff of blue-black smoke.

*********

“What will you do, Andi?” Marina asks, her voice velvet-smooth. She’s sitting on a throne in front Andromeda, leg crossed over the other, her sea-blue dress barely reaching the bend of her knee. Her chest is splashed with red, her brown hair tangled around her bruised face. A tiara rests atop her head, it, too, speckled with red.

Andromeda pushes back the urge to throw up. She’s dreaming, she knows she is, but Marina’s death is still an aching scar; she will never forget the emptiness of her eyes as they stared up at the ceiling painted in her own blood. “I don’t know,” she whispers.

“You? You, Andromeda Black, don’t know?” Marina says with a laugh, a high, breathy thing that sends chills down Andromeda’s spine; it is not the familiar, throaty sound she remembers. “I don’t believe it.”

“You know how you can help. Of course you do.”

“I don’t, I don’t.”

Marina shoots her an unimpressed look, eyes dark. She reaches up to move a stray strand of her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Where is it, Andi?”

A sob builds up in Andromeda’s throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Marina was always a sharp person, a no-nonsense kind of one, but she never demanded more of people than what she knew they could give.

She shakes her head, fingers gripping the edge of the throne until her knuckles are white as bone. “You know,” she says. “Now you just have to remember where it is.”

*********

They celebrate Christmas without Sirius.

Regulus, rosy-cheeked, drags in a Christmas tree, tall enough to reach the ceiling and make Dora jump around with glee, her hair changing colours every time her feet touch the ground. They adorn it with ornaments Ted and Andromeda, despite her wand acting up, manage to conjure up and spend the day before Christmas baking cookies. By the end of the day, they are all so full they nearly forget anyone is missing at all. Come morning, they are all starkly aware of it again.

New Year’s Eve comes around and that passes without Sirius, too. Regulus sits outside on the cliff until they drag him in and even then, his eyes seem hollow, his voice empty when he says, “I forgot—it’s been a year—more than—since—” He puts his face in his hands and whispers, “Evan.”

It’s a sombre affair, New Year’s Day.

*********

Dora’s birthday is looking to be the same kind of subdued when no one is around in the morning—just the two of them, curled up on the couch while Dora opens the gift Andromeda managed to get for her. Ted and Regulus disappeared down into the village a couple of hours ago.

It should be better, Andromeda thinks. It’s her tenth birthday, the last whole year before she’s set to leave for Hogwarts and she deserves better. The knowledge that she can’t give it to her presses down on her chest, too heavy.

“I love you, little one,” Andromeda tells her, kissing the crown of her head. At least she’s happier now, at least she’s safe this year. At least Andromeda can be thankful for that.

“Love you too, Mum,” Dora says back absently, fingers skimming over the Quidditch book she’s unwrapped. She smiles up at her, though, bright and sudden. “Thank you, I love it.”

Dora is not a naïve child, has never really been, but Andromeda sees how much calmer she is now, how much more she considers everything she says or does and it makes her want to get up and find Bellatrix herself – to do to her the unspeakable things that she did to her daughter, to show her that she took away something from an innocent bystander in the name of something as trivial as blood. But it doesn’t matter to Bellatrix, it never has, and it isn’t worth it, not when both Andromeda and Nymphadora would lose so much with it.

“We’re back!” Ted shouts as he wheels himself into the living room, his lap full of presents. He’s grown stronger in the past months, his muscles building back up once he started moving around; but more important than that, he’s happier and not resigned but at peace with this big change life has brought for him.

“We even picked up a renegade,” Regulus adds, following in after Ted and carrying a load of things, the beginning and end of which Andromeda cannot for the life of her figure out. He frowns at someone behind him. “He’s refused to help us carry the gifts.”

Sirius steps in after him, dressed in clean, pressed dark robes, everything about him sleek and polished. He shrugs, his too-long hair falling in his eyes, and says, “I am the gift.”

Dora shrieks and ricochets herself off of the armrest, slamming into Sirius with enough force to make him stumble back a step; and he is. He really is.

*********

Sirius bends down low over Regulus and her, each of his hands on their shoulders. He doesn’t look unwell, not for a man who was supposed to have been dealing with feral creatures for the past few months. “You were right,” he murmurs, low enough Dora and Ted won’t hear. Andromeda thinks Ted probably knows anyway. “Nagini is a Horcrux.”

*********

Sirius is sitting eerily still for someone who could not be forced to calm down as a child. Then again, there are many aspects in which Sirius has changed and settled; this can hardly be any different. He’s letting her cut his hair, which is, although soft and glossy for the most part, damaged enough she will have to cut off at least a half of it.

“Don’t the werewolves have any tools to keep themselves in order?” she grumbles, sniping off half of a strand. Once it falls in place, it just reaches his earlobe.

Sirius breathes deep. “They live in poverty, Dromeda,” he says, rolling his shoulders back. Through the thin material of his white shirt, she can see a scabbed wound stretching from one shoulder to the other. “They can hardly afford such luxuries.”

Andromeda has, as a principle, made it her main objective in the last decade to be as different from her family as possible. In large part, that involved successfully relearning every ideology Cygnus and Druella had done their best to instil in her. On the rare occasion, however, Andromeda, in her admittedly bull-headed pushing, came to the limits of her own morality, to the grey zone that she could not move out of solely on the basis of being far away from the Blacks’ mentalities. Werewolves and similar dark creatures fell into that grey zone because at the end of the day Andromeda, as a child from a deeply dysfunctional family, felt she didn’t have the ability to make the judgement for herself. She fears such moments most, when she realises that she can escape her family, but some shackles can never be fully stripped away.

Sirius’s voice is soft but rather lost, a boat far out in the open sea. “They’re not bad people, not most of them,” he murmurs into his hands covering his mouth. “Those that are, were bad people before they were ever Turned.”

*********

Andromeda stands in a vast room, with no end in sight. There are piles of trinkets around her, large piles of every little thing Andromeda can think of and yet larger ones of things she couldn’t name to save her life. They are arranged in lines, leaving narrow rows for passage in-between.

