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pradaksj · 4 years

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

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

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

❧ pairing⟶ jungkook/reader

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

❧ word count ⟶ 16,000+

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

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

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

01 | 02 (final)

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

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

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

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

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

August 2019.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Jeon Jungkook,

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

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

Sincerely,

Bang Si-Hyuk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

September 2019.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are so—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I did.”

“No you did not.”

“Um yes—”

“Um n—”

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

“And why would you need to know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jimin I don’t know—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so without thinking… you run.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N…” he begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I need to finish thi—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

October 2019.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t know what you’re ta—”

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

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

“Ah I—”

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

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

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

Jungkook quirks his brow, “Next time?”

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

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

“You’re kidding, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

“So—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seven, six, five…..”

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

“Four, three, two, one….”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

mini taglist: @ggukkieland @unicornbabylover

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theyrejustboys · 4 years

Text

Written for @tma-valentines-exchange

For @voiceless-terror, who requested fluff and pre-canon JonTim. I hope you enjoy it!

Read it on AO3 or under the cut!

Content Warnings: drinking, alcohol

Summary: Tim half expects Jon to be embarrassed, but he just blinks up at him, still apparently in the dazed, barely conscious state of waking. Then he stretches, arms reaching over his head and back arching slightly. He makes an honest to goodness squeak as he does. Exactly like a little cat. Tim wants to kiss him.

Oh. Tim wants to kiss him.

So it hadn’t just been the alcohol last night, then.

The first thing that Tim becomes aware of as he’s pulled unwillingly from slumber is the gentle weight pressing down on his legs. The second is the cold hand resting lightly on the strip of bare skin where his t-shirt has risen up in the night. He stirs reluctantly. When he finally opens his eyes, his bedroom is blurry, and he has to blink a few times to clear his vision and his head as the world forms in pieces around him. There’s a low thrumming in his skull that bears the potential of a fully fledged headache if not dealt with swiftly. Perhaps that’s why it takes him another few moments for the implications of the small body snuggled against him to set in.

He can’t see the face of the person in bed with him, not without turning and risking waking them up, but his memories from last night are pouring in too quickly to leave him with any doubt.

---

“Shame Sasha couldn’t make it,” Tim said, sliding into the booth across from Jon.

Jon nodded as he shrugged out of his corduroy jacket. “She’ll be missed,” he said, and if Tim hadn’t spent so long studying his facial expressions across his desk, he might not have noticed the slight upward quirk of his mouth.

“The first round shall be in her honor,” Tim said with only half Jon’s solemnity, lifting a hand to catch the waiter’s attention.

Jon let him order for the both of them, seemingly content to sit back and glance around the pub while Tim spoke. It was a quiet, if kitschy, little place, and Tim had chosen it strategically for that reason. He might not mind the atmosphere in some of London’s more crowded bars, but it had only taken one outing with Jon to realize how desperately uncomfortable that sort of chaos made him. He seemed appreciative of the location tonight, even gracing Tim with a reserved smile once the waiter had disappeared. Tim wanted to take that smile and store it in a treasure chest with all the other beautiful things Jon had offered him throughout their slow-blooming friendship. He smiled back.

“So, that case you were working on this week. Did you ever get past the hurdle with the widow?”

Jon leaned forward eagerly to explain his findings. Tim settled in to listen.

---

It’s Jon. Jon had come home with him. They’d both been too drunk to deal with the hassle of bundling Jon into a taxi, especially when Tim lived only two blocks behind the warm little pub they’d spent their Friday night in. It was convenient.

And now Tim is in bed with Jonathan Sims. Not just in bed, either - Jon is practically on top of him, with one leg slung over both of his own and the hand not resting against Tim’s hip nestled beneath the pillow Tim is lying on. If Tim is very still, he can feel the soft puff of Jon’s breath against his neck.

He resists the urge to hide the smile tugging at his lips. He’d suspected before last night that Jon was more tactile than he let on, but he hadn’t imagined he’d be this clingy.

He understands, of course, that Jon doesn’t feel safe often, that others have not allowed him the time to be cautious with his affection. It’s no secret in the research office that his snippiness and chronically furrowed brows have won him few friends. It’s taken Tim months of steady, gentle friendliness to break through Jon’s carefully prickly exterior into the softness he’d seen hiding beneath. It feels, in a way, like reaching a new level of a video game - once he’d gotten past the grouchiness, the wariness, and then the bashfulness, he’d unlocked the awkward but horribly endearing kindness. And cuddles, apparently.

It’s worth being patient for, worth earning. Tim’s chest feels tight with the weight of his fondness. He wants to pull Jon into his arms and hold him close like he had in the pub last night.

Before Tim can move, however, there's a mumble near his ear as he feels Jon shift. The leg draped over his own slides down. He hears a soft yawn, and then, before he can process that, Jon is rubbing his face into the back of Tim's shirt like a sleepy little cat. Tim grins and faces him.

"Good morning," he says.

Tim half expects Jon to be embarrassed, but he just blinks up at him, still apparently in the dazed, barely conscious state of waking. Then he stretches, arms reaching over his head and back arching slightly. He makes an honest to goodness squeak as he does. Exactly like a little cat.

Tim wants to kiss him.

Oh. Tim wants to kiss him.

So it hadn’t just been the alcohol last night, then.

Jon peers at him, apparently roused to alertness by whatever expression has taken over Tim’s face. "What?"

"Rest well?" Tim says in lieu of a response, because if he dwells on this development any longer he might do something foolish, like brush a hand through the wild mess of dark curls spread across both the pillow he had offered Jon last night and Tim’s own pillow.

"Yes," Jon says.

Ah, there's a touch of the primness Tim loves. “Glad to hear it,” he says, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll take the bathroom first, if you don’t mind.”

He thinks Jon burrows deeper into the blankets as he leaves the room.

Across the hallway, Tim stares at his reflection in the vanity mirror. His heart is beating a little too quickly. "Keep it cool, Timothy," he warns himself. Then he splashes some water on his face and knocks back a couple of ibuprofen tablets before he brushes his teeth. "All yours," he calls into the bedroom when he finishes. Jon makes an unintelligible noise in response, and Tim huffs out a soft, breathless laugh as he crosses the flat toward his kitchen.

---

“... but my landlord is utterly heartless,” Jon concluded, looking rather dejected as he finished off his third pint. “He wouldn’t budge on the no pets rule, even for the Captain.”

Tim made a quiet, sympathetic noise, handing back Jon’s mobile after having admired the extraordinarily fluffy cat on the shelter’s front page for an appropriate length of time. “I would have,” he vowed. “For the Captain. Anything for him.”

Jon’s eyes shone briefly, and Tim wondered if he was going to cry. He just sniffed with marginally less dignity than usual and accepted the mobile. “Yes, well,” he said after taking a beat to gather himself. “You’re nice. Of course you would.”

“You think I’m nice?” Tim grinned, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hand.

“Yes,” Jon said simply.

“Careful, Jon, if you keep up this sweetness I’ll have no choice but to hug you.” Tim was only half-joking.

Jon ducked his head and mumbled, “Well. You could.”

“What?” For a moment, Tim thought he’d misunderstood.

“I said you could.” Jon didn’t look up at him. “If you wanted. I wouldn’t mind.”

Tim could feel his cheeks begin to ache from the force of his smile. He stood quickly and slid into the opposite side of the booth. Jon didn’t pull away as he moved closer, only sat looking at him expectantly from the corner of his eye. “Bring it in, then,” Tim said, and he draped one arm around Jon’s narrow shoulders.

Jon sat stiff and awkward at first contact, but then he melted against him. He rested his head in the crook beneath Tim’s collarbone, sighing so softly Tim could barely hear it over the quiet clatter of the pub. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Tim asked. His voice came out a bit strangled from the sudden warm pressure in his chest.

“For being a nice person,” Jon said with a trace of his familiar exasperation but none of the spikiness. As if it were obvious, as if Tim could see it if only he paid attention.

Tim had been paying attention for a while now. He thought he understood what Jon meant. “Of course,” he said. He didn’t pull away. Neither did Jon.

---

He’s measuring out flour into a glass bowl when he hears Jon pad into the kitchen, and for one exhilarating second Tim wonders if he’s going to hug him from behind. He doesn’t. Tim lingers over the bowl for a few breaths more, then turns to face him. “I’m making muffins,” he announces.

Jon looks surprised. “You bake?”

Tim is momentarily distracted by the way Jon’s hair is piled on top of his head, wrangled into what might generously be called a bun. There are strands hanging around his cheekbones that Tim desperately wants to tuck behind his ears. He clears his throat and tosses a grin over his shoulder as he faces his mixing bowl again. “Why Jon, did you not notice the stupendous cakes I’ve brought to every office party this year? Of course I bake.”

“Oh,” Jon says. “I don’t usually stick around those long enough to eat anything.”

“You will once you’ve had a taste of my baking skills,” Tim promises. “These are going to be the best muffins you’ve tasted in your life.”

“My expectations are high,” Jon says in his dry voice. Months ago, Tim might have thought he was mocking him, but now he recognizes it for the friendly teasing it is. It makes something warm and lofty expand in his chest. Then, a moment later Jon asks, “Can I help?”

Tim opens his mouth to say no, that he’s a guest and should sit down and relax while Tim takes care of everything. He glances over again as Jon steps closer, fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. It’s too long, dangling a few centimeters past his fingertips.

It’s Tim’s hoodie, he realizes with a start. His mouth shuts with a click. He wants to stare at Jon. He wants to turn his face away in case his adoration is too obvious. He still wants to kiss him.

Jon just watches him, picking restlessly at the fabric. He almost looks hopeful. Oh.

Tim gestures with his head toward the fruit basket on the countertop. “Dice an apple for me?”

“Sure.” Tim can hear the smile in his voice.

They work quietly for a few minutes, the only noise coming from the soft click of Jon’s knife against the cutting board and the muted sound of Tim’s whisk in the bowl. Once the fruit is mixed in with the batter, Jon watches as Tim carefully measures equal portions into his muffin tin and slides them into his oven. Tim has a sudden urge to turn on some music, to see if Jon might let him wrap his arms around him and spin him beneath the dim kitchen light.

“How much do you remember from last night?” Jon asks before he can.

Tim leans against the countertop. “Everything,” he says. Then he hesitates. “I think,” he adds nervously. “We weren’t that drunk, were we? Why do you ask?” He would have remembered if he’d -

Jon crosses the floor to the little table in Tim’s entryway. He has a habit of dropping his things there when he walks inside each evening, keys, wallet, and whatever else has accumulated in his pockets throughout the day. Jon rummages in the clutter before waving a short, shiny strip of paper triumphantly.

“Oh,” Tim says. No, he hadn’t forgotten that at all. “Right.”

---

Jon was the one who had pointed out the photo booth. Tim knew it was there - he’d spent a couple of tipsy evenings in it before. The last time had been with Danny. Maybe that memory was the reason he hadn’t brought it up to Jon. Maybe it was just that he didn’t think Jon was the sort to relax enough to enjoy something as trivial and objectively silly as a photo booth.

But Jon herded him away from their table and into the little box at the back of the pub with the same determination he directed toward his work, drawing the black curtain closed as Tim fiddled with the buttons. It smelled vaguely of wine inside. Jon didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve never done this before,” Jon confessed. He’d had enough drinks by now that there was an airy quality to his voice. He suppressed a yawn. “But I’ve always wanted to.”

“Really?”

Jon nodded. “Never had anyone to do it with,” he said, sounding almost ashamed.

Tim decided not to point out that wasn’t the part he’d been surprised about. “You have me,” he said, settling back as the countdown began for the first photo.

Jon stared at the camera, head tilted slightly as he arranged a smile on his face. “Yes,” he said, then jumped at the flash. The countdown began again. Jon moved closer to Tim, brushing their arms together. “I do have you. I’m glad for that.”

Tim faltered, turning from the camera to look at Jon. Jon glanced up at him, and the careful smile on his face faded to something softer, gentler. Tim’s breath hitched. He’d like to kiss Jon like this, he realized, when he’s open and vulnerable and trusting. He leaned down slightly, suddenly breathless as he lifted a hand to cup Jon’s cheek. “Jon -”

The second camera flash made them both flinch hard, and Jon let out a startled noise that was almost a laugh, hiding his face in the collar of Tim’s shirt as if embarrassed. Tim laughed too, though he could barely hear himself over the pounding in his ears. He let his hand slide around the back of Jon’s head, cradling him, as if that was what he’d meant to do all along. He wondered if Jon could feel his heart thudding against his chest.

Before the last flash lit up the booth, Tim closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into Jon’s hair.

---

“I told you, you’re adorable,” Tim crows.

Jon splutters again, looking down at the photos in his hand in disbelief. “I’m an adult,” he says petulantly. “I can’t be adorable.”

Tim gasps, affronted. “Jonathan Sims! Are you putting an age limit on adorableness ? Please tell me you aren’t suggesting that I can’t be adorable.”

“I didn’t say that,” Jon grumbles.

“Good. I didn’t want to fight for my honor before breakfast.” Tim smirks at him and hopes the teasing is enough to distract from the painfully obvious yearning in his eyes on the strip of photo paper. His hand itches to take it from Jon, to cover up what feels practically like a confession, but he forces himself to be reasonable.

His oven timer beeps, drawing him from his nervous thoughts, and he busies himself tending to the muffins. Mercifully, Jon sets the photo strip aside to rummage in Tim’s cabinets for a pair of plates.

They migrate to the couch and eat quietly. Jon admits that Tim’s baking skills are rather spectacular, and Tim preens a normal amount. He wants to hug Jon again, but he resists. Whatever ease with which Jon had touched Tim the night before seems to have faded. His posture seems a bit stiffer, and he keeps his hands tucked closely in his lap, though Tim does catch him casting contemplative glances his way when he thinks he isn’t looking. He wonders how long it’s been since Jon has received affection.

Jon should receive affection always, Tim thinks, and should be held gently at each opportunity. He hopes he’s given another opportunity to hold Jon soon. He doesn’t push for it, though, doesn’t want to make Jon uncomfortable. He’s waited months to earn the trust he’s been allowed so far; he can be patient again.