She steps forward, down one of those rows, her fingers skimming over the things scattered atop. A book, glasses, a quill. A frame, a wand, a tiara. A piece of string, a wig, a bust.

Marina appears in front of her, dressed as she was the last time, only her hair is woven into a crown of brown and red now, her fingers taut with dried blood. “You are far more foolish than I thought you were,” she says, looking down at her with hooded eyes and curved mouth. “I thought you were the observant type.”

“What are you talking about?” Andromeda asks. She’s tired of these dreams, these nightmares that plague her even in the daylight. If she’s not dreaming about them, she’s thinking of them. She wishes they stopped.

“Where is it, Andromeda?” Marina says, huffing impatiently but not in the way Andromeda is used to. “Where are we?”

Andromeda looks around. The ceiling of the room is high and dark, plain and unassuming, the walls too far away or too covered to be made out. She knows this place, she’s certain of it. She’s been here before. This meant something to her once, once, a long time ago—

And then it hits her. The seventh-floor corridor, the left one—the tapestry with the room that was never not there, the one she hid all the evidence of her relationship with Ted in, then later on of her plan to escape. I need a place to hide my things.

She turns, eyes searching for the thing she should have remembered a long time ago. The wig, the painting, the frame.

It’s resting on a precariously-put set of old, leather-bound books, covered in dust, all the glamour that should have been there long gone; but she knows where it is and what it is. She knows, she knows.

Marina has moved to stand next to her, her breaths steady. The blood has disappeared from her dress, has been washed out of her hair and off her hands. “I knew you’d remember eventually,” she says, fingers curling around Andromeda’s wrist. Her voice is once again the harmony of warm, raspy tones Andromeda knows. “It’s high time the war ended.”

Andromeda is stumbling out of bed before she’s even fully awake.

*********

Regulus grumbles when she shakes him and tries to burrow himself deeper under the covers. The sun is beginning to arc across the sky, far too early yet, but this is important. Andromeda cannot wait when she knows every minute wasted is a minute more that the people she loves have to suffer.

“I know where the last Horcrux is,” she tells him and he’s sat up within the next three seconds.

He looks up at her, grey eyes wide and just the little bit glassy, but his voice is strong. “Where?”

“Hogwarts.”

*********

Regulus sends a message to Sirius, the words smudged with sleep, messy with haste. We know where the last one is. Come as soon as you can.

After it’s disappeared in the burst of smoke, Andromeda asks, “What do we do now?”

Regulus sits down in front of the fireplace and opens a book, the picture of restrained calm. She shares none of it; her body is alive with the need to get up, to pace, to do something. “We wait.”

*********

Hours pass. Then days.

Sirius doesn’t come.

*********

The door to the terrace slips open so quietly Andromeda almost doesn’t hear it. She thinks for a moment it’s Dora or Regulus and she doesn’t even deign to open her eyes. Then she remembers Dora has taken off on a broom, diligently supervised by Ted, and Regulus is sitting next to her, gently rocking the garden swing they’ve settled on for the morning.

She stands up, just a second after Regulus, and whirls towards the door. She’s never felt anger like this before, pulsing in her belly like a fresh seal, scratching against the walls of her throat, as if it might tear them apart if she doesn’t let it out. She hides her trembling hands in the pockets of her dress.

Then she sees Sirius. His hair is a mess, haphazard around his face, his chest heaving with quick, rash breaths. The beat of his heart is not nearly audible but even so, Andromeda can imagine its fast pace just fine. He’s holding their message in one hand, his fingers dark with blood, a stark contrast to his pale face once he brings them up to it.

All the fight drains out of Andromeda.

Regulus doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. “Where have you been?” he asks, voice at once lower and louder than Andromeda’s ever heard him use. “We sent the message nearly two weeks ago.” He pauses, eyes flicking up and down Sirius’s body. “No matter.” He steps forward, grabbing Sirius by the shoulder and shaking him lightly. He cracks a smile, unsure in the face of Sirius’s indifference. “Sirius, we found it. It’s the Ravenclaw Diadem. It’s at Hogwarts.”

That does get Sirius to blink and shake his head, like a dog getting water out of his ears. “Oh good,” he says, voice hoarse. “We can kill two birds with one stone.”

Regulus’s smile fades as he steps back, his arms falling back to his sides. “What do you mean?”

Sirius clears his throat. He looks down at his hands, at the bloodied message, then up at Dora, laughing in the sky. Once his eyes move, they flick towards Andromeda, then settle back on Regulus. “Voldemort has had a spy at Hogwarts since September,” he says, his face crumpling with a desperation Andromeda hasn’t seen on him, probably ever, opening up like a chasm after an earthquake. “He’s going to attack Hogwarts at nightfall.”

#harry potter #sirius black #andromeda black #andromeda tonks #death eater sirius black #not really #but technically #regulus black #regulus black lives #ted tonks #nymphadora tonks #sirius and andromeda #sirius and regulus #sirius and nymphadora #in a world three degrees north

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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years ago

Text

Bluegrass-Chapter Thirteen

A special thank you to @statell for all your help

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Thirteen

Jamie and Jason took Runner to the airport on Thursday morning. It was a chilly morning and Jason used a heavier blanket for transport to the airport with a lighter blanket under his arm for the flight and his time in Florida.

Runner was fussy. Tossing his head in the air and pulling on the lead. He was very unhappy about life this morning but when it was time to board, he walked up the ramp and backed into his in-flight stall, like the dutiful Thoroughbred he was. The two men waited on the tarmac for the plane to take off and then walked back to the car.

“How are things going with Molly, lad?”

“Great. She and Lulu are really fun to be around and they both cook so that’s awesome. I bought a bunch of food yesterday and just left it in the frig. Molly works a lot of hours, so I have tons of time to sit on the porch and look at the fields. I like it there. No, I love it there, it’s nothing like New York.”

Jamie smiled thinking of how different Kentucky was from his home in the Highlands. He wondered if he would ever go back and decided he would love to take Claire to Scotland someday when their lives settled down.

Claire and Michael studied previous year's race videos from the Gulfstream Stakes. They often got lost in the hours of video until someone would come to pull their attention away. Today, it was Jamie that reeled them back and they all scattered to get packed.

The weather in Kentucky was moderate most of the year and October marked a significant dip in humidity. As the state dried out, the clouds of summer were rarely seen. It was still comfortable to ride all day and the nippy mornings would warm up to low seventies by noon. Nothing about Kentucky made Claire think of bathing suits and pools. But for their three days in Florida, she could think of little else, besides the race.

Claire could feel the hike in humidity and warmer air as they left the airport, making the beach an exciting idea for the afternoon. Jamie put them in a hotel five minutes from the track and right on the ocean. They stopped at the track and checked on Runner to find his mood had not improved. He was restless and paced in his temporary stall. Claire held his face and he let her know he was afraid of this strange place and asked her to race him.

“Yes, that is a good idea Runner, let’s get you ready for the track and take a look around.”

Michael was able to change her exercise time on the track and Jason worked his magic to calm the colt and let him know he wasn’t alone.

“With all your trophies and wins, I forget you’re only two years old Runner, still a baby really. It’s okay to be scared, buddy.”

Jamie and Claire got to their room on the seventh floor and Claire was wide-eyed at the ocean they could see and hear from the French doors. She jumped up and down and threw her arms around Jamie’s neck telling him how perfect this was. When they returned to the track, Jason was waiting with Runner, brushed, picked, and saddled.

Claire started to warm him up and was ready to release him to breeze when the right side rein slipped out of her hand and swung from the bit making the colt scared and ready to bolt. She could not reach his mouth to grab the rein and he wouldn’t stop until another horse suddenly appeared in front of them, then another horse. Two jockeys caught up with him and stopped him. One handed the rein to her and they ponied her back to her groom.

Claire’s grateful smile was hard to resist and both jockeys made her feel better as she thanked them profusely. Runner was asking why she wanted to scare him, telling her he was already scared. While Jason ran to get the second set of reins, Claire held Runner’s head and sang him a song from the top forty. Other horses exercising on the track passed them several times and Runner suddenly lifted his head high tossing Claire onto the dirt track on her bum. He was excitedly repeating “Sham! Sham!”

Jason held the bit and offered Claire a hand to stand up. He couldn’t figure out what was so funny after losing her rein and then getting tossed on her ass, but something surely was. He gave her a leg up and off she went as Michael came up next to Jason.

“You wouldn’t believe what just happened!”

Michael listened to Jason shaking his head. “Let’s hope they have lots of stuff planned for the afternoon that keeps her mind off it. Once she starts over-thinking and decides it could have happened during the race she may never ride again.”

After an hour and a half workout, Claire kissed Runner a dozen times and handed him to Jason. She looked around for Jamie and Michael explained that his new broodmare had an accident while loading for the trip to her new home at the compound. Michael pointed to where he was, and Claire took off running.

“Yes, thank you. My vet is here now so please send the pictures and I’ll call you back.”

Jamie clicked off looking irritated. “Those idiots let my new mare get injured the day we are supposed to pick her up. They were vague about what happened but they’re sending pictures of her wound in just a minute. Claire got up and kissed him on the lips and then rubbed his shoulders until he asked her to look at the pictures.

“That is a cow kick if I’ve ever seen one Jamie.”

The front leg had a gouge in it with loss of hair and tissue. “Can she be transported like that?”

“How long is the trip?”

“Ten hours and Rupert is there already. Should we wait to talk to Rupert, see if there is more we don’t know?”

“Yes.”

As soon as Jamie clicked off Claire grabbed his hand and told him to hurry. It was time for the beach! She raced through the hotel room pulling out her beach clothing which consisted of cut off shorts, a billowy top, a big hat, and flip flops. She pulled at Jamie until her feet were in the warm sand.

Claire spread a blanket and tossed off her clothes as Jamie’s eyes almost popped out of his head.

“Sassenach! Ye look, ye are, I think ye, umm that is a wee suit ye have on there.”

Claire flopped down on the blanket and put her big hat on before patting the blanket next to her. The beach was crowded, and Jamie noticed two guys who smiled at Claire as they walked by. He was in front of them in seconds as they both crashed into his stationary body.

“Ye dinna need to come back this way lads.”

Claire could see Jamie’s muscles bulging and got to her feet to calm him. . The two guys smiled even bigger and Jamie lost his mind pushing her behind him and scowling at the men. By the time the situation was over, and the men were gone, Jamie asked, “Mo chridhe, come with me to swim, aye?” Claire hoped this would alleviate his foul mood.

They waded into the warmest waves Claire ever felt in a large body of water. It was like dropping into a warm, buoyant bath and when they were deep enough, she threw her arms around Jamie’s neck and kissed him feeling his hands slide up and down her body. Claire broke the kiss when she felt the bow behind her neck come loose. Her suit had a single rope that ran through loops on the bottoms and top, holding it to her body. A very clever design that she fell in love with at the store. Now that the rope came loose the suit seemed to float up to the surface of the water.

Jamie’s eyes were big as saucers when he saw her bathing suit floating. Claire grabbed it and tried to figure out how to get it back on, but she was failing miserably. They had gotten quite far from shore so no one could see her naked body under the water, but the two of them together could not get it back on. The horrified look on their faces caught the attention of a ski boat that came up on them with two young couples. They asked if everything was okay and one of the girls could see Claire holding the suit to her under the water.

“I have a suit like that,” she giggled, “I can help.”

The girl jumped into the water and five minutes later Claire had her snug suit back on. She thanked the girl profusely with huge relief and they went on their way. She and Jamie decided it was time to head back to the beach and walked straight through to the hotel. That was quite enough beach activity for one day. With her big shirt, shorts, and big hat back on, Claire still felt naked and couldn’t wait to get more clothes on. Once back in the hotel room they dissolved in laughter until tears ran down their cheeks.

Claire told Jamie bad things happen in three’s, so she was done with any more accidents. Jamie was trying to stop laughing and asked her what she was talking about.

“Well, first my side rein broke and I couldn’t stop Runner until two other jockeys stopped him, then he tossed me into the track and I landed on my butt, then the two idiots at the beach, then losing my suit.”