“Tim,” Jon says after they’ve sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Yes?” Tim gives him an encouraging smile.

“I’ve - I’ve had a lovely time.” Jon doesn’t meet his eyes.

“That’s the Stoker guarantee,” Tim says with a smirk, though his chest twinges uncomfortably. There’s a but in there.

Jon takes a deep breath. “Yes. Well. Thank you. And - that is, I wanted to say…” He pauses. Opens his mouth and shuts it again.

That feeling in Tim’s chest is sinking lower. He waits.

Jon shifts abruptly, turning to fully face him on the couch. “Tim,” he says.

“Jon,” Tim answers quietly.

And then Jon surges forward and presses a chaste kiss into Tim’s jaw.

"Oh," Tim says. His hand flies up to touch his face.

Jon scrambles backward, blushing deeply. “Yes. Well,” he says again. “That’s all. Sorry, I should have -”

“Jon,” Tim says, “can I hug you?”

Jon makes another one of his soft little squeaks and nods wordlessly before tumbling forward into Tim’s arms. After a moment, he curls himself up smaller, wiggling onto Tim’s lap so as to better cling to him. Tim, very carefully, does not move except to tighten his hold on him.

“If you’re amenable,” Jon finally says, voice muffled in Tim’s shirt, “I would like to do this again sometime.”

Tim stifles a laugh. “And by this, you mean…?”

Jon sits up slightly, though he pouts a bit as he does. “Drinks? Dinner? And then cuddles. And I would like you to hug me again as soon as possible.”

“I don’t have to stop hugging you,” Tim points out. “You don’t have to leave. You can stay right here -” He pats his lap for emphasis. “For as long as you like.”

“You don’t mind?” Jon asks, peering up at him.

“Do I need to convince you how much I like hugging you?”

Jon considers. “No. But you could demonstrate anyway.”

Tim does.

#tma valentine's exchange #jontim #tmafic #geo writes

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sleeplessincairo · 4 years

Text

[ three ]

pairings: james buchanan barnes x reader

warnings: undescriptive smut, ptsd, anxiety, sobbing.

summary: 3AM encounters with bucky barnes and the presence of the number 3 in your growing relationship

a/n: this was inspired by my love for cristina & owen. considering making a part 2.

tell me what you think. would be greatly appreciated.

///

James Buchanan Barnes was a ghost.

He was only seen when he wanted to be seen. One minute he was there and the next, he was gone. Vanished. It made you question science and your sanity, it was as if he was able to dissolve into the very air itself and move with the wind-Or maybe he was never there in the first place.

Bucky was alert and vigilant like he was waiting for an attack or a sign of danger, never showing weakness and ease. He was precise in his movements; never faltering, swift and quick as if he was 10 steps ahead of you and had you beat in every possible outcome. He was self-sufficient; he could infiltrate bases and extract information without the help of his fellow teammates nor any arising problems-You could see why HYDRA wanted to create more of him.

Even in the safety and comfort of the compound, Bucky’s distant and guarded demeanor never wavered.

‘Hellos’, ‘Good mornings’, and well, talking were as foreign to Bucky as the first air that slipped into his lungs when he came out of cryo sleep. It was a luxury he had grown to live without many years ago in a place where the only sound he could ever release was one so agonizingly loud it pierced the air even through the cloth the HYDRA doctors stuffed in his mouth. And now, he was left in the hollow shell of the man he used to be. All he could bring himself to do was observe, never participate.

Bucky refused to train, spar, eat, and hell, even talk to the rest of team-Other than Steve and Sam-during the previous weeks since he had joined, he never attended meetings or briefings, and he rarely left his room-And when he did, you never saw him despite being in the room across of him. You never heard the squeak of his door as he slipped out of his room at 3 AM to train alone, you never heard the sound of his footsteps as he walked down the corridor to sneak food out of the fridge, you never heard the muffled screams he let out at night as he felt familiar spirits of leather-bound around his wrists and ankles and white-hot electricity surging through his body, which is why you were startled when you heard the sound of glass breaking coming from your ghost of a neighbor’s room.

You took your gun with you. Just in case.

You knocked on his door three times, each knock harder than the other while the sound of your voice, uttering his name in a persistent and questioning manner, slipped through the crack of his bedroom door. Your mind started to run with worst-case scenarios that included kidnappings, intruders, murder, HYDRA agents, and many other things that should not be thought of at 3 AM.

Nonetheless, those thoughts pushed you into taking a deep breath and wrapping your hand around the cold metal door handle, and opening the door.

You don’t know what you expected to see, but it sure as hell wasn’t the former HYDRA agent in a fetal position, head dug deep into his knees and surrounded by shards of mirror and a small pool of his own blood.

You cussed lowly under your breath and rushed to him, careful not to step on any of the shards and press your knees to the ground to get a closer look at him.

“James, I need you to look at me.” You examine your surroundings. There are no signs of a break-in or assault-Other than what was done to the mirror, which you deduced was probably done by James himself judging by the force it must have taken to completely break the mirror and the blood leaking from his flesh hand.

“James,” The repetition of his name made no effect or change in his position, and you contemplated touching him and shaking him out of this trance, before mentally waving it off.

“You need to come with me to the medbay, that’s a pretty nasty cut on your hand,” You pursed your lip at the lack of movement or response and came to terms that he was not leaving this room.

God, Steve chose the worst day to go on an undercover mission in another goddamn continent.

You let out an exasperated sigh, weighing your options before deciding to walk towards the bathroom and take out a first aid kit.

Looks like you had to do this yourself.

“James, I need to clean your wound. I’m going to touch your hand, okay?” You searched his body for any signs of consent, “Look, I’m just going clean and bandage it, then I’ll be out of your hair. I promise.” You sucked in a deep breath and closed your eyes for a few seconds.

“Please.” Maybe it’s the way your voice was laced with exhaustion and impatience, maybe it was the realization that dawned on him where you’d probably end up bringing the team to his room or calling Steve, or maybe it was because he knew you’d never give up even if it took all night. Because that’s who you are. You were always known for caring too much.

Bucky looks up at you, glacier cold eyes red and puffy as salty drops cascaded down his cheekbones and off his chin. Despite the tears on his face glistening in the light, sadness bouncing into the atmosphere, his facial expression was still hard and cold, his eyes were the palest blue glass, too soft to be turquoise, too bright to be baby blue. An innocent shade.

But oh, innocence was nothing but a stranger to him.

You cleared your throat, “I’m going to touch your hand, is that okay?” He licked his lip, tasting the saltiness of a stray tear before reluctantly placing his flesh hand on your knee. The bleeding had already stopped so you picked up the rubbing alcohol, the smell tickling your nostrils uncomfortably, and poured a decent amount of it on the wound.

He didn’t even wince.

You cleaned and bandaged his wound, even cleaned up the broken shards of glass and blood surrounding him while Bucky remained still throughout it all, keeping his eyes fixated on the marble floor tiles and leaning his back against the wall.

“Hey,” You said softly, sliding your back against the wall and sitting next to him, staring at the spot he’s looking at, “It’s okay. When I say, ‘One, two, three.’ forget it. Erase all the sad memories. Just hold my hand and smile. Even if it’s temporary, okay?” You give him a weak smile that he probably doesn't even see.

But he does. From the corner of his eye.

You inhale, “One.”

You exhale, “Two.” He slips his hand into yours.

“Three.”

____________

It was a particularly bad mission. You had lost 2 SHIELD agents that accompanied you and the team, barely making it out with your lives and almost all of you coming back with injuries that your body would throb with for the next weeks. It was supposed to be a simple extraction mission, in-and-out, but there were more enemy agents than you had originally expected and it ended up being a trap set by HYDRA, and before you knew it, you were ambushed.

The whole thing was a blow.

The Avengers were fatigued and lethargic, they wanted nothing more than to crash on their soft beds, but the mission left more than a few physical injuries, and sleep seemed to be the furthest thing from all of your minds. You all ended up in the kitchen, drowning your sorrows in alcohol and shwarma in silence-Except for Wanda, who had the stomach flu, and Bucky, who hadn’t joined the mission per Steve’s request due to still-fresh wounds that hadn’t quite healed yet.

“Hand me a shot of tequila.” You groaned to Tony, leaning your head on the cool marble exterior of the counter and sitting on the stool that accompanied three other empty ones.

“I’ll take one, too.” Sam trudged his body onto the stool beside you, wincing once he sat down-Poor guy was captured and tortured during the mission before Steve and Nat managed to get to him.

Steve followed him and sat on the stool next to him, rubbing his temples before mumbling a ‘Me too’ eventhough alcohol did not affect him.

Tony was about to retort with something about financing the team and being the bartender, before Bucky came inside the kitchen, stopping slightly at the sight of The Avengers all wide awake in the kitchen instead of in your beds at 3 AM.

Bucky usually tried his best to avoid spending time with more than 2 members of the team, even so, that he made sure to leave his room after midnight so there'd be a less likely chance of running into too many people. He had been avoiding group training sessions, parties, and eating out of his room for the past month, and so he couldn’t stop the feeling of anxiety creeping up his throat and regret coming into the kitchen.

This is why Bucky never ate outside of his room.

“Hey Buck, thought you’d be training room right now. Join us, will ya’?” The blond super soldier said, smiling fondly at the ex-assassin before motioning for him to sit on the last remaining stool next to you.

The previous encounter between you and Bucky remained unspoken of and neglected, but not forgotten, it was a wordless agreement made between the both of you that you both wouldn't dare mention.

He didn't even tell Steve.

“Lucky for you, we’re all sulky and grouchy tonight so you'll fit right in.” Tony chirped, taking a swig of vodka and turning towards Natasha and Clint for a change of scenery that did not include the man that murdered his parents.

Bucky cleared his throat and contemplated turning around, and walking out of the room but the sad and tired look on Steve’s face expelled the need for the company of an old friend-Even if he wouldn't talk-and dragged himself over to the stool next to you.

It didn't take long for the three of you to get lost in a meaningless conversation while Bucky observed, often pausing to laugh at something that wasn't really funny, then stopping himself short, bobbing his head down, eyes moving quickly from one side of the corridor to the other. He would smile swiftly in a way that was sadder than tears, his true age starting to show in the way he slouched and the lack of light in his blue eyes.

The hum of conversation in the room did nothing to block the sound of Bucky’s heart beating, accelerating at a faster rate each second, and buzzing in his mind as they started to race, his thoughts scattering like there’s an electrical storm, too many short-circuits to make any sense.

You take notice of the frozen panic that settles in his chest in the way his breathing turns ragged as he restlessly continues to glance at the door, thinking about making a run for it.

“James,” You say in a low voice, careful for the others not to hear you, “You need to busy your mind, you need something to ground you.” You start looking around the room for anything he can focus on, anything he can hold on to mentally, anything to keep him from the panic creeping up his throat.

“Alright, look, count the inner pads in your hands,” You slowly hold his hand, placing it on your thigh and start moving his thumb to touch the inner pads separated by the wrinkled lines of each finger, and start counting. You smile to yourself when you feel his hand relax on your thigh and his breathing slowly settling into an almost steady rate.

The night continues in a blur of lowly uttered ‘threes’, soft breathing, and grazed fingers transforming into fingers entwined together in a gentle holding of hands.

Bucky decides to stop eating in his room.

__________

“Hey,” You smile, leaning against the wall of the training room admiring the view of Bucky as he hit the punching bag, each punch falling rival to the previous one. The dim lights in the training room made him look like a shadow, each muscle on his body flowing from the light into the dark and each time he moved, a bead of sweat trickled and glistened in the light.

Bucky turned to look at you, narrowing his eyes at you but letting the smallest tug of a smile play on his lips. You took notice of his bleary eyes, slightly bloodshot, resulting from days of not being to sleep, eyes that grow with the stars in the night sky, accompanied by dark crescents under his eyes, and stay until the light of day. The stubble on his face had grown longer and rougher, the hairs scattering from his jawline to the middle of his neck. His stance was loose, less alert, more rash, like he was trying to tire himself out rather than actually train. It was obvious he hadn't had a good night’s sleep in a long time.

“Let me guess, nightmares?” You inquired, smiling sympathetically when you saw his head move in a slow vertical manner.

On good days Bucky'd get three hours, on bad days two. He'd wake up as soon as sleep came, always as fast as if a gunshot had sounded, heart beating fast and breathing as if he'd just surfaced from deep water.

Today was a bad one-The past few days really. His mind was plagued with thoughts that he had tried so hard to push down, only for them to sink into him completely.

“C’mere,” You motioned to the cushioned bench on the other side of the room, “So,” There was a slight hesitance to which you wondered if it would sound silly to an ex-assassin before waving the thought away, “There was this thing my mother used to do when I was a kid.”

He follows you to the bench, his focus on your words unfaltering, “It was to keep the nightmares away,” You let out a light chuckle, leaning your back against the wall as your mind filled with bright memories of your childhood.

“It was like this...I don't know this hymn or chant that she’d repeat three times.” You turned to look at him, searching for any sign of mockery and grinned when you found none, “Maybe it was because I was a child, but it seemed to do the trick and what have ya’ got to lose?” You shrugged.

“She’d be so disappointed if I at least didn't try, so,” You paused, pursing your lips into a thin line, “Do you mind?”

Bucky wiped his hands in the material of his shorts and nodded before looking down and taking a deep breath. You put your hand on the sides of his head, making him look at you and giving him a reassuring smile before dragging his head onto your lap and putting your hands a few inches in the air above it.

You took a deep breath and moved your hands in a motion that resembled digging a hole in the air before he grabbed your wrist tightly, his eyes burning. He’d seen that move multiple times, he'd seen Wanda do it when manipulating opponents, he'd heard of how she manipulated Tony into creating Ultron, how she managed to bring Natasha Romanoff, one of the Red Room’s best assassins, to her knees, how Wanda triggered the Hulk into destroying a city and killing hundreds. Bucky’s mind immediately wandered to a futile tussle of conflicting thoughts, to the manipulation and brainwashing he experienced, the feeling of his mind-

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Your pained voice snapped him out of it, making him dart his eyes to your wrist and how it had turned red in the steel grip of his metal arm, “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” Your eyes pleaded with him and he reluctantly let go of your arm, silently cursing himself when he saw your rub it in pain.

You cleared your throat, going back to your original position and started the tune, “Bad dreams, bad dreams go away,” The digging movement started momentarily before replacing it with throwing the air over your right shoulder, “Good dreams, good dreams,” The movement of your hands switched from digging to smooth pushes that resembled a wave hitting the shore, “Here to stay.” You sighed, flattening the air with your hands and repeating the tune and movements another 2 times.

And maybe its the fact that all the memories he had of you so far were all so bright in the darkness of his mind, maybe it was the fact that your voice was so damn soothing and reassuring the kind that was made for lullabies and soft laughs, or maybe it was the fact that it was 3 AM and he’d been living on 7 hours of sleep in the past 4 days and his body just couldn’t take it anymore but he can’t fight the way his eyes lids get heavy. Bucky feels the shuttering of my synapses, the quite lure into sleepiness. His head lolls and the muscles of his face relax as each limb becomes heavy and his heart slows to a more peaceful beat, releasing the tension of the past 4 days.

___________________

Bucky doesn't remember how it happened or how he let it happen, but one minute he was fighting HYDRA agents, and the next he felt thousands of bolts of electricity flowing through him and the feeling of him being dragged into a vehicle before everything went black.

Luckily, Natasha had intercepted one of their walkie talkies and the familiar Russian language talking about Prisoner #56898 being moved for transport and commed the rest of the team. Sam flew to the sky with Steve in his arms before spotting the truck and intercepting it.

Bucky was safe, but he was not okay.

The trip back was quiet and troublesome. It had been 2 hours since Sam and Steve had brought Bucky back to the helicarrier, and he still had not woken up. You all considered the possibility of him being drugged or poisoned, but you wouldn't be able to tell until you reached the compound-You couldn't even touch him, in case he was infected with something so he was kept in the cell Loki was kept in when the Avengers first assembled.

“Still not awake?” You walked up to the blond super-soldier who monitoring him from the other side of the glass.

He gave you a small nod, slightly wincing which made you notice the blood seeping from his forehead, “Woah there Rogers, you're bleeding.” As always, Y/N, stating the obvious,

You reached up to touch the garish red staining his sun-soaked hair, “You’ve gotta get that checked out. You might have a concussion.” He looked at you, his eyes conflicted but still settled for a quiet, “I can’t just leave him.”

He runs his hands through his blood-stained hair, “Sam and I almost didn't make it in time, he could've been taken and-”

“But you did, and he’s still here.” You put your hand on Steve’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture, before he winces once more and raises his hand to hold his shoulder in an attempt to soothe it.

“Steve, you have multiple injuries. It’s 3 AM, we won't land for another 3 hours. You’re exhausted and injured. Standing here won't make him wake up any sooner. Just go get checked out, maybe take a nap or eat something. You look like shit,” You joked-In all seriousness though, he did look like shit-earning a chuckle out of him, “I’ll keep watch him until you get back, alright?” You give him a reassuring smile, and a silent ‘I promise’ with your eyes.

He hesitates, weighing his options and whether or not he should just push through the pounding in his head but realized he had to go check on Clint anyway, who had also suffered from a few injuries. Steve mumbles a low ‘okay’ and trudges out of the room.

You lean against the wall facing the glass separating you from Bucky and take out your phone to type in the mission report. You didn't have to turn it in until tomorrow, but you thought you might as well start it now.

You had just about made it to to the part, that people at SHIELD always loved to see, where you type ‘Despite complications that the team eventually surpassed, the mission was successful’ and suddenly, you heard a scream pierce the air in an uproar of pain from behind the glass, jolting you up from your sitting position and towards the source.

Bucky’s eyes split open. At first all that surrounded him was silence, a misty haze upon the horizons of his mind until memories of what happened came rushing in from falling off the freight car to the white-hot electricity that shot through his body more times than he could count. And before he knew it, he was plunged into scattered thoughts, replays of horrors once forgotten, and suddenly his breathing goes shallow and wheezy, lungs unable to move against suddenly concrete-heavy ribs. The panic starts like a constriction in the chest, as if the muscles are trying not to let another breath in, but instead to die.

The scream tore through Bucky like the shard of glass that pierced his hand not so long ago. He felt my eyes widen and pulse quicken, his heart thudding like a rock rattling in a box. The blood drained from his face before he was even aware of making a conscious decision his legs were pounding furiously against the cool pale floor and towards the monster he saw looking straight at him in the glass wall in front of him.

Himself.

You yelled his name like your life depended on it, pounding on the glass as you watched him scream, punch, scratch, and claw at the wall with his head, hands, nails in a massacre of blood, shouting, skin, and metal.

Bucky heard the sound of a pair of feet against the floor, the sound of a passcode being entered, the sound of shouting-The throat-scratching yelling of a familiar voice, or maybe that was just him. He couldn't tell. Not when the world turned into a blur of color that melted into red, like a sunset. All the taste, the smell, the feeling, the sounds melted into nothing but a fiery, sizzling hot, flaming, scorching hot, bold, garish scarlet red.

He felt his heart play push-and-shove in the deepness of his heart. It pulled back in like a yo-yo. Over and over. In and out. Until he was hollow, his life crumbling in his fingertips and rumbling into an earthquake with every punch against the glass-Now stained with his blood.

And then, suddenly, Y/N was there, wrapping her arms around him, restraining him and reaching into his hollowness in a series of mumbled ‘You are okay’s, ‘Everything is fine’s, ‘You are safe’s, ‘Breathe, James, breathe’s, ‘I got you’s, ‘Hold my hand’s, ‘Look at me’s, ‘I am here’s, and other three worded sentences as you squeeze him tighter, ignoring his thrashing body and waiting for his oxytocin levels to increase.

Bucky's last remaining thread of strength unraveled before completely tearing, sending him plummeting over the edge and into the darkness. Hysterical sobs shook his once-so-rigid frame, threatening to rip him apart from the inside. The sobs punched through, ripping through her muscles, bones, and guts as he fought to reclaim control over his body, shocked by the howls of misery that escaped from deep within his chest.

You held him in silence, rocking him slowly as he sobbed into your chest unceasingly, hands gripping at your arms like you were the only thing gravitating him from flying away, whispering a prayer-like mantra of ‘three, three, three’ over and over again.

It’s the first time you ever heard his voice.

__________________

It’s 3 AM when you knock on his door the next day three times as you did oh, so long ago, but instead of letting yourself in, you’re welcomed by the familiar face of James Buchanan Barnes.

It’s 3 AM when you inquire about whether he’s feeling better and he gives you a warm smile and small nod, before inquiring if you’d like to come inside. He had a box of pizza that he hadn’t yet finished.

It’s 3 AM when the pizza’s all finished, and there’s a thrum and purr of friendly conversation-Mostly you talking and him releasing a few words and comments here and there, still getting used to the sound of his voice-but beneath the talk was the gentle, admiring gaze of their eyes and the relaxed nature of their faces.

And then its still 3 AM and he’s kissing you, parting your lips when he brushes his tongue against your bottom lip, wordlessly asking for an entrance. It’s a slow, sybaritic dance of lips and tongue, your lips are 2 dancers, moving against each other like they’re sashaying through the melody. It’s a slow and soft kiss, comforting in ways that could never be verbally shown.

Bucky’s hand rests below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as your breaths mingled. You ran your fingers down his spine, tugging him closer until the space between the both of you was eradicated and you could feel the beating of his heart against your chest. Your bodies molded perfectly against each other like you were made for each other, made to sink into one another, made to drown in the thick air filling his room with pure longing, expelling from the both of you-So lost in the moment, you don't even notice when you knock the clock off the table, shattering it,

And before the both of you can realize what’s happening, you're naked and you’re exhaling a gasp when you feel the cool exterior of his Vibranium arm venturing your body, his hands working their way, feeling each crevasse, taking their time to map every curve and dip your body as it moves, slow and sweet like honey, against his body. You feel his hand enter from below, skin and metal colliding in an earth-shattering sensation, moans and sighs exhaled into each others’ mouths, your hands tangled in his hair playing a game of push-and-shove, and suddenly, he can't get enough of you.

You were intoxicating.

Bucky drinks you in, he drinks in your scent, he drinks in the sounds you make, he drinks in the softness of your lips on his skin, he drinks in the warmth that radiates off the soft-kissed spots that slowly spread throughout the rest of your body, he drinks in your body’s response as picks you apart with his tongue, fingers, and the stretching of your walls as he enters you, changing your breathing with every thrust, hearing your moans timed to his body until he feels you tremble underneath you and in a breathless howl, his brain lighting up in places he thought were abandoned years ago and his body is shaking with sheer bliss.

____________

You awake to hands, that held you so tenderly and savoringly mere hours before, wrapped around your neck tightly, robbing the oxygen from your lungs-No doubt leaving scars more permanent than the ones that would stain your skin in the coming days and remind you of the way your body thrashed and writhed in his hands, the way you gasped out his name continuously no longer done in euphoria, the way your hands pulled and pushed and scratched at his hands, hair, face, and back no longer done in pleasure, the way his body fell limp beside you no longer done in the result of the comedown of a groundbreaking high, but instead because of a nearby lamp being pulled from its socket and smashing it against his skull three seconds before you pass out.

The shattered clock on the floor stuck on 3:53 AM.

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tickleraptorss · 5 years

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i spent 15 minutes trying to think of a title for this fic and came up with nothing so it’s just called “untitled xbc au fic” fuck you

not a super long fic but considering i havent posted any writing in forever i guess this’ll do

this fic takes place in an au where the telethia and mechon don’t hurt people, but instead feed off of laughter. yea we all know where this is going. i dont actually like this fic all that much but ive been working on it for too long so. idk fucking take it.

word count: 1318

Shulk wandered through the brush of Makna forest. He’d dropped something earlier and was currently retracing his steps in order to find it, although quite unsuccessfully. He made a vow to himself to be more wary of his things, because nothing made him more nervous than walking through the forest by himself.

As he pushed bushes aside, he found a small clearing in the middle of the forest. He remembered that they had stopped here to rest for a bit, and thought maybe he had dropped it around here. He cautiously stepped into the clearing, trying not to make any sudden noises that could alert nearby creatures. Shulk tip-toed across the clearing, spotting the ether crystal he’d dropped. He slowly made his way towards it, until suddenly a branch snapped beneath his feet.

“Damn it!” He hissed quietly as he heard rustling in the bushes. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of a Phoenix Telethia, a rather small one, about a quarter of his height taller. He saw the Telethia’s wings flare up in excitement, and he started to feel very, very nervous.

“Oh, how cute!” The Telethia squeaked. “A little Homs! What are you doing out here all alone?”

“Uh… I-”

“Dropped something? That ether crystal over there, right?”

Shulk gulped, frozen in place as the Telethia picked up the ether crystal in its claws. Shulk nodded when the Telethia pointed at the small crystal, and was surprised when the creature handed it to him.

“Th-thanks…” Shulk stuttered, starting to back away from the Telethia.

“What are you so nervous about? I’m not going to hurt you!” The creature said. “I know we look scary, but we’re really gentle, I promise!”

“I-It’s not that!” Shulk shook his head. He turned to run, but was pulled back by the Telethia grabbing the back of his shirt and lifting him up. “Put me down!”

“Nope! You’re so tense, I can sense you’ve been carrying a lot of weight on your shoulders! You’ve gotta get rid of all that stress, because it’s not good for you to be so nervous all the time,” the Telethia lay Shulk in its lower set of arms.

“Please! Don’t!” Shulk pleaded, already knowing what the Telethia was planning.

“Don’t what?” The Telethia asked innocently. “Don’t… tickle you?” It laughed when Shulk nodded. “Why not? Don’t you looove being tickled?~”

Shulk’s face flushed a bright red as he squirmed. The telethia chuckled at him as it cradled him in its arms, while raising its other arms and wiggling its fingers in the air. Shulk squeaked, trying to curl in on himself.

“Aww, what’s wrong? I’m not even touching you!” The telethia teased, before it started scritching at Shulk’s belly with a single claw. Shulk let out a choked gasp and broke into snickers, swatting at the Telethia’s finger.

“Stahahap it! Noho!” Shulk giggled as the Telethia tickled him. The creature lifted his sweater up to expose his belly, tracing its claw along Shulk’s waist and lower tummy. “Nohohot there!!” “Not where, here?” The Telethia asked sweetly, continuing to trace tickly shapes against Shulk’s soft skin. “Too ticklish?” Shulk shook his head. “No? I guess you can handle it then!” The Telethia wiggled its fingers over Shulk’s lower belly, then started tracing its other hand up and down his side. Shulk’s giggles increased in volume significantly as he kicked uselessly against the Telethia’s hold. It didn’t help that the Telethia was covered in feathers, so every time he squirmed, he’d feel the soft fluff of the feathers brush against his back and sides.

“What a cutie! You’re so ticklish! I don’t think I’ve ever met a Homs as ticklish as you,” the Telethia teased. “Kitchy kitchy koo!~”

“Dohohon’t tease!!” Shulk’s laughter pitched as he unintentionally tickled himself by squirming against the Telethia. He tried his best to stay still as to reduce the tickly feelings, but found he couldn’t.

“Aww, are my feathers tickling you?” Shulk’s efforts against squirming certainly didn’t go undetected by the Telethia. It reached behind its back and plucked a loose feather from its wing, waving it in front of Shulk and smirking. “Something tells me you’re pretty feather-ticklish… perhaps I should test it!”

“No!” Shulk pleaded, trying to crawl away from the Telethia, only to be put right back into its arms. “Plehease! Don’t!”

“Begging already? I haven’t even started!” The Telethia chuckled as the feather made contact with Shulk’s right side, prompting him to squeal. “Wow, you homs really are feather-ticklish, aren’t you?”

The telethia stroked the feather up and down Shulk’s side, making him arch away from the soft touch. He tried curling in on himself, but the Telethia only held his arms above his head every time he tried, leaving him with no defenses. Shulk panicked when he felt the Telethia starting to remove his shoes, trying to kick its talons away from him with no success.

“Are your feet ticklish too?” The Telethia asked, laughing when Shulk shook his head. “I hope you’re not lying to me! You know what I do to liars?”