“What?”

Claire’s head snapped up at the sound in Jamie’s voice.

“I will be back Sassenach. Rest. You have a big race tomorrow.”

Claire watched Jamie disappear and the door close behind him. When he didn’t come right back, she pulled the French doors open to the breeze and filled the giant tub to relax and think about the race.

Jamie paid the taxi driver and ran to Runner’s stall looking for the bridal and broken reins. He almost had a heart attack when Claire told him what happened. He could not find the broken tack until he walked the aisle and saw them in a trash receptacle. He studied the leather and realized it was the clasp that fell apart. He would examine her tack before every ride from now on.

When he held Claire that night he wondered if she was nervous about the race. Maybe she couldn’t sleep. He leaned on one elbow and looked at her face, already lost to her dreams.

Claire ran from the taxi in the pouring rain and found Jason getting Runner ready. She had worked him out earlier that day and he felt really good, calm, and ready. Then the rain ripped the clouds open and it had been pouring steadily since.

Michael joined them and Claire ripped the daily from him to check the odds on Runner.

“What the fuck Michael?”

Sham was favored to win with Angle Light second and Runner third. Michael reminded her that both horses had raced and won in the rain, Runner was yet untested. He had run in the rain while training at the compound but that wouldn’t count today.

“Ah, Claire, could you ask him if he wants to race in the rain? We could pull him if you think he will lag behind the others.”

“Well, I would love to Michael, but that would require a gift that allowed me to talk to animals.”

She left to follow Jason who launched her into the saddle and wished her luck. She looked at Jaime with the smile she reserved just for him. As they were loaded into the gate, Runner was flashing pictures of him beating Sham. They were coming out of number seven in a nine-horse race and Claire told Runner not to lollygag too long. She was green to a wet racetrack just like he was and wanted to use any advantage.

When the gate flew open Runner jumped forward in his race lane once the others were away. He didn’t pick up speed like he always did coming out of the first turn and Claire worried that he was afraid of the rain. He told her he couldn’t see through the rain and he would get hurt running into another horse. She told him to listen to her hands and she would guide him. She took over the race at that point pulling back on the reins which told him to run faster, using direct rein to steer him away from the other horses.

It took several seconds for Runner to see that Claire was guiding him as he saw horses fade to his left and right. He was still behind the pack going into the second turn and Claire was sure he couldn’t win but she pushed for him to place. Runner dug in and covered ground as Claire watched for an opening. He felt a hard rein to his left and moved that direction until he was on the rail and stretching his body to accelerate. When the rain let up a bit he could see Sham in the lead, and his mind closed to everything except catching Sham.

The first- place jockey tried to close in on the rail just as Runner zoomed past him on the left and ran for the finish line. It was close but clearly, Runner won the race. Claire stood in her stirrups and held her crop above her head in the now iconic move the crowds had seen so often. Runner and Claire proved the handicappers wrong and the crowd was blessed with another rocket performance from the horse that couldn’t be beaten.

The reporter from Sports illustrated shot pictures of Claire and Runner throughout the race, including her winning posture and brilliant smile. Midnight Runner was a superstar in his opinion, and he was about to rock their world.

The rain had stopped just in time for the winner’s circle picture and Claire jumped off the colt and kissed Jamie. Before they were off the track, she ran to catch up with Runner and made Jason stop. She held his face and thanked him for trusting her. Like magic, a hole in the clouds opened up and rays of sunshine hit them like a directed beam of light. Runner felt the warmth and dropped his head so Claire could press her cheek against him.

“Thank you, Runner.”

All the spectators that had gathered to congratulate her were politely quiet for their moment together, but once Runner was led away, they clapped and yelled questions. Later when they all emerged to go back to the hotel, William Nock was waiting for them outside. He walked up to Claire and smiled like a proud member of her family, which she did not have. It made the hair on her neck stand up and she felt a connection to Nock she couldn’t explain.

“You ran a good race, Claire. I saw you take over and lead him. How did you know he needed that today, you’ve never done that before?”

“He told me he couldn’t see; he couldn’t break out.”

“Well, I’m glad he had that kind of faith in you. I’m glad he told you in time. Congratulations.”

Claire stared after Nock with eyebrows raised. Did he actually believe her?

When they were back in Kentucky, Claire laid in Jamie’s bed, exhausted but very happy about the race. Runner would have a three-day break before he was saddled again, which meant rest time for her too. She felt relief right down to her bones. When she felt Jamie get into bed, she was fighting to keep her eyes open for him. He saw her exhaustion and held her as she lost the battle and drifted away to sleep.

Jamie held Claire against him and kept his body still so her slumber would go too deep to notice any movement. The sexless weekend left him wanting her, but it also heightened his need to protect her. He thought about how much her life had changed since he called her in that day to help Runner find his inner horse. She was still the sweet girl he had always known but now she was a competitor with an iron will to win. Aside from providing medical service to his yearlings, she had no interest in riding them to glory as she did Runner. She would not pursue riding once Runner was done racing. So putting her practice on hold, and devoting her time to racing was all to get Runner as far along the road to the Derby as possible because it would help him, Jamie.

He tried to have her faith in Runner, but he never expected them to get this far undefeated. Every time they won it took him a full minute to wrap his head around the truth of it. If she made it to the super-six, millions of people would see him run. After that, he expected Runner to be too exhausted to keep winning because the races were harder and closer together. He would encourage her to quit when he started losing. By that time his one in a million horse would have blessed his future with prosperity and he would pull him from the track.

“Rest sweetheart and feel my love and gratitude for what ye’ve done.”

When the next race approached, Runner could feel a change in the energy. His mood got cranky and he stuck his nose in the corner of his stall, refusing to interact with Jason. When Claire was told about his mood, she walked into his stall with new 8X10 glossy pictures and taped them to the back wall. Runner snorted and pawed at his bedding. He sent flashing pictures of beating them all as Claire told him who was favored to win. The next day Jason found the pictures on the floor of his stall, ripped and trampled on. He left the tattered pile for Claire to see.