“Wh-what…?” Shulk nervously responded as the Telethia grabbed his ankle.

“I tickle them to death!!~” With that, the Telethia’s claws descended upon Shulk’s foot, scribbling and scratching at his sole. Shulk squealed loudly before trying to kick his trapped foot free, but to no avail. His laughter became high-pitched as he wiggled around in the Telethia’s arms. When the creature’s claws reached his toes, he all but shrieked.

“Ohoho… this seems like a real good spot!” The Telethia giggled to itself, taking the feather and sawing it between Shulk’s toes. When his laughter increased in volume, the Telethia gasped in awe. “Aww! Someone’s got ticklish toesies!!~”

“I D-DOHOHON’T!!” Shulk protested, trying to curl his toes in order to protect himself. It only succeeded in trapping the feather there, which certainly wasn’t helping. At this point his laughter was starting to becoming squeaky, which is exactly what he dreaded, knowing for sure the Telethia would tease him about it.

“Listen to those squeaks! Looks like someone’s a bit flustered!” The Telethia commented, tracing the feather up Shulk’s calves to the backs of his knees. His laughter died down a bit, but he was still kicking his legs in order to avoid the tickly sensation. The Telethia continued to coo at him, seemingly amazed at how ticklish Shulk was. Eventually, the Telethia stopped, leaving Shulk as a giggling, blushing mess in its arms.

“Seems like you enjoyed yourself,” the Telethia looked at its victim. “Actually, I think we should go on for just a little bit longer…”

Still flustered beyond belief, Shulk barely had time to process the Telethia’s words before claws were skittering over his ribs. The visionary shrieked in response, his squirming became more aggressive, and his laughter echoed throughout the forest. He tried desperately to block out the Telethia’s claws, but it was useless.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle!~” The Telethia cooed. Shulk squeaked at the creature’s words. “You’re too ticklish for your own good! Better watch out, or else others might start taking advantage of it… not that you’d mind, riiight?~”

“ST-STAHAHAHAP! PLEHEHEASE!” Shulk pleaded, arching his back when the Telethia’s claws made their way to the sides of his ribs. “THAT’S ENOHOHOUGH!!”

“Alright, I’ll stop now,” the Telethia lifted its hands, and Shulk let out a sigh of relief. He panted as giggles uncontrollably poured out of his mouth. When Shulk finally regained his composure, the Telethia released him from its arms.

“How was that?” The Telethia asked. Shulk didn’t respond. “Aww, c’mon! Don’t be all grouchy with me! Was it at least fun?”

Shulk paused, before reluctantly nodding. The Telethia leaned forward and gave Shulk a quick pat on the head, before it took off, probably to look for another victim.

As he watched it fly away, Shulk couldn’t help but think maybe the Telethia aren’t that bad.

#dumbass sword game #raptor writes #sword game au #tickling #tickle fic

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zenithlux · 4 years

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Cadence Update - CH 20

In which Vergil meets Roxy’s mother and makes a promise

Catch up on the story here!

When we are older you’ll understand What I meant when I said “No, I don’t think Life is quite that simple”

Simple and Clean - Hikaru Utada

-----------

Forever Horizons was an old, lavish hotel turned into an assisted living facility. Vergil knew from the casual conversation that many of the rooms had been converted to large suites and custom made for whoever needed it. And while she never said it outright, Vergil knew Roxy’s father (and maybe Roxy herself) had poured a large amount of money into it. The red-gray stones on the outside were smooth and clean. The windows were all large and covered by various colored curtains. Vergil saw a few younger folks in some of the open windows. A few grouchy workers here. Some smiling visitors. The gentle sound of laughter echoed in the air, but he heard a few sadder sounds; tears, some yelling, slow heart-beats… it all mixed together into one large story he’d never fully understand.

“We’ll need a chaperone to visit.” Roxy’s voice was incredibly nervous. She was practically jumping out of her seat, yet looked like she was ready to put the car back in drive and leave without going inside. “They’ll go in first, check her chart, and let us know if we can go in.”

“You didn‘t call in advance?”

“It doesn't matter,” She said as she rushed to put her hair up in a pony-tail. “Her mood changes on a whim, so it's impossible to know if she’ll be the same person throughout the day.”

“Roxy.”

“I mean she could be fine one moment…”

“Roxy.”

“And terrible the next. So…”

“Roxy!”

She froze mid sentence, but her breaths came out in a frantic rush. “I can’t do this,” She whispered. “I can’t… I can’t face her again… not so soon. This was a mistake.. We should…”

Almost without thinking, Vergil held his hand out to her. Her breath caught in surprise. Her eyes fell to his hand. Her expression flickered with confusion. And, in an attempt to hide his own embarrassment at her sudden silence, Vergil asked, “Are you alright?”

A long moment of silence that just barely balanced the border between “fine” and “awkward” followed. Roxy continued to stare at his hand, as if it held secrets to life, love, and the universe. He kept himself from moving, uncertain what exactly was going on through her head. The last thing he wanted was for the gesture to feel disingenuous.

Then, Roxy burst into tear-filled laughter.

Vergil stared at her, uncertain what to say. Did he comfort her? Did he try to laugh with her? Did he pull his hand away and accept that this was her response? And before he could actually decide on a course of action, Roxy put her hand in his and squeezed gently. She was still shaking from what Vergil assumed was actually fear, and not her quieting laughter, but her demeanor seemed to soften.

“This is why I didn’t want to go alone.”

“Gas is far too expensive to waste.” Vergil said as unironically as possible.

She laughed again, but it was much more controlled; back to its usual melodic cadence. Then, she took a long, deep breath. She seemed to exhale all of her problems as her fingers almost intertwined with his. “Thank you, Vergil.”

The way his name rolled off of her tongue.

He wished he could hear it again and again.

“I’ll be with you, no matter what happens,” Vergil said as she pulled her hand away.

She nodded. “Let’s go.”

Roxy’s mother was on the third floor and as far in the corner as she possibly could be. And, as Roxy warned him, neither of them could enter the room until a third person- a young lady named Charlotte- checked on the woman herself. And while they waited, Roxy’s nerves returned. Twice she tried to walk away, only for Vergil to step in front of her, and halfheartedly threaten to turn her around himself. Then he waited until she took a deep breath, squeezed his hand, and moved back to the door.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Charlotte returned with a smile. “She’s calm today,” She said. “But I’ll stay with you, just in case.”

Roxy took a deep breath and nodded. As Charlotte walked back into the room, Vergil held his hand out again. “Are you alright?”

She paused a moment before pushing her fingers against his palm. The touch, despite its gentle nature, shot electricity through him, just as it did every other time she held his hand. Now, however, he was used to it, so the confusion no longer showed in his expression. “Yes,” she said with a determined nod. Vergil returned it in hopes of encouraging her, and her shoulders relaxed again. “I’m alright.”

“Good,” Vergil nodded towards the door. “Let’s go.”

The room was laid out how he expected it to be. Two hotel rooms brought together which made a space that reminded him of Roxy’s studio. In one half was a modest sized television with a red couch full of black and yellow decorative pillows. The large windows let in a generous amount of light, making the room even more inviting than the pale yellow walls and numerous paintings of flowers already did. In the other was a king-sized bed with a very petite woman wrapped up in blankets. Her hair had been cut short, and was a darker shade of red than Roxy’s natural locks. She looked pale, and much older than Vergil thought she was. Granted, he’d never asked Roxy her mother’s age, but considering how poorly other conversations had gone…

“Hey Mom,” Roxy said as she pulled up a chair. Vergil hovered a few feet away. Close enough to watch over her, but far enough away to be respectful. And by the way the woman’s head only slowly turned to meet Roxy’s gaze, and never once wandered towards him, he knew he was in the right place.

“Roxanna,” her mother murmured with a small smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too… mom.”

Vergil tilted his head, trying to listen for anything that might give away what her mother was sick from. He assumed it was a mental issue from Roxy’s descriptions, but he wondered if maybe there was something else he was missing. A physical problem that had been exasperated by her stress.

But when he didn’t hear anything abnormal, he let it go and focused on Roxy instead. She was still shaking, but not enough for a normal human to notice. She didn’t reach for her mother’s hand, nor did her mother reach for her’s. They seemed more like awkward strangers than family, and it made Vergil uneasy.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you anything this time,” Roxy said. “And it looks like they’re taking good care of you.”

“Of course they are,” her mother said.

Awkward silence fell after that. Roxy fidgeted, fingers twisting around each other. She was more nervous than Vergil had seen her in a long time, including their time waiting in the car. Once again, she looked ready to bolt. Vergil shifted next to her preemptively. He reached for her shoulder, but paused, uncertain if that crossed whatever line they’d made between them. But Roxy surprised him when she reached for his hand herself, resting it on her shoulder before her hands fell back into her lap. “Mom,” She said. “This is Vergil.”

“Vergil,” her mother repeated, her lips twisting into something between confusion and a frown. “What happened to Brady?”

“We broke up a long time ago.”

Her mother scoffed. “Good. He wasn’t any good for you.”

“But we’re not…”

“Is he taking good care of you?”

Roxy hesitated, glancing at him. Vergil knew they couldn’t avoid a misunderstanding. No matter what either of them said, her mother would think they were together. There was no reason to argue over it. Not when things seemed to be going so well. “Yes,” Vergil said. “I’m keeping her safe.”

Her mother relaxed back into the pillows, eyes closing. “Good,” she murmured. “That’s good.”

The second time silence fell over the room, Roxy said, “I'm glad to see you again, but we have to head home.”

“How’s your father, dear?”

Roxy froze, eyes wide. Even Charlotte flinched and shifted closer to the bed. “Mom…” Roxy said. Vergil could hear the panic in her voice as she struggled to find the right words. His grip tightened on her shoulder. His senses snapped to perfect alertness when her mother’s eyes snapped open and her gaze turned murderous.

“You killed him,” she whispered.

“No,” Roxy said. “Don’t you remember? He passed away in his sleep. Nobody knows…”

“You killed him!”

Vergil grabbed her mother’s wrist seconds before it reached Roxy’s face. Roxy scrambled backwards, nearly tumbling out of the chair. Charlotte hit a button beside the bed as she grabbed the woman’s hand. “Calm down, Melinda,” Charlotte said. “Everything is okay.”

“Get out!” She shrieked, twisting in Vergil’s grip. He let her go before her wrist broke, and reached for Roxy instead. “It’s all your fault, Roxanna!” A pillow hit Vergil in the back as he helped Roxy to her feet. “Alina… your father… they’re all dead because of you!”

“It’s time to go,” Charlotte said as two male nurses arrived. “I’m sorry, Roxy.”

Roxy stared past them all, eyes wide in shock. “Come on,” Vergil said, his voice as quiet as possible. Behind them, her mother continued to scream insults, her words shifting between things he could understand and nonsense. “Roxy,” he said again. “We have to go.”

She jerked away, tears in her eyes as she turned and ran.

“Please,”

Vergil glanced back, surprised. Her mother stared at the ceiling in pure remorse, pinned to the bed by the two other nurses as Charlotte reached for a needle “Take care of her.”

For a moment, he imagined his own mother. What would have happened if she’d survived? How old would she be now? Would she have lost her mind as well, consumed by trauma and pain? How would he react if he and Dante hadn’t been enough?

His stomach twisted at the thought. Roxy…

“I will.” He didn’t wait to see her reaction, as there was someone else who needed him by her side.

It didn’t take long to catch up to Roxy. But as she rushed for the car, Vergil blinked in front of her, blocking her way. “You’re not driving like this.”

“You’re not my father.” She snapped.

“I’m still your caretaker,” Vergil said. “And I take my job very seriously.”

She glared at him, but there were tears in her eyes. “I want to go home.”

“We will. But you need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” She said. “I’m trying Vergil. I’m trying to be the perfect daughter. The one that pays for everything she needs. Visit as often as I can only to get screamed at until I’m ushered out. I’m trying to remind myself that she’s my mother. That I’m supposed to love her. Yet I can’t escape this feeling. I can’t stop myself from wishing that I never had to see her again,” She reached to rub at her face, thought better of it, then tried to turn away. “I’m the worst daughter she could possibly have.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” Vergil said as he shifted back in front of her. She didn’t turn away, but she didn’t meet his gaze either. “Not for her health. Not for the loss of your father or your sister. None of this is your fault.”

Then, once again, he held his hand out. She stared at it before looking back up at him. “No,” She said. “I’m not alright.”

“I’m not asking you to be,” He said. “But that’s not the point of this, right? You always use it to keep me grounded. To remind me that everything will be alright, even if I don’t understand when or how. This allows both of us to know that we’re not…” He paused, took a deep breath, and said, “That we’re not alone.”

Tears streamed down Roxy’s face when she took his hand. Then, she barreled straight into him. Vergil barely caught her, stumbling back a few steps as his hands ended up on either side of her. He stared past her into the figurative abyss as she burst into tears against his chest. He couldn’t think. He could barely breathe. She was so close. So vulnerable. She needed him now more than ever and he didn’t know what to do.

Yes you do, V’s voice whispered in his head. Don’t be afraid of your feelings, Vergil.

Finally, he wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her as close as possible. She melted into him when he did so, pressing her face harder into his chest. “You’re alright,” Vergil said softly. “You’re going to be alright, Roxy. I…” He took a deep breath. “I will never leave you, for as long as you will have me.”

He didn’t know if she heard him, but her tears slowed. After a few minutes, where he held her close and waited in silence, she lifted her head and sniffled. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just…”

Vergil shook his head. “You did what you needed to do. Never be ashamed of that.” After a moment of hesitation, he pulled one hand to her cheek. He brushed her last tear away with his thumb. She leaned into him, placing her own hand on top of his. And when they stayed like that, it was as if time itself had stopped. It didn’t feel like an eternity.

No, it felt like a moment he never wanted to end.

But, as much as he wanted to stay with her in front of the old hotel forever, he knew people were waiting at home. “Come with me,” Vergil said softly. “Just a short walk. Give yourself some time to breathe, then we can go home.”

#zenni-writes #cadence #update #fan fic #dmc #vergilxoc #vergilxroxy #the feels are gonna keep coming #sorry #kind of #;)c

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molluskwritesfic · 4 years

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An Enigma of Broken Wings: Chapter Seven

Reeling from the Time War, the Doctor finds comfort in a mysterious creature that no one has ever seen. Things get more complicated when he discovers that this kindred spirit is a member of one of the most feared species in the universe.

This story can be found on Ao3 and fanfiction.net.

Chapter One - Previous Chapter - Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The officer arrived in a five wheeled car just as the last rays of sunlight began to fade. Her name was Prekdawnik-Ska, and she was an unpleasant looking Ablerrion. Every detail, from the way her red crest caused her brow to furrow to the large blaster that hung from her belt was angled to make her appear intimidating.

She wasn’t very pleasantly mannered, either. From what the Doctor could gather from her one or two word responses, Ska thought that the whole idea was stupid, dangerous, and a waste of time. Ska had drawn the short straw, and would rather be anywhere other than chaperoning two tourists around town after dark. The iInvestigators had scoured the town from top to bottom for weeks, and she had never seen anything. In her opinion, there was no chance that the killer would show his face to more than one person, which rendered this particular excursion pointless.

But despite her distaste for the assignment and the Doctor’s mild irritation at the officer’s sidearm, the three piled into the five wheeled cruiser and set off into the night.

“Where are we going?” Rose inquired, unhappy and feeling a bit excluded in her place in the back seat.

“Where the last disappearance took place,” the Doctor stated confidently before turning to Officer Ska. “Where is that, again?”

“Moroldford Corner,” the grouchy alien grunted.

“Moroldford Corner,” the Time Lord repeated to his blonde friend as if she hadn’t been able to hear.

“Yeah. I’m not deaf, right?” Rose retorted.

“Right. Sorry.”

“What’s Moroldford Corner, anyway?”

“Care to answer that, Officer?” The Doctor diverted.

The alien sighed. “Oldest part of town. Abandoned for decades. Run down buildings. Trees. Glocnappenspaian graves. Not much, really.”

“Why was it abandoned?” Rose asked.

“Landscape changed. Now everytime it rains, the place floods.”

“So what was the person that disappeared doing there?”

“Dunno.” Ska rolled her broad shoulders carelessly. “Exploring, probably. Their species usually enjoys that sort of thing.”

The cruiser whipped around a corner and skidded to a stop. The trio unbuckled and slipped out into the cool night air.

“Alberrions don’t, I take it?” The Doctor inquired, closing the car door and taking a few steps away from it, unkempt grass and mud squelching under his feet.

“No,” Ska snapped, sounding almost offended at the notion. “We’re practical. They’re not. No wonder it took so long for them to advance.”

The Doctor produced a flashlight from one of his many coat pockets. “What d’you mean?”

Ska pulled her own light, a bright orb-shaped lantern, from her belt. She activated it with a twist and a shake. “Their species has existed for nearly… a million years? They’re old. Should be advanced. But they’ve only had what can be called a complex society for around sixteen hundred. Hell, they didn’t even have a written language until nine-hundred years ago.”

“Don’t think very much of them, do you?” Rose concluded, keeping close to the Doctor.

“No, I don’t.”

They were at the top of a slope, looking down into a wide valley. Through the darkness, the Doctor could just make out the shapes of crumbling stone buildings being eaten away by woodland to the left. Large mossy trees with dense foliage were scattered in clumps throughout what had clearly once been clean-cut, but now in the process of being reclaimed by nature. The small moon and stars were only visible in brief spurts due to the patches of heavy clouds beginning to creep across the sky.

To the right of the slope, separated from the town by a small clearing was a very, very old forest. In Glocnappenspaian culture, they marked graves using saplings with a granite headstone at the base. The very old cemeteries, like the one in Moroldford Corner, were distinguished by gnarled, monolithic trees that stood dozen of feet high, with hundreds of headstones poking out from within.

“Rain soon,” the Doctor commented, beginning to pick a path down the hill and towards the abandoned buildings.

“Obviously. It’s always raining on this damn planet.”

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

By the time it began to rain, the trio had been in Moroldford Corner for over an hour, and they hadn’t had the slightest bit of luck. No monsters. No murderers. No kidnappers. Not the slightest thing to suggest anything was amiss, despite the place just being plain creepy. But it was an abandoned town-graveyard combo on a dark, stormy night, so a certain degree of creepiness was expected.

For Rose, however, it was just plain fun. She’d always loved haunted houses, graveyards, and horror movies. She loved the thrill, the feeling of her blood pumping and goosebumps forming on her skin, almost as much as she loved making other people be frightened with her. Historically, this other person was Mickey, who absolutely hated anything remotely frightening, no matter how much he insisted otherwise.

After nearly an hour of wandering about and nothing to show for it, Rose suggested that they split up. Several times. Despite being abandoned, Moroldford Corner was big. As the weather moved in brandishing the threat of flooding the valley, it made sense to cover as much ground as possible.

Eventually, despite repeatedly stating that they were safest as a group, the Doctor was forced to agree. He wanted a chance to check the far side, anyhow. At their current rate, it could be hours before they covered the entire Corner, and the lowest parts of the town could be underwater by then. He would go to the edge of the ruins alone, as it would be faster, and work his way back to meet the other two. The Time Lord’s parting words were to insist that Rose stay with Officer Ska.

Rose promised, and the Doctor set off.

Ska, however, still wasn’t nearly as concerned as the Doctor was. She still didn’t think that the killer, if he or she had ever been in this section of town, certainly wouldn’t hang around the scene of the crime. With this in mind, the Investigator didn’t worry too much when the young blonde drifted away to explore on her own.

~0~0~0~ . . ~0~0~0~

Rose’s trainers scarcely made a sound on the dusty stone floor. She was investigating one of the houses that was situated at the edge of the clearing, directly across from the overgrown cemetery. While many of the structures that were left in Moroldford Corner were on the point of collapse, slowly being sucked underground by the never-ending floodwaters, this particular house had remained untouched, more or less. It was located higher up the slope than the rest of the village, and therefore better preserved. Broken down and forgotten furniture still slumped in the corners, and panes of extremely dirty glass remained in the windows. Most importantly, it still had most of its roof.

Rose pulled down the hood of her jacket and wiped water droplets from arms, beginning to share Ska’s sentiments about the climate of this particular planet. A storm was rolling in. The young blonde had been listening to the distant peals of thunder and far away flashes of lightning, counting the seconds between the two in order to determine how far away the worst of the weather was. Unfortunately, it was getting closer, and she’d yet to hear back from the Doctor, who was presumably still on the opposite side of the Corner.

Trying to ignore how damp she was, Rose shivered slightly against a chill and held the small lantern Ska had given her near her hip. It was dim and didn’t do much good, but was enough to prevent the blonde from tripping over anything. She could just make out the lumps of stone strewn across the floor, chunks of the ceiling that had collapsed over time.

She picked her way gingerly across the front room to the window. It was far too dark to see anything out of it. She held her orb up to the glass, but it only illuminated the several decades worth of dirt and dust that had collected on either side.

Lightning lit up the night sky, allowing the young woman to have an unobscured view across the small clearing and into the crumbling forest-graveyard beyond.

Rose turned away, directing her attention to the warped remains of a desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the window light up once more.

She stiffened.

It had only been for an instant, but she could have sworn that a shadow had been cast across the decrepit room.

An inkling of fear flickered in her heart, putting her every nerve on alert. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She strained her eyes against the darkness, waiting for the next flash of light with bated breath.

Lightning flashed once more, illuminating the outside world.

Her blood froze.

There was a shape in the window. A person. Broad and tall. Staring in at her through the cracked glass.

Rose gave a strangled cry of shock and tried to back away. Her heel snagged on a lump of rubble, twisting it painfully and sending her crashing to the floor. She banged the back of her head, causing her vision to swim. She immediately tried to regain her footing, but was only able to make it back to her knees. Rose frantically tried to see the creature in the darkness, tried to see if it would try to come inside.

Lightning flashed again. The shape was gone. It had moved.

Coming to get her, Rose thought.

“Doctor!” She shouted as loudly as she could, her own voice straining her throat. “Doctor!”

“Rose!” The Doctor called back, but he sounded far away.

Rose scrambled for her orb, which had rolled across the room when she fell. Her hand made contact with it a second before a pair of powerful hands grabbed her roughly by the shoulders.

A small scream tore from her, which ended when she spun around and found herself staring up into Investigator Ska’s scowling face.

“What’s wrong?” Ska demanded.

“Was that you?” Rose snapped, concealing her fright with anger. “What kind of police work is that? Scaring the life out of people. Very funny. Do you get off on it?”

“What are you talking about?” The Alberrion retorted, ridged brow furrowing deeper in confusion.

“That wasn’t you?”

“Wasn’t me where?”

“Outside, looking in that window there.”

The Investigator studied the widow in question for a moment, then shook her head. “Couldn’t have been. I came around the back.”

They stared at each other, both registering the implications.

“There’s something out there!” Rose whispered, gazing back at the window with reignited dread.

Ska’s hand flew to her weapon. She unholstered it and held it at the ready.

“Stay here,” the Alberrion instructed, whirling around to head back out the way she came.

“You can’t shoot it!” Rose argued, trying to follow. Her ankle twinged in protest, causing her to wince.

Misunderstanding, Ska laughed. “This baby can blow a hole in a Asteroid-proof shuttle craft. One Glocnappenspaian psychopath is nothing!”

With that, she vanished into the night.

“You can’t! Don’t--” Rose called, but her plea fell on deaf ears.

A few seconds later, the sound of running footsteps intermixed with that of the rain pelting the increasingly muddy ground. Puddles were spreading across the valley, merging together and deepening as the already soaked earth refused to absorb a single drop more.

“Rose?” The Doctor called, sounding worried and slightly out of breath. “Rose!”

“Here!” Rose limped to the doorway that Ska had vanished through moments before.

“What happened?” The Doctor came sprinting into view, completely soaked. He skidded to a halt a few feet in front of her, immediately reaching out to support her upon seeing she was limping.

She took his arm gratefully, using him as a crutch. “I think I saw it.”

The Doctor turned to face her, hair scattering water droplets across her head. “What does it look like?”

“I dunno. It was just for a moment. Sort of human, I guess.”

A manic smile spread across the Time Lord’s face. He laughed. “Congratulations, Rose Tyler. You’re the only living person that has actually seen the Adjudicator and lived to tell the tale.”

Rose couldn’t help but share in his excitement. She grinned until the Doctor turned serious.

“Why are you hurt?” He demanded.

“Tripped.”

“Where’s Ska?”

“She went after it.”

The Doctor groaned. “That’s Alberrions, for you. Gung-ho. Shoot first, ask questions later.”

Rose nodded urgently. “She’s got a gun. Said it could destroy a space shuttle, or somethin’.”

“We’ve got to stop her. If she shoots at it, it could ruin our chances at making peace with it.”

“It won’t want to talk,” Rose summarized.

“Exactly—”

The Doctor was interrupted by Investigator Ska shouting frantically from somewhere in the trees within the cemetery. Her voice was indistinct and panicky. The sound of an energy blast sliced through the sounds of rain and thunder. And another. And another.

“Or she could get herself killed first.” The Doctor leaned Rose against the house. “Stay here!”

The Time Lord hurried back out into the storm, sloshing in the ankle deep water, ignoring the wind that buffeted him as he ran.

“Investigator Ska!”

The Doctor scoured the woods, dodging headstones and ducking around trees. The sounds of the firing blaster were much closer now. He caught a glimpse of the final shot through the trees, heard Ska’s frightened shout.

The Time Lord slowed down, senses on high alert for the smallest movement or sound through the rainfall.

“Ska?” He called again. “Are you there?”

A small light caught his eye. Round and fairly bright, but half submerged in the bog. He picked it up carefully, brushing away the mud and leaves caked to it. Ska’s lantern.

“Ska?”

He walked on, looking for the slightest sign of the missing alien, desperately hoping not to stumble upon her lifeless body. The sounds of the storm were muffled, the massive umbrella-like trees keeping out the worst of the rain and absorbing sound with the carpets of moss covering their trunks. The Doctor held his breath and listened to raindrops thundering against the canopy high above his head. All else was silent.

“Hello?” The Doctor called out into the trees, this time addressing the creature, which he presumed was still close-by. “I’m the Doctor. I believe we’ve met before. This doesn’t have to keep happening!”

He listened intently for a moment before continuing. “I can help you! Believe me, I can. But you have to tell me what you’ve done with Ska. Investigator Ska, the shooty one. I know she comes on a bit strong, but…”

The Doctor stilled, staring at a headstone. It was shaped differently than the others. Larger, but not crafted with nearly as much care. The name was barely legible, a date scrawled beneath it, indicating the person buried underneath had died some four hundred years prior to the current year.

Sadness and frustration weighed down on the Time Lord’s old heart, so much that he didn’t bother looking up at Rose until she had managed to limp through the trees and up to his side.

“I told you to stay at the house,” The Doctor complained, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen,” Rose scoffed. She leaned against the headstone for support. “Where’s Ska?”

“Gone,” The Doctor concluded grimly.

“Gone where?” Rose demanded, eyes wide.

The Doctor didn’t answer directly, just nodded to the headstone she was leaning on. “Ska said that this was a Glocnappenspaian cemetery. Makes sense. They stopped burying people here nearly fifty years ago. The Alberrions didn’t arrive on this world until thirty years after.”

Rose stared at the stone. Not quite getting it. “So?”

“Not really a Glocnappenspaian name, is it?”

The headstone read: P. Ska

~0~0~0~ .

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janelevy · 5 years

Text

in sickness (and in health)

requested by @homeschooledbookfanatic

summary: this is kind of a combo between two ideas, but both have the same premise - in the first part, connor worries about a sick ava, and in the second part, ava cares for a sick connor.

warnings: none, just general flu/cold illness

also: i’m surprised but also super happy to see an influx of new followers recently! whether you followed me for the dumb shit i reblog, my writing, or the upcoming secret santa exchange, i extend my gratitude to you! don’t be afraid to send me a message or ask to say hi <3

i. Connor was a doctor, and had been one for close to seven years now (not counting all the time spent tirelessly studying before that), so he thought he could tell pretty easily when a patient was sick. There were countless symptoms to scroll through for a whole host of different diseases. He had a keen eye for basic to intermediate illnesses, since the most severe problems were usually internal ones he would then operate on. So, yeah, Connor was a doctor, and he knew how to read a patient’s appearance and mannerisms to determine if they were under the weather.