Runner’s daily workouts were a dream come true as he was gaining experience with all levels of running, his legs were sound, and even with regular racing, he had gained weight on Michael’s feeding regimen. Claire and Jamie took both Runner and Porcelain into the field each day for a period of low-stress grass munching and flirting. It was one of the ways they kept him calm between races.

Claire had provoked Runner with new pictures of the horses he would run against. By transport day he was practically bouncing with energy and kept asking everyone to race him although only Claire heard this. Jamie suggested that Jason hang on tightly going up the ramp and thank goodness he did because Jason could barely keep his feet underneath him.

“What the hec got into him? Did you see the way he ran up the ramp Jamie?”

“Yeah, Claire’s been taunting him with the horses in the race tomorrow, now he can’t wait to beat em.”

“Claire taunts him? Interesting. How?”

“Well, it starts with the pictures, then she tells him what the odds are for win, place, and show, but that only works when he isn’t favored to win. Otherwise, she skips that part and just tells him they are gonna beat him. It makes him a little nuts.”

Jason stopped walking and stared at Jamie, squinting one eye closed like he was waiting for the rest of it.”

Jamie turned around when he didn’t sense Jason next to him, “come on.”

“Do you have any idea what you just said?”

“I’m not daft if that’s what you mean.”

“Jamie, you just said Claire tells Runner the odds, who’s favored to win, like he understands her.”

“This isn’t a conversation for the weak, Jason. Forget I said anything.”

“Will you please stop a minute? You are the most honest and level headed man I know. Suppose you tell me when you left your sane mind and started believing Claire can talk to horses?”

“The first day I met her, two years ago, when she cut that colt out of his dead dam and saved most of my horses from a mass poisoning. You watched the race two weeks ago, ye saw her take the reins and move the colt around the track. Ye know why she did that? He told her he couldn’t see through the rain and didn’t want to get hurt.”

Jason shook his head like Jamie was talking crazy. He still wasn’t moving, and Jamie turned around again and walked back to him.

“Claire has never jockeyed a horse until the day she climbed on Runner, about four months ago. She is the first and only person to ride him, although she was terrified of racing, he told her it would be fun and she would be a winner on him. He also tells her when to tuck, and when to hold his mane. She’s a complete novice, never uses the whip, but uses psychology to motivate him. Do you think that is possible if she isn’t talking and listening to him?”

“Yes, because she doesn’t talk to horses, Jamie.”

“C’mon kid, now we’re late.”

Jason stared at Jamie all the way home, just like he suspected he would. A seed was planted in Jason’s mind and he would watch Claire and Runner together, looking for obvious communication. They had two prep races before winter break and if she kept winning, she would enter the super-six in the spring. She only needed one win and he would pull her off the colt and burn her silks, thanking God she was healthy and unharmed. If Jason truly understood her it might help when things got crazy after the break.

Claire looked out the window of the taxi at the famous Santa Anita Racetrack. She was so excited when she saw the track and imagined running this thrilling race in the morning. Michael caught up to them and Claire grabbed the racing program from under his arm smacking the publication and announcing Runner was favored to win. That was the very best welcome to California.

Runner was excited, she could feel him ready to explode and she calmed him by insisting he save that energy to win the race. Every horse that passed them during exercise he flashed images of beating them and Claire laughed. “It’s a good thing you’re only two years old buddy, it’s pretty easy to psych you out!”

Jason watched them breeze and watched Claire laughing and yelling at Runner. He decided that must be interpreted as communication to Jamie and shook his head. After the usual dozen kisses on his face, Claire released the colt to Jason.

“Jason dearest, could you use the heavy blanket tonight. He got cold last night and hardly slept. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Jason watched her jump into Jamie’s arms where he held her, feet dangling in the air. He looked at Runner and apologized for the oversight with the blanket, then decided he was losing his mind.

It was a beautiful day to race and Runner looked ready. Jamie was pulling on reins, bridal clasps, and the girth, testing the tack until Claire took it out of his hands. Everyone was excited as owners, trainers and jockeys prepared for the race.

Claire was ponied out to the gate and loaded into third position in a ten- horse race. She was so ready to do this and told Runner he was running his own race, like always.

When the gate slammed open, Runner was out of the gate within seconds of the other horses and showed the crowd how he could gallop like he was in a parade. Claire giggled to herself wondering how pissed people were getting for betting on him to win. She had to correct his lead in the first turn, but he recovered the time lost when he stretched his body and leaped from stride to stride. He was slightly right of the middle passing horses left and right because he had something to prove today, he had to beat them all. Claire was getting nervous because Runner couldn’t catch up to the lead horses. He ran in fourth position for a quarter-mile and Claire finally pulled back on the reins, the signal to speed up. She almost shot right out of the saddle when he turned on the power and passed every horse on the outside, winning the race by three lengths.

“Jesus Christ almighty you crazy horse! Runner you almost gave me a heart attack! Once for running slow, the other for running so fast.” Claire could feel him slowing a bit and figured he was done flaunting his win and started to pull him back. When she came around the turn, she saw Jamie. Michael and Jason, all smiling and waving. Claire pointed her crop at them and thrilled them with her winner’s smile.

Claire would not let the track pony lead her to the winner's circle until she heard the man calling the race to announce them as the winner. Somehow, she missed it the first time.

“The winner of the Breeder’s Cup Juvenile is Midnight Runner, second place Sham, third place, All The Money.”

“Okay, we can go now sir.”

The handler looked up sharply at Claire and saw the honest happiness in her face. It was suddenly his pleasure to pony her to the winner’s circle and once there he wished her luck in future races.

Later, when they were preparing Runner for transport Claire thanked Jason for using the heavier blanket the night before. He was first to the stall each day and last to leave so no one could have seen which blanket he used. So how did she know?

When they arrived back at the compound late that evening Claire was happy for a few weeks off. They only had one race in November, at the end of the month. After that, they would winter at the compound and come back strong in the spring for the Super-Six. Michael made the decision to halt all training for three months and let Runner eat, rest, and put on weight. He presented the research to support his decision and Jamie and Claire agreed. The last prep race was at Churchill Downs. After that Jason and Michael would fly home for Christmas and Claire and Jamie would spend the Holiday together.