Somehow, Ava completely slipped past his radar.

She acted like her usual self when they got up that morning. Everything was fine. And okay, maybe he was a little bit distracted considering he had three major surgeries to look forward to today. But just as she always was since they moved in together, Ava was alongside him in the morning, getting up and getting dressed and making coffee and drinking it. She even drove them into work and appeared alert, albeit sniffly. Connor asked about it then, and he should’ve known something was the matter when she used that dismissive tone.

“I’m fine, Connor. Just a little cold.”

Just a little cold. Clearly it wasn’t, because by the end of the day she looked like a train had hit her, turned back around, and hit her again. Of course Connor didn’t vocalize that, because he wanted to live past thirty-two, but he did make sure to inform her that if she felt off by even half a margin, she should tell him and they would call in sick together the next day so he could care for her. Again, she brushed him off, but she didn’t reject the hot tea he made for her when they got home.

Then it was the next morning, and something most definitely wasn’t right. Connor sat up in bed and looked over; Ava was asleep but restless, and heat was pouring off her body in waves. Without hesitation he placed his hand on her forehead, winced, and gently shook her awake.

His girlfriend groaned and gradually opened her eyes. “Mmm... what do you want?” Her eyes slid over to the bedside clock and she sighed. “It’s too early, baby, we don’t have to be awake until...” She trailed off at the look on his face. “What?”

Connor shook his head at her in awe. “Avey, do you not feel how ill you are? You’re running a high fever, your forehead is hot enough to fry an egg on.” He reached forward and prodded gently around her neck. “And your lymph nodes are all swollen.” Her hazel eyes were propped open lazily at half-mast, and her eyelids looked as heavy as he was sure they felt. Connor met her gaze seriously, reaching to hold one of her hands. He wanted to make sure she knew he wasn’t just viewing her as any old patient right now, but as the woman he would travel around the globe for.

“Tell me, did you sleep well last night? Have you had any other issues like fatigue? Chills? Sore throat? Muscle aches?” His eyes rolled to the ceiling as he recalled yesterday. “It seemed like you had a little bit of a cough yesterday.” He sighed, dropping his shoulders in defeat. He felt like he had utterly failed her. “Dammit, dammit. I should’ve noticed sooner.”

Ava rested the palm of her free hand on her forehead and groaned. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. First of all, you... shouldn’t blame yourself.” Her words came out at a tired, leisurely pace. “And second, it’s not a big deal.” She laughed grimly, if it could even be called a laugh. “I’m just pissed because I did get my flu shot this year. But... it is what it is.”

Connor brushed some hair behind her ear and frowned. “There’s still always that tiny chance a certain strain of the virus will get you,” he said, although she knew that already. He slid off the bed for a moment and ran to the bathroom cabinet to retrieve a thermometer. Within seconds he returned and urged her to slip the proper end of the device under her tongue. After a few moments, it beeped and he read the result, then did a double take.

“Okay, this actually is kind of a big deal, hon. Your body temp is 104 degrees.” At her reluctant moan, Connor grimaced and stroked her arm. “Looks like we will have to go into work today, but not to actually work.”

Ava sighed into her pillow. “You don’t have any operations scheduled today?”

“No,” Connor said. He decided not to mention that he originally had one non-emergency procedure today, but pushed it back just in case this happened. “No, I don’t. All I’m focusing on today is you.”

“You should try doing that every day,” came the biting reply.

“Ha, ha.” Connor peeled the sheets back as she started to sit up. “Okay. Let’s get you to the hospital. You’ll be feeling better soon, I promise.”

In response, she only nodded mutely, probably figuring it was better to let him lead her out of the room than argue. And for that, Connor was glad.

ii. The last time Ava had been super sick, all she’d wanted to do was sleep the day (or couple of days) away. Therefore, she couldn’t fathom why Connor wanted to be awake, let alone standing and doing things.

“If this is some big act you’re putting on just to prove your cold isn’t that bad, you’re not fooling anyone, least of all me.” Ava crossed her arms and leaned on the kitchen counter, watching as Connor rummaged clumsily through the fridge. “Besides, you won’t get a chance to fake it for anyone else, because I’m not letting you out of the house today.”

“Yeah, right.” Connor slammed the fridge door and set down the container of almond milk heavily. He grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and dragged them over to where she was at the counter, standing across from her as he poured corn flakes then his icky almond milk into the bowl. “Just because it’s my day off doesn’t mean I don’t have to leave the house. I have way too many errands to do. And I have to be ready on standby just in case the hospital pages me--”

“That won’t happen, because I called and told them how sick you are.” Ava handed him a spoon and rolled her eyes at his muttered thanks. “Dr. ‘I’m Ignoring the Symptoms of a Common but Severe Cold,’ you are not about to show up there and spread your grouchy germs through the entire ED and CT floors.”

Connor scowled and poked at his already mushy cereal. “Whatever,” he growled. “But I still have the errands.”

“Errands which I will be doing,” Ava corrected, “because I called in sick today.”

He shook his head, but she could spot the ghost of a smirk behind his currently dour expression. “Why’d you do that? The only place you’re sick is in the head.” Connor held a hand up to his red, raw nose, making the hilariously unflattering I’m about to sneeze face, and Ava shoved some tissues at him.

“Oh, very funny,” she said. “The actual reason I called in sick is because of... oh, I don’t know, do you remember all that stuff we said during our vows?” She tilted her head, honey blonde waves slipping off her shoulder. “You know, the whole ‘care for each other in sickness and in health’ thing?” Connor’s only response to that was a monstrous sneeze, and she nodded in amusement. “Yeah. That’s what I’m planning to do today.”

Connor blinked at his wife, forlorn, bloodshot eyes peeking out from in between a scrunched-up tissue and a mop of unwashed dark hair. “Fine,” he grumbled. Then, as a sincere afterthought: “Thanks.”

Ava coaxed him onto the sofa where he lay there like a grumpy old dog for the rest of the day, watching an assortment of shows on the Food Network and HGTV. He was dangerously nearing lame middle-aged dad territory, Ava noted with mirth. That was good, though. The title was just as fitting for him as “Doctor.”

And so she wandered in and out throughout the day, bringing him chicken noodle soup and saltine crackers, tall glasses of ice with cool blue Gatorade (it was his favorite flavor, though all the flavors tasted the same to her), and ice cream. Ava loved caring for him, because he would and had done the same for her - and times like today were when she really felt like the best doctor.

#chicago med #connor rhodes #ava bekker #rhekker #fanfic

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javistg · 5 years

Text

Ethan’s Adventure

This lovely artwork is by @white-dandelion-seeds who requested a birthday drabble for her sister.

Hope you like what I came up with. 😊

For the birthday girl: I hope you have a wonderful day! ❤️

Prompt: Canon compliant story about a toast baby and Haymitch’s geese.

Ethan’s Adventure

Ethan Mellark stood on the tips of his toes and peered over the fence into Haymitch’s backyard.

His gray eyes narrowed as soon as he found the gaggle of geese which had woken him up with their cranky honks in the middle of the night.

“Nuisance,” Ethan whispered, pouring all his anger into the word Haymitch usually used to talk about his geese.

At almost five years old, Ethan didn’t know exactly what the word nuisance meant but, judging by Haymitch’s tone, it wasn’t something good.

He had never understood why Haymitch complained so much about his birds. But, after hearing them last night, the boy was starting to believe that, maybe, it had something to do with the fact that they could keep the entire neighborhood up with their shenanigans.

Unaware of Ethan’s annoyed scowl, —or perhaps unconcerned— the fat birds waddled about, stretching their long necks in the warm sunshine as they grazed.

Their fluffy plumage gleamed —white as a spring cotton cloud— under the golden morning light.

Ethan sighed, already letting his irritation go. No matter how loud they were, the geese were the prettiest animals he had seen up close. For the longest time, he had longed to run his hands over their wings.

Touching the soft down Haymitch gave Momma to fill cushions and comforters when the birds molted was one of his favorite things. The small feathers were as warm and soft as a caress, and Ethan imagined that the long feathers on the geese’s wings would be as smooth as the beautiful silk dress Momma wore on New Years’.

But, as much as he wanted to reach out and touch them, he knew he wasn’t allowed.

Momma said the geese were dangerous. Her face always turned serious when she reminded Ethan to steer clear of them. “I know you think they’re pretty, but they’re just as big as you are, and they’ve got sharp teeth inside those bills. They’re not our pets, Ethan. Just leave them be, OK?”

Ethan always nodded –he could tell Momma wasn’t playing around-- but he wasn’t sure her words were true. Yes, he had seen the teeth —Haymitch had shown him once when his parents weren’t around to scold him— but he couldn’t believe the geese would ever hurt him.

How could they when they always seemed so happy to see him? They all waddled over to the fence to greet him with happy honks whenever he went by.

Which was more than he could say about Whiskers, the family cat Willow had found hiding behind the bakery once.

Come to think of it, Whiskers wasn’t very fond of the geese either.

Willow said it was because he had snuck into their garden once –back when he was a kitten—and one of the geese had stomped on his tail.

Ethan was sure it had been an accident. Haymitch’s geese were rowdy, but they weren’t mean. Still, Whiskers never went inside the fence, and if the geese ever came out –which they sometimes did—the cat kept his distance.

Unlike Momma, --and Whiskers, apparently-- Papa didn’t think the birds were dangerous, but he didn’t like them much either. He called them thieves.

Papa was always telling Haymitch to lock them up and was quick to blame them whenever a loaf of bread went missing.

Momma knew better, though. “They feed on grass, Peeta,” she’d say, her eyes twinkling with mirth. “They might peck here and there for breadcrumbs, but they don’t need to sneak into our kitchen to take a whole loaf.”

Momma’s teasing always made Papa huff and puff in response.

Ethan didn’t like it when his Papa was upset, but the thought of a fat bird waddling at full speed through Victors’ Village with a loaf in its bill always made him laugh. He would have loved to see one of the feathered thieves in action!

After some more grumbling on Papa’s side --and some more teasing on Momma’s-- the conversation invariably turned to Haymitch, who was the most likely culprit.

Papa’s forehead would crease the way it did when he was cross but, as soon as he mentioned stepping out to give Haymitch a piece of his mind, Momma put her hand on his cheek and whispered something in his ear.

Ethan didn’t know what secrets his parents shared when they acted like this, but Papa’s protests invariably turned into a soft hum when Momma whispered to him. Their hushed conversations always ended with laughter and a kiss.

Ethan didn’t care much for kissing, but he liked it when his parents laughed. It warmed his chest from the inside; made him feel safe.

If Ethan’s parents were happy, everything in the world was right.

Except, this morning, things were not right.

Ethan scrunched up his face in confusion. Something was definitely up. It was odd enough that Haymitch’s geese had kept him awake during the night, but now they were ignoring him!

Letting go of the fence, Ethan stomped toward Haymitch’s front door. He knew it was early, --his grouchy neighbor preferred to stay in bed until the sun was high in the sky-- but he didn’t care. There was a mystery here, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

With the fierce determination he had inherited from his parents, Ethan climbed the steps to the porch, closed his little hand in a fist, and knocked the way Papa did: loudly and without pause.

He was still pounding on the door when it swung open, and a bedraggled Haymitch appeared at the threshold.

Before Haymitch could say anything, Ethan spoke, “What’s the matter with your geese, old man?”

Haymitch’s eyes snapped open. Unlike his mother, the boy was mostly sweet-tempered. “Hey! What’s with the attitude, Kid?”

“They kept me awake all night!” Ethan crossed his arms over his chest, his gray eyes dropped to the floor, and he scowled. “And now they won’t even talk to me.”

Haymitch ran a hand through his hair. It was sticky with sweat and… Well, he hoped it was just sweat. Crouching down, he patted the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personally, Kiddo. They’re just a bit tired, that’s all. Wanna see something neat?”

Intrigued, Ethan looked up. “Yes!”

“OK, follow me.” Haymitch stood up and closed the door, using the motion to stretch his back. The geese weren’t the only ones who were tired this morning. With Ethan at his heels, he walked to the kitchen.

Before going in, Haymitch stopped and turned to the boy once more. “OK, grab on to my legs, walk behind me, and don’t let go. Understood?”

“Yeah, but--,”

“No, no. No buts. If you want to see this, you have to do as you’re told. Stay behind me at all times.”

Ethan pouted. He wasn’t satisfied, but he was much too curious to challenge Haymitch at this point. “Understood.”

“Good. Oh, and one more thing, don’t make a sound. Think you can do that?”

Holding on to the legs on Haymitch’s pants, Ethan nodded.

Haymitch went into the room, carefully adapting his strides to Ethan’s short legs. The pair moved past the kitchen table and kept walking until they reached the entrance to the laundry room. Instead of going in, Haymitch stopped.

Intrigued, Ethan peeked from behind the victor’s legs to see what was further ahead.

His eyes popped open, and he gasped. Remembering Haymitch’s instructions, he tightened his hold on the victor’s pants.

A goose and a gander sat on the floor just a few steps away, right in front of the washing machine. Between them, protected by the grown birds and a soft, worn blanket, two newborn goslings napped.

Ethan leaned forward, pressing his face to the side of Haymitch’s legs as he tried to get closer without alerting the geese. The babies were so small he was sure they could fit in Haymitch’s hands! They were nowhere near as beautiful as their parents --they had no feathers, and their bills were gray-- but the little family seemed peaceful and content.

Ethan knew he had promised to keep quiet, but he just couldn’t help himself. “Can I pet them, Haymitch?” he whispered.

“No!” Haymitch hissed. Before the geese could react to their intrusion, he turned around and carried Ethan out of the room and back to the entrance hall. “Not right now,” he said once they were out of earshot. “But I’ll tell you what, when they’re a little older, I’ll let you. And when you grow up a little bit more, I’ll let you pet the bigger ones too. How’s that, Kid?”

Ethan’s eyes lit up. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Crouching down, Haymitch placed Ethan back on the floor. “Now, scoot along! I haven’t slept all night, and it’s time for my nap.”