Claire cooked and baked daily after the morning exercise with Runner, and Jamie was in food heaven. His mouth would start to water as soon as he was out of the truck. Being together meant long walks in the Kentucky afternoon with both horses following, and talks about philosophy, destiny, and the path they were on.

They were walking back to the compound with two sleepy horses when Jamie asked Claire about the day of the poisoning.

“Ye had to touch my shoulder lass and threatened not to help me if I wouldn’t let ye. What was that all about? What did ye see when ye touched me?”

“I felt your despair…so deep I feared I would fall into it and never come out. A sorrow so sad it laid waste to the landscape of your soul. I felt the same sadness when I lost my parents and I was afraid of it because it knew me and might pull me in again. It was hard for me to get away from it but after, I knew for sure you were telling the truth.”

“Do you ever listen to my thoughts Sassenach, without me knowin?”

“Certainly not Jamie.”

“I wouldn’t mind, ye have my permission. If ye ever lose faith in me, before ye judge me please look at my thoughts. Okay, lass?”

Jamie stopped and turned his crystal blue eyes on his love. Whenever he looked directly at her she knew he could see right into her soul and the tears stung behind her eyes.

“Of course, I promise. Partly because you’re so cute, but more because I can’t live without you anymore.” The second half of her sentence was almost a shy whisper that yanked the heart out of Jamie’s chest and spun it around a few times. He kissed her until Runner gave him a nudge to keep going, it was dinner time.

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littledarlinwrites · 5 years ago

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Dream a Little Dream Of Me

1940s!Bucky Barnes x Reader

This is for @teamcap4bucky Summer Sun and Fun Game! Thank you so much for hosting and for being so patient with me when I screwed up the due date. This was specifically written for @majesticavenger, I'm so sorry for the wait, but I hope it was worth it! Anywho, this is the first time I've wrote 40s!Bucky and I'm hella needy at the moment 'cause life, so leave me some love y'all! (Also, as soon as I can jump on my laptop I'll add a keep reading link, I'm not savvy enough to do it on mobile).

You trudged up to your Brooklyn apartment, your cat howling on the fire escape outside your bedroom window to be let in. A tired smile graves your face after a long day of work. A job you were grateful for, but bittersweet under the circumstances, patients sick or dying, and men going off to war only to never return either physically or mentally. You couldn't wait to hide away in your apartment for the rest of the night, draw a hot bath, listen to a radio program before nodding off to sleep. And, if you were lucky, maybe your apartment pen pal had sent you another note attached to your cats threaded collar. The thought of it made you pick up your pace as you climbed your apartment buildings staircase.

You practically ran into your apartment and to your bedroom window, flipping the latch and looking for the paper that was typically wrapped around your cats collar and tied with a baby blue string.

You found the paper, tying the baby blue string to an embroidery hoop with the others you collected. Today the note was short, just a song suggestion, something he would do on a rough day. You drew your bath water while turning up the radio station to catch the song. It wasn't until you were crawling into bed that the song played. Moonlight Serenade. You just hoped Lucky, the nickname he had told you to call him, was somewhere listening to it too.

The following morning you rushed around to get ready for the day and out the door in time. You scribbled your note to Lucky and wrapped it around the cat's collar before shooing it out the window.

----

Bucky laid on his bed, window open, waiting for the furry creature to make its way to him like it always did. Nox, she had said was the cat's name. Usually Bucky appreciated cats from a distance considering they would make him sneezy and itchy, but he couldn't help but enjoy the conversations with his pen pal. Luna, she had said to call her. A nickname her mother gave her due to her infatuation with the giant orb in the sky. He won every single match after he started talking with her, and he didn't consider that a coincidence.

Bucky heard the mewling from the black cat before he felt it curl up on his chest. He scratched the cat behind its ears causing the cat to purr contentedly before he began unfurling the note attached to its knitted collar.

“Silently if, out of not knowable

night’s utmost nothing, wanders a little guess

(only which is this world) more of my life does

not leap than with the mystery your smile

sings or if (spiraling as luminous

they climb oblivion) voices who are dreams,

less into heaven certainly earth swims

than each my deeper death becomes your kiss

losing through you what seemed myself, I find

selves unimaginably mine; beyond

sorrow’s own joys and hoping’s very fears

yours is the light by which my spirit’s born:

yours is the darkness of my soul’s return

–you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars”

-E. E. Cummings

Bucky read the poem three times before reaching for a piece of paper and jotting down some words. He wrapped the piece of paper around the cats collar, tying it with a frayed blue string from his work shirt and turned over to get a couple hours of sleep, if only his heart would stop fluttering like a hummingbird in his chest.

----

Walking through your door was a complete relief, even more so after stripping your nurses outfit and stockings. The hot shower relaxing your stiff and sore muscles. You donned your nightgown before opening your window for your cat to come home while running a brush through your wet strands. Eventually you heard the telltale meowing of your hungry cat before you heard its soft padding jumps to your floor from your window. You manage to scoop the black cat into your arms before you have to chase him through your apartment. You pull the thread holding the note onto his collar and unfurl the note to read it.

My lucky star

You shine so brightly

My lucky star

You guide me through the night

My lucky star

You give me hope

My lucky star

You guide me home

My lucky star

You help me more than you know

My lucky star

Oh how you glow

My lucky star

Please never let me go

The words set fire to your face as your stomach erupted with a swarm of butterflies. You pulled out your journal, pressing the note between the next set of empty pages. You turn your radio on humming along to the song as you lay in your bed fighting sleep just to think about Lucky just a moment more.

When you wake in the morning you grab a paper and something to write with as you write down a couple lines to a song, one of your favorites, before you got ready for the day, humming the tune on your way to work and all through your day. Except, you forgot to leave the window open for your cat to get out to pass on the waiting note.

----

Bucky was fighting sleep waiting for the cat to prance his way through the window before making a home on his bed. Sleep clawed at his mind, his eye lids weighed heavy and sore with a need for rest. And just like that, Bucky fell asleep for the first time without the sound of a cat purring on his bed.

He woke up and walked to the shipyard, loading and unloading pallets until the sun hung low in the sky. He felt off kilter all day. Like he was just a hair off with his footing and could never get it quite right. He was a bit more clumsy than usual. All signs that he should cancel his match tonight and back out while he still could, but he trudged on, assuring himself that he could use the money so maybe he could take his lucky star out on a proper date. He made his way to the Y for his match pumping himself up, he just couldn't help this nagging feeling though that he was missing something.

----

When you got home from work your humming abruptly stopped when you saw your cat staring at you in the middle of the room, tail twitching every so often. Your shoulder slumped when you realized you never let your cat out with your note. You moved slowly to refill the food bowl before making yourself a small dinner. Your gut sinking by the minute that something was wrong. You went to bed that night hoping the feeling would pass by morning.

When you woke you realized you were running late. You dressed quickly before running out the door and to the hospital before checking your patient list, a relatively short one, but you had patients to attend to nonetheless. You made your way through your rounds before stopping at the last bed. A mess of bruises, a boxers fracture, sprained wrist, 2 broken ribs and the rest bruised, a black eye and a concussion. However, one look into the man's eye that wasn't swollen shut took your breath away. You decided then that blue was your all time favorite color. You checked his pulse, administered his medication which involved rousing him from his slumber, and making sure his bandages were fresh and in place. You turned to leave but stopped short at the site of a baby blue work shirt with frayed edges. You thumbed over the loose threads and noticed it was missing a few as if they had been pulled and cut for a purpose. The faintest whisper escaped you.

"Lucky?" A few beats passed before you heard the man you were just attending to clear his throat.

"Luna?" He asked confused. Your hand flew to your mouth as you gasped. You couldn't believe the man that made you blush on more than one occasion, that had worked his way into your dreams even though you had never seen his face, was now your patient.

"You okay there, doll?" He asked. When you barely nodded telling him yes he began to move as if to get out of bed sending you into a flurry of motion.

"Lucky, you're hurt-"

"Bucky. I mean, my real name is James Buchanan Barnes, but most people call me Bucky." He grits out as pain shoots through his ribcage.

"Well, Bucky, you're hurt, you shouldn't move much quite yet." He nods as he waits for the wave of pain to pass.

"What happened to you?" You can't help but ask.

"I, uh, work at the shipyard during the afternoon, but at night I box. Damn good at it too. Guess luck just wasn't on my side last night, doll."

"Uh, Y/N. My name that is. My name is Y/N." A smile made its way onto Bucky's face.

"Why didn't you write back, doll? Didn't think my on the spot poem was that terrible." The giggle that managed to escape you at his humor about his poetry was like music to his ears, and he decided that he wanted to hear that sound forever.

"Sorry, that was my fault. I wrote you a note, I really did, but I forgot to open the window for my cat to deliver it. I loved your poem actually." A blush crawled upon Bucky's face at your words.

"What was the note?" He asked curiously.

"Oh, just some lines from a song, nothing special."

"It's always special coming from you, doll. What was the song?" This time it was your turn to blush.

"Dream a Little Dream of Me." You replied bashfully.

"What lines?"

"Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

But in your dreams whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me."

"That's one of my favorites, doll."

The rest of your shift you spent at Bucky's bedside talking music, poetry, family, pets, friends, where your apartment was and everything else under the sun. You told Bucky you would come by tomorrow to spend the day with him since it was your day off. You couldn't wait to come back, although it was bittersweet realizing there would be no note to come home to.

When you woke the next morning you heard a tapping at your door. You opened it to reveal Bucky standing there with a bouquet of flowers with a note.

I dreamt a little dream of you.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fluff #buckyxreader #james barnes x reader #40s!bucky #40s!bucky x reader #40s!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes marvel #james bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes

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katymacsupernatural · 5 years ago

Text

The Lies of Men Chapter 1

Dean x Reader

1800 Words

Written For: @spngenrebingo, @spnaubingo

Squares Filled: 1940′s (Genre) Police Officer Dean (AU)

Summary: Y/N is married to a very wealthy bank owner. After his true colors show through, Y/N runs to her police officer brother for help. Instead, she finds his friend Dean, who offers his support.

Warnings: abusive relationship, mentions of assault, etc...

Tears streaked down your face as you struggled to control your breathing. Every breath hurt, bringing a fresh wave of tears that you desperately wished would stop.

Every part of your body ached, from your toes all the way to the strands of your hair. You were sure at least one of your ribs were broken, along with a possible concussion and heaven knows what else.

Your only possession at the moment was the fur-trimmed wool coat you were bundled up in, your beaded purse, and the diamonds wrapped around your neck like a collar. Everything else was back at your house. With him. And you couldn't go back there.

Standing at the entrance to Rittenhouse Square, you were left at a crossroads. Do you enter the park where none of your high-class friends would be at this late at night? Do you return home and hope that Lawrence's temper had cooled off?

But you knew it would never cool off. Sure, during the day he was the proper gentlemen and the proper husband. Going to work at his Fathers Bank. That he ran now. Spending the evening at your side at all the high-class parties. But once the two of you were alone in that massive house...you just shuddered at the memories.

You only had one other place to turn to. Lawrence would blow his top, but you didn't know what else to do. With nothing more than spare change in your purse, you began the long trek across the city to the police station, and the safety your brother might offer you.

Almost an hour later, you limped up to the large brick building. Your lungs burnt with exhaustion, your side screaming in agony at every painful drag of breath. Your ankle was swollen, one heel of your shoes laying forgotten about a mile back. Your eye had long since swelled shut, and you knew you must look a sight. But all that mattered was finding your brother Jimmy and the shelter he might offer you.

At this late hour, the front office was bare. The secretaries desk was empty, as was the guard who usually sat up front. You quietly made your way down the hallway to the large room towards the back. There the main officers had their desks. Jimmy was usually on the night shift, a fact you were grateful for now.

But as soon as you pushed the door open, all sense of hope vanished. The room was empty. Papers were strewn everywhere, half full coffee cups forgotten on their desks.