Ethan scrunched up his nose. “Are you going to sleep like that?”

Haymitch looked down at his clothes. He hated to admit it, but the kid made a good point. He looked like he had gotten into a bathtub without undressing first.

His wrinkled trousers were dripping at the cuffs, and there was a brownish stain on his shirt that looked suspiciously like bird droppings.

How did that get there, Haymitch wondered, stretching the fabric to inspect it. “I’ll take a shower first. How’s that?”

“Good. You…” Ethan twisted his lips the way his father did when he was looking for the right words to say. “You sort of stink.”

“Alright!” Haymitch opened the front door. “Now get out of here! And don’t come back until tomorrow, you hear? We all need some rest.”

Walking backward, Ethan stepped onto the porch and waved. “Goodnight, Haymitch!”

With a chuckle and a nod, Haymitch closed the door.

Ethan rushed into his house. In his eagerness to share the happy news, he let the front door slam shut behind him and kept running until he reached the kitchen.

His Papa was there, standing by the stove. The scent of melted butter and cinnamon filled the air, and Ethan’s stomach rumbled in response. Papa was making French toast!

“Morning, Papa!” Ethan pulled out his usual chair and sat down.

“Morning, E!” Papa looked up from the pan. “You wash your hands?”

“I did before I went out.” Ethan inspected his palms. Everything seemed to be in order. “I haven't touched anything,” he grumbled.

“Where were you, little one?” Papa placed two toasts on a plate next to a spoonful of fresh fruit and doused them with maple syrup.

“Over at Haymitch’s.”

Papa looked up; blue eyes worried as he carried the plate with toast up to his son. “This early?”

“I wanted to see what was wrong with the geese.”

Papa took a knife and fork and began cutting the toast into bite-sized pieces. “You heard them last night?”

Ethan nodded. That was old news, though. “But guess what, Papa?”

“What?”

“We’re gonna have to lock our doors from now on.”

Papa stilled his movements and gave his full attention to his son. “We are?”

“Yup!” Ethan stabbed a piece of toast with his fork and smiled. “Cause we got two new thieves in the neighborhood!”

#things I write #bits and pieces #Ethan's adventure #canon compliant #post epilogue

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softstraykidsimagines · 6 years

Text

Boyfriend!I.N (Jeongin)

MASTERLIST

WOOT WOOT

Little Jeongin!

This is gonna be so damn fluffy watch out

Here we go!!!

Ok so Jeongin is shy at the best of times

So God help this poor child while he has a crush on you

He won’t even be able to talk to you properly

Most likely runs away whenever he gets embarrassed

Which is very often

Just

Can’t function

If one of the members even try the subject of his crush on you when you’re in the room

He lets instinct take over

And he dolphin screams to distract everyone

As people look in his direction

Because he is hella loud

He’ll scream again and die on the inside

Why can’t I think straight with y/nnnnn

He’d be so frustrated with himself

He’ll probably mentally slap himself every other second when he talks to you

Why did you say that? What is y/n gonna think of you?! IDIOT

I highly doubt he’d confess to you himself

At least in person

One of the members probably told you

So you went to see him

And scared the bejesus out of him when you asked if it was true

But he eventually nodded and confessed and VERY quietly asked you out this baby my God save him

To which you OBVIOUSLY said yes

And he probably jumped around happily to your response

Tried to stay cool, because he is Mature™

But as soon as you were not around he’d scream with happiness and run around because he is a ball of energy and he’s gonna explode

He’s whipped, your grace

Dates with Jeongin

Is it really such a mystery?

So so SO soft

His first date with you was going to a carnival

Because he made it his new goal in life to win you a stuffed toy

And win your heart forever

Little did he know that had already happened

Got really grouchy when he didn’t win anything

But immediately felt better when you both had something to eat who doesn’t feel better with food?

Forgot how to human when the date came to an end

And you kissed him on the cheek

Half as a joke, he collapsed onto the ground in a heap of giggles not really a joke it was genuine

He was, at that moment, the happiest boy to walk the planet

You can probably guess that this kid is too shy for PDA

But he’s all for hand holding wherever you two go

He really loves to swing your arms back and forth like children cause that’s what you are

Sometimes will peck your cheek if he’s feeling bold

If you initiate skinship out and about, he’s gonna turn a dark shade of red

But will hold in his squeal thank goodness

If the members tease him for being shy

Because where’s the lie

He’ll greet you and become insanely clingy

If you ask him why he won’t tell you

“I just really really really wanted to hug you”

“Jeongin you’ve been clinging onto me for 10 minutes, are you okay? And what if the boys tease you”

“They won’t I’m proving a point”

“Say what?!”

First kiss.

You’d think it’d be you who would have to make the first move right?

Wrong.

So freaking wrong

Because realise: once he makes his mind up about something, Jeongin carries his decision through to the end

And he decided to make a certain evening walk in the park very special

You were walking around, and it had gotten dark, only a few street lamps lit your way

You were both talking about absolute nonsense, laughing at each others jokes etc

And then he suddenly became very serious

“Can I ask you a favour? It’s really important to me…”

You got kinda nervous, because when was the last time Jeongin managed to keep a strait face like that?

From his pocket he pulled out a chain bracelet, with a pretty but subtle pattern on it. “Can you wear this? For me? And whenever you’re sad, or scared, look at it and think of me, and I can protect you”.

You were absolutely dumbstruck, so you just quietly let him out the bracelet on

You were about to cry as well

He showed you a second one which he had on his own wrist. “I want this to be something special between us”

And then he siezes the moment

And connects his lips with yours

Very gently

He kisses you so delicately, like you’re made of ice, about to break

When you part, he smiles softly

And starts walking again, calmly

Making you stand there confused af

Like where tf is shy Jeongin? Who is this?

Spoiler alert, it’s I.N, not soft Jeongin

Oh lord prepare yourself before meeting the rest of SKZ

Physically and mentally

Knowing them they’ll probably try to lift you up and get you to crowd surf

While still teasing the Maknae

They’ll be so protective of you, just like with Jeongin

You have become family, don’t doubt that for half a second

You are also now in charge of being the mood lifter for Jeongin

And his reassurance

Especially if he’s sick

Because he gets really tired whenever he so much as catches a cold, because he refuses to stop working and rest common sense who?

And when he’s tired, he thinks way more negatively

You were once alone with him in the practice room, and he was trying to improve a few moves to a really difficult choreography

For a while he kept smiling like the child he is, staying positive

But after trying over and over, having to catch his breath from fatigue, having trouble breathing from a blocked nose, he still couldn’t get the moves right

And out of pure exhaustion and frustration, he burst into tears no judging I’ve had this it’s painful

You immediately went over and hugged him tightly, reassuring him and calming him down

You both sat together on the floor, until he wasn’t upset anymore, but you still refused to let him practice after that

You took him home and looked after him until he passed out that night

The members were confused af as well

“What’s wrong with Jeongin?”, asked Chan, being his usual protective-leader self

You replied simply because you didn’t want to upset the other boys. “He got frustrated at the dance he’s learning, and was exhausting himself, so I dragged him home to sleep...”

They were all really grateful the you were looking after Jeongin so well, and their love for you with the Maknae you only grew

Now this boy is not at all afraid of speaking his mind

So you two basically leave everything out in the open

No secrets

If one of you is pissed at the other, you will freaking say that you’re pissed at them

You don’t hold back

So then you can both talk rather freely about why you might be pissed

Basically what I’m saying is that fights are super rare

Because they don’t even get a chance to start when you two are so open with each other

So at most you bicker over food

But there are times

Like I said, insanely rarely

Jeongin doesn’t tell you how much he’s struggling

He doesn’t want to seem like he’s complaining too much so he stays quiet about his worries about being an idol

It’s a bit like his situation during The 9th: he doesn’t want to burden anyone about feeling down, so he keeps a bright smile on his face

You kinda sense that there’s something up, but he convinces you for a long time that he is totally fine

But when it becomes too much

Being tired, frustrated, stressed and worked to the bone, and he still hasn’t said anything to anyone

He’ll break and yell at you over something not even worth yelling about

It’ll shock you so much that you’ll flinch away from him

He won’t just yell at you

He’ll yell about how tired he is, about how unfair he thinks it is that he can’t learn a dance as quickly as anyone else

He’ll yell about everything and nothing

You understand quickly that he’s letting of steam, getting it all off his chest

So once he’s quiet again, breathing heavily, crying silently

You’ll hug him gently, and reassure him that you’re there no matter what and that he can ramble and complain all he wants with you

NO MORE ANGST IM OUTTA HERE

He tries to force you to watch Mukbang, until you threaten him that you’ll secretly feed him black beans

You both love blasting Bruno Mars in the dorms, driving SKZ up the wall as you sing at the top of your lungs

He’ll try to teach to sing trot like him

But you both know that you’ll never be as good at singing it as him

He loves texting you whenever he has a spare half-second

He always gets in trouble with the other members because as soon they stop what they're doing, he's off to get his phone

“Where did Jeongin go”, asked Woojin. “He was here a second ago...”

Chan sighed. “I can take a guess. JEONGIN PUT THAT DAMN PHONE DOWN!”

He uses his Maknae Influence™ to get our of trouble lol

You both like to try and cook together

Doesn't really work

You usually end up making a mess

Or if you’re baking something

Like cookies

You'll end up eating all the batter before it even reaches the oven

Stray Kids will be deprived of cookies RIP

When you suggest him meeting your family

He gets super nervous

But refuses to show it

You'll kind of pick up on his attitude

The way he answers questions on the matter so directly and seriously

But you're too kind and high-key impressed to point it out

But when he does meet your fam he's super smiley and actually seems genuinely comfortable

You on the other hand

Get hella stressed when you're supposed to meet his parents

Will they approve?

Will his brothers like you?

As soon as you voice your concerns to Jeongin

He hugs you, reassuring you that they'll all adore you

He couldn't have been more right

His parents are so so sweet and love you from the word go

Both his brothers love you just as much

Especially his younger brother, who just idolises you

It’s so cute

You immediately exchange contacts and stay in touch

Jeongin ended up making a group chat with you and his bros because he was so excited that you got on so well

His favourite thing to do in the evening with you is just watch a random show

From a K-Drama to a weird comedy neither of had ever seen

He just likes relaxing with you, usually with your legs draped over his lap

Probably screamed the first time you walked over wearing one of his jumpers

“ISN'T THAT MINE?”

“Oh, sorry I'll go put it back...”

“DON'T YOU EVEN DARE I LOVE IT”

Low-key snuck his hoodies into your closet just so he could see you wear them

But as soon as you brought it up

He'd refuse to give any answer on the matter

“What are you talking about? You must have stolen them yourself, thief”.

“Alright, I'll give them back, then”.

“No no, you stole them, so you must keep them”

“... Right”

The first time he said 'I love you’ resembled your first kiss

He had thought about it and planned it out

The plan didn't really work

He'd meant to cook something for you

And watch your favourite movie

And surprise you by just saying ‘I love you’ casually

But he messed up dinner

Accidentally spilled too much salt into the dish

So instead ordered takeout from your favourite place

Then

Just because the universe was against him, for some unknown reason, the movie wouldn't work

So you ended up watching something else

And he was about to give up and plan for another day

But it just kinda slipped out?

“I'm sorry I couldn't make this a perfect night”, he said, dejected. “I wish I could just... easily show you how much I love you...”

Sort of panicked after he said it

He started stuttering while trying to explain himself

Until you kissed him to shut him up

Telling him that you loved him too

And that's how he had a happiness heart attack

This bean will go public after a couple of years

He posted a photo of you smiling brightly in a cafe

With a simple caption: 'Love you so much’

Now naturally the internet is gonna die because hello?

Little baby Jeongin is dating?!

But after a few hours of commotion there's gonna be something unexpected

People will recognise you

From clips in SK TALKER

They'd seen the two of you

Just barely within the view of the camera

Messing around and playing a bunch of games to pass the time

Some had naturally insisted that you two were dating

But you were mostly just written off as Jeongin’s best friend who had come to see him a few times backstage

But now that he had officially announced your relationship

There were A LOT of people saying 'I told you so’ on the internet

Whoops

Low-key, kpop fandoms area group of mini Sherlock Holmes’

He becomes so happy at the very mention of your name

Low-key hopes in every convo that someone will bring you up

Just so that he can talk about you nonstop

He talks a lot about you

SKZ always get a real earful

Especially when they’re away

He'll never stop talking about you which pisses pretty much everyone off

His coping mechanism for being away from you is just to recap a bunch of his favourite moments with you

So naturally anyone within earshot of him will hear a bunch of cute stories about you two

Right up until the moment he sees you again

Thank heavens the rest of SKZ will say as they watch the Maknae crush you in a hug, giggling excitedly

All in all, you two have a soft af relationship

With lots of giggles, cuddles surprisingly, and a lot of love

Can I please just get a Jeongin??

There we go! That concludes my soft-ass day!

Now, I’m going away on holiday (sooner than I thought I would), but that’s not gonna stop me from writing! There’ll just be a few posts that won’t be on the Masterlist for a while. But as soon as I get access to any computer, I’ll update the Masterlist :)

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #imagine #kpop imagines #jeongin #jeongin imagines #yang jeongin #stray kids jeongin #JYP #jyp entertainment #scenario #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #jeongin scenario #boyfriend

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clara-is-brave · 6 years

Text

The Path Between the Stars

After a rough night of marking papers, the Doctor gives Clara an unexpected gift leaving them both ready to explore the next stage of their relationship.

AO3 Link/FF.Net Link

The pen in his hand skidded across the top of the paper - her short, sharp sigh had startled him from his concentration (and left quite a mark on the paper in the process). He drew his eyes up from it to his companion. Or what he thought, appeared to be a tiny human being driven to her wit’s end. Her eyes closed as she slowly rubbed the joints of her fingers. He pressed his lips into a thin line, setting the work down on the table to shift closer to her. There was no response from her as he pressed his hands into the plush sofa, even as her leg bumped against his. She merely glanced his direction when he took her hand into his. As if out of habit, his thumb stroked the back of her hand. He parted his lips to let out a breath as she gave his hand a faint squeeze.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Just tired,” she said. “I think I may fall asleep right here if I have to mark another paper.”