You were at a loss. You refused to go back, even though you knew you might have to eventually. You could wait for Jimmy, but who knew how long that could be.

Fresh tears began trickling down your cheeks, cool against the flushed skin. Crumpling down in a chair, you tried to think of your next move. But all you could think of was how wrong your life had turned.

Lawrence had swept into your life, making you feel like a princess in one of those fairy tale stories. He was handsome, so handsome. He had this inky black hair that no matter how hard he tried would always end up curly by the end of the day. His eyes were a rich blue, brighter than the sapphire he had gifted you for Christmas. He had been funny and sweet, managing to sweep you off your feet before you could so much as blink. He was rich and influential, and your family? It was just you and your brother. He hadn't seemed happy about your choice, but Lawrence had been so sweet, and you had been adamant.

The creak of the door opening pulled you out of your memories, and you turned to the door in alarm. Hoping that Jimmy was returning, you couldn’t help but worry that Lawerence had figured out where you had taken off.

"Y/N?" A familiar voice called out, but it wasn't the voice or your brother. You kept your head tilted down, peering up at the man through your lashes. It was Dean, your brother's partner, and friend. He was tall, even taller than Lawrence, his uniform straining at his shoulders. His dark blonde hair was slicked back, his green eyes staring at you in concern. "Is everything okay?"

Sniffling, you shook your head. "Is Jimmy with you?"

He shook his head, squatting down in front of you, his eyes wide as he took in your disheveled state. "Who did this?"

You shook your head, not wanting to say the words. That your marriage was a sham and the man you thought you had loved was a monster.

"Was it Lawrence?" He asked his words nothing more than a growl. His hands were curled into fists, his jaw clenched and ticking. Your heart sped up and you sank deeper into your seat. He noticed immediately, forcing himself to relax. "Listen, sweetheart, Jimmy is out on a case and I have no idea when he'll be back. Can I take you home, or…"

"No!" You exclaimed, the words coming out hoarse. Reaching up you touched the diamond necklace, knowing there had to be deep bruises underneath. "Please, anywhere but there."

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Let's take you to my home."

Dean took you out through the back door, where his personal car was parked. A cream colored two-door Pontiac. He opened the door for you, his hand clenched tight on the metal when he noticed your whimper as he slid in. "Maybe we should take you to the hospital instead."

"No, no hospital," you argued. "He might look for me there."

"You need to fill out a report," Dean started to say as he slid in the driver's seat. "He can't get away with this."

You turned to face him, tears slipping down your cheek. You were sore and exhausted. Not to mention terrified and you wanted nothing more than to get a good nights sleep before you figured out your next step. "Fine, we'll get you settled for the night, and then we'll go from there."

You had never been to Dean's house before, and you were surprised when he turned his car back the direction you had come. You glanced at him in surprise, but his attention was on the road. With your hands clenched tightly in your lap, you watched as acquaintances houses flew by. Lights were on in a couple of houses, cars parked on both sides of the street as the rich, upper class partied the night away. Something you were supposed to be doing tonight as well. But the thought of sitting through another, stuffy party was not something you could even stomach.

Dean glanced at you before turning down your street, his mouth drawn in a tight line. You could feel your body start to tremble as you glanced over at him in dismay. “Dean, what is going on? Please, you aren’t sending me back, are you?”

You knew he had every right. Sure, it was 1946 and women’s rights was stronger than ever. But most men considered women nothing more than a possession, and Dean could legally drop you back off at home.

He shook his head. “Of course not. There is no way in hell that man is ever getting his hands on you again. But this is the easiest way to my house.”

Your heart still raced, but you remained quiet as your house came closer and closer to view. The prominent park was off to your left, the entrance back about a hundred feet or so. Lawerence’s family had lived in this house since the early 1800s, and it was passed down to him after his parents retired to the countryside. It was tall, three stories high. The lot it sat on filled the entire block, wrought iron fence closing it off to the public. You had loved the place, with its old stone walls, the towering turret off to one side. There were a gazebo and pond off to the right, where you had often spent your summer afternoons feeding the ducks.

Inside the place had always been spotless. From the marble floors to the very detailed plaster. Only the best furniture had been placed in every room, some of it was older than the house themselves.

The lights were on in the house, in almost every single room as Dean drove by. You could see a silhouette in the balcony windows that bordered one wall of your shared bedroom. It had to be Lawrence. He was probably beside himself with anger, and you feared for the safety of the servants.

"He will pay," Dean assured you, following your gaze past the gate up to the second-floor balcony. "Y/N, we have to tell someone. To keep you safe, but it's also my job."

You smiled weakly at him. "Can we talk about it later?"

He nodded stiffly before turning down another street, pulling up to another ornate wrought iron fence. But this one was already open and Dean drove through. "I never knew you were my neighbor," you whispered, wondering how a simple police officer could afford such an expensive place.

He chuckled, but it was sarcastic. "A police officer can't own a nice house?

"That's not what I meant!" You exclaimed, your eyes widening at the sight of the house in front of you. It was just as big as your house. A little newer, this one was made of bright red bricks. It was of the more modern style, a large rectangle with porches on both sides. A circle driveway was right in front of the door, an extensive garden on the left. "You've just never said anything."

Dean shut off his car, quickly coming around the side. "Well, we've never really had much of a chance to talk," he said before reaching down to help you to your feet. Ignoring his hand, you slid out, gasping in pain and almost falling to the gravel as pain swarmed through your body.

"Damn it, let me help you," he ordered, gently reaching down to pick you up in his arms. Quickly climbing the small set of stairs, the doors opened, a butler standing off to the side. "Mr. Winchester?" He asked, staring at you quizzically.

"Franklin, can you call Dr. Neills? See if he can drop by tonight?"

Franklin didn't even bat an eye. "Of course sir. Right away."

You tried to get a good look at Dean's house, but the grasp he had on you had you swimming in and out of consciousness. Your head rolled to the side, landing against Dean's firm chest as he took the stairs up to the second floor.

Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!! If you did, a reblog/comment would help a writer out!!!