“Well, it is nearly one o’clock…”

“You’re kidding?” she asked, sinking into the sofa. She brought her hands up to her face, her eyes peeking through the spaces between her fingers. “Please tell me you’ve read that wrong.”

“Clara Oswald, are you suggesting I’m a daft-”

She placed her finger on his lips to stop him from going any further. Knowing him, he would go Scottish and bleat. The last thing she needed was the neighbors complaining about an angry Scotsman yet again. “I’m not ‘suggesting’ anything,” she said. “At least, not right now. I’m just a bit… grouchy.”

“We only have a few more to do,” he said. “Besides, this is one of the easiest assignments you’ve given them this month.”

“Of course, you think writing Shakespeare in iambic pentameter is a walk in the park,” she remarked. “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t been enjoying these-”

“You wouldn’t be up as late as you are now if that wasn’t the case,” he interjected.

“You seem to be enjoying them much more than me,” she finished.

“Anything is better than attempting to sit through Les Mis,” he said.

“Don’t make me throw this pillow at you,” she threatened with a snicker.

“Just a few more,” he said. “Or I can finish them in the morning for you?”

“Really?” she said.

“Really,” he said.

“No ulterior motives, then?” she asked.

“And what would those be?” he asked in return.

“To show off, to make the students like you more than me, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera,” she said, counting off each reason with her fingers.

“Hm,” He began tapping his chin as he looked up to the ceiling. “Possibly. Or I may just want to be of some assistance to my companion who just so happens to a teacher that needs her marking done by the morning.” She silently cursed herself for him being right.

“Humph,” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“So, Miss Grouchwald,” he said. “Do you accept my offer?” There was a glint in his eyes and a smirk she knew all too well upon his lips. She squinted her eyes at him, mentally taking note to pay him back later.

“If it means never calling me that again,” she replied, with a raised eyebrow, “then yes.” Not a minute sooner, a yawn escape her mouth. There was a tingling sensation in her legs as she stood up that she both appreciated and loathed in the moment. She closed her eyes, taking in the alertness she had missed before.

It felt nice, regaining the feelings of her legs after hours of sitting. She let out a slight squeak as she felt herself being put down on the bed. She swore she heard a quiet “sorry” from him, but felt very unsure of what was going on around her due to her near disoriented state.

“Are all humans really made of stardust?” she asked.

Oh, my curious Clara. He thought. She had pushed herself up despite her body calling for sleep. Never giving up. Never giving in. “Everything in the universe is, Clara,” he replied. “Not just you, me, and those lilies in the window.”

“So, every living thing then?”

“Every non-living thing too.”

“Could me and the clothes on my back be made out of the same dust?”

“Anything and everything.”

“Can you tell which stars?”

“Can I? Of course I can with my-”

“Superior Time Lord biology?”

“I could teach you, you know.”

“Ah, so it isn’t because of remarkable sense of smell.”

“It’s my remarkable ability of taste actually,” he said. She couldn’t hold back her amusement, her laughter taking up what energy she had left in her. He rolled his eyes, not as amused as she was about the revelation. “I’m failing to see what is so hilarious about this, Clara.”

“Well,” she started, her laughter finally dying down. “I mean, there is a high probability that you’ve licked a number of things just to figure out which star they came from.”

“And that’s funny because?” he sounded genuinely confused. Oh, her daffy Doctor. Perhaps it wasn’t funny, as she thought about. She shuddered a bit at the thought of what could've possibly come into contact with her mouth within the past twenty-four hours.

“You have a point,” she admitted. “Just be sure to wash your tongue before kissing me again.”

“Duly noted,” he said. “It’s not solely licking though. Just a simple touch of the lips or inhale of air can easily do the trick.”

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Which stars am I made of?”

“Let’s see,” he said. He gently brushed her hair from the back of her neck, placing his lips on her bare skin. “Vega,” he said. Rather than sending a chill down her spine, a wave of serenity took hold of her body. His breath grazed against her skin as he reached her collarbone. She slowly began sinking into the bed. “Antares,” his lips swept across her forehead. “Capella,” then to her left cheek. “Veritate,” next her right. “Tureis,” then to the tip of her nose. “Rotanev,” she blinked heavily as he reached the edge of her chin. As things started to blur, his lips finally reached hers, touching softly. “and Chara.”

Her vision faded into a peaceful darkness.

A low, but fluctuating hum filled her ears as she slowly opened her eyes. “Good morning to you too,” she said, rolling over to the vacant side of the bed to see the TARDIS still parked beside the bedroom door. A pool of warmth spread from the pit of her stomach to her fingers and toes. It was impossible to not smile. Smiling on a Monday morning? She caught herself wondering. Maybe I ought to convince him to do this trick more often…

She pulled herself up from the tangled covers, stretching out her limbs. For once it seemed like she wasn’t going to mind being up on her feet all day. Perhaps there was such a thing as a too lazy Sunday. Nothing could really beat the rush in one’s veins when it came to running from danger. Lounging around just wasn’t the same. Despite not needing coffee, surprisingly after the long night, she went off to do her morning coffee routine anyways. She was met with the Doctor grinning ear to ear in the living room. He had his hands behind his back, his arms unable to stay still. He hoped that she wouldn’t be able to detect the knots forming in his stomach. They tightened with each passing second. “What are you up to?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he lied.

Really? She thought. “Not with that look, you aren’t.”

“What look?” he replied.

“Spill,” she said.

“I just have something for you,” he said. “To give to you.”

“Then may I see it?”

“Close your eyes first,” he said. “Put your hand out and open it.” She did as she was told, biting her lip to repress the gleam. That’s when she felt something cold and metal-like land in the palm of her hand. He proceeded to close her hand and bring it to his lips. “Open your eyes now, Clara.” He released her hand as she did, letting her reopen it. It only took a moment for her recognize the object in her hand. A key to the TARDIS. The silver had a shimmer to it, almost like the glow of a regeneration. Its ridges were as sharp and defined and its curves as she moved it around in her hand to examine it. Her vision began to blur when she set her eyes on an engraved name on the other side of it.

“CLARA”

He moved closer to her, his hearts pounding frantically inside his chest. Her eyes were wider and wetter than usual. Or at least, unlike usual to him. They weren’t hard or sharp looking down at his gift. Nor were her lips curled up into a smile or drawn down like a frown. It wasn’t that malfunctioning look like on the Orient Express. He really needed to brush up on his studying of her expressions.

“I-” she said, finally finding her voice. “I, um, I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” he said.

“Why?” she asked. Her voice broke and she hadn’t meant for it too. Those times, those actions, the lack of regret were unraveling again.

“Why?” he asked the question back at her. How could she still not get it after all this time? Had it not been clear enough about it before?

“You trust me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“What happened, back with the keys, the volcano…” Her voice wavered, turning into a whisper.

“Was forgiven a long time ago. Do you need me to repeat it for you to get you to understand?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just. This is a lot to take in.”

“I thought you’d expect this. That you understood long before Christmas day.”

“That you trust me with the keys to your home?”

“More than that. I trust you with my life. The beginning, the middle, the end.”

“There will be no end with you, Doctor. Not while I’m around.”

“You really think so?”

“I know. I know because the universe is going to have to kill me before it even thinks about ripping you away from me again.”

“Clara, not now. Let’s not... dwell on it in this moment.”

“You’re right, quite right. But I do I have to know, if you’re ready for this. To give in.”

“Of course I am.”

“To really give in?”

“Yes Clara, this is me truly giving in. Simple as that.”

She didn’t mean to be as rough as she was pulling him down, wrapping her arms around his neck to bury her face in it. He didn’t flinch or protest in return. Instead he stroked the top of her head, letting their hearts beat against one another as she was pressed tightly against him. “Thank you,” she whispered, meaning it more than ever before. “For this.”

“Let me help you put it on,” he said as they unwrapped themselves from each other’s embrace. Like the night before, he brushed her hair to the side, lightly caressing her neck. She instinctively put her hand over it as settled on her chest. Right on top of her heart. The corners of his mouth slid upwards, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Perfect.”

The door unlocked with a click, sounding like music to her ears. Or at least, abruptly stopping the music that reached her ears. He was across the console with the guitar in his hands, slung across his shoulders. She shook her head, not expecting anything less from her mid-life crisis Time Lord. Not that she didn’t mind the guitar, the shades, the overall Bowie-like rockstar vibe he was giving off. Surely, he knew the effects it was having on her.

“Hello!” she said.

“Good afternoon, Miss…” he started, doing that thing again with his chin. The lack of chin didn’t seem to stop him from doing it. “Grumpwald? Oh wait, Grouchwald!”

“Ha ha,” she remarked, rolling her eyes. “Very funny.”

“How did the day go?”

“Well,” she began, meeting him halfway at the console. “I narrowly avoided some moon jokes thanks to someone finishing up the markings this morning.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, not even attempting to hide the hint of smugness in his voice. She gave him a slight glare before continuing.

“The kids miss you, you know. You really are a good help to them.”

“It’s nothing when you’re the ones whose teaching them.”

“I’m not the one with a time machine and an infinite amount of knowledge...”

“This place is as much yours as it is mine. Especially when you have enough knowledge to fly it without my assistance.”

“You really see it like that?”

“Anyone with eyes can and contrary to your belief, I don’t know everything. I have a quite an amazing teacher after all…”

She tapped her fingers on the console. “So, where to?”

“Wherever and whenever you want,” he said. He led them to one of the screens, which was filled with oddly shaped letters and numbers. With one punch of a button, a map she was becoming familiar with popped up.

“Somewhere wonderful. Somewhere unknown.”

“There’s not much unknown above this universe, below it however...” he stopped himself as he felt her arms wrap around him, her chin nuzzling into his shoulder. A breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding left his lips. This was new. A new sensation? No pain? No discomfort? He mused. It felt quite the opposite, the warmth of her tiny frame snug against his. Her thumbs rubbed his arm, as if she wasn’t aware she was doing it. He brought his hand up to her own arm to rest it there. This is a new habit I wouldn’t mind making...

“Did you miss me?” she asked, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“The question is,” he said. “When do I not miss you, Clara Oswald?” She flashed her teeth at him as she released him from her grip, sliding her fingers across the edge of the console.

“Actually, never mind my request,” she said. She turned around to his eyebrows furrowed and his face in a pout.

“You’ve changed your mind? Do you really want to stay at ho- your flat again?” he sounded a bit disappointed.

She shook her head. “I have a different request, actually.”

“And what is that?” he asked.

“Show me the path between the stars,” she said, her tone mellow and voice smooth.

“Is that all? You do realize-” he didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.

“The stars that you told me I was made of last night,” She mentally rolled her eyes but kept her voice steady. “Show me the path between them.”

“That is quite a simple request. All I have to do is-”

She pressed her fingers to his lips as she shook her head again. “Show me the path,” she said, tracing her finger down his neck to chest. “Daft old man.”

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#whouffaldi #twelfth doctor #clara oswald #doctor who #whouffaldi zine #taylor writes #fanfic

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sunaprincess7 · 6 years

Text

Porcelain - Chapter 2

Hi everyone - 2nd chapter here. I hope you all enjoy!

Summary: The year is 1960. Lily Evans is sixteen years old; trapped, bored and frustrated. Remus Lupin is also sixteen; bullied, unhappy and scared. They are about to meet two boys who will help to change all of that.

Fanfic link

"He kissed me."

"He what?" Lily hissed, trying unsuccessfully to quell the rising panic in her. "Outside?"

Remus looked up and nodded ruefully. "It was at the side of the shop, in the shade but…"

"Did anyone see?" Lily interrupted, her mind flying through all of the ways in which Remus could deny this ever happened.

"I don't know," he responded and finally the worried, panicking half of Remus won the battle with his expression. "I pushed him off…I didn't know what to do so I came straight here."

"Okay," she said, her thoughts everywhere, trying to think of a plan. "Okay. If it was at the side of the shop after closing time, it's probably unlikely that anyone saw," she thought out loud, working the issue through. "Everyone is usually in their homes by then. So, it might be fine. If anyone did see, you'll just have to deny it. Tell them they didn't see what they thought they did."

Remus nodded, listening to her words carefully although she could see the panic hit him afresh every time she mentioned a possible onlooker.

"There's only going to be one problem," she continued carefully, knowing the problem in her gut as soon as Remus told her: this Sirius didn't seem like the kind to go away, "if he…"

"…tries to do it again," Remus filled in, running his hand through his hair. "I know."

Lily watched Remus consider this possibility for a moment and saw the disappointment and regret flicker across his face. Eventually, he saw her watching him.

"It's ridiculous, I know," he said, eyes pained, "impossible. But for a minute…I forgot where I was. I know it can never happen again but I should've…appreciated it more while it happened."

There was nothing Lily could say to that. Her best friend, who only a matter of weeks ago she had nearly confessed her feelings to, was now telling her about his first kiss with a boy that was dangerous and obviously reckless. Later, when she allowed herself to think about it, it would sting her heart, but right now, she was more concerned with making sure Remus was safe.

"I'll speak to him," he continued when Lily was quiet. "I'll tell him he has to leave me alone."

"I can do it," Lily offered, hoping that if it were her, the message would actually get delivered. "It'll be easier for me, Remus. I'll be able to tell him directly, scare him away."

"You're sure? I know I could do it but if we were seen together a second time…"

"I can do it," she assured him, "where are they?"

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

Remus informed her that Sirius and James were staying in the only hotel in town. The imaginatively named 'Belmont Hotel'. She decided to pay them a visit the next morning before school, if only because she couldn't guarantee that Sirius wouldn't have made his way all over town by the afternoon.

When she woke up the next day, she dressed slowly and thoughtfully, trying to moderate what she might say in her head, thinking through all the possible options of how to behave diplomatically despite Sirius's personality.

However, all of her careful planning was immediately pushed out of her head the moment she encountered Petunia. Petunia was always grouchy at breakfast and missed no opportunity to take her sourness out on Lily. So, Lily ate her breakfast and listened to Petunia groan on about how that was really her skirt and it looked better on her anyways, Vernon had said so, and it wasn't like any boy ever complimented Lily, apart from the town loser, of course.

By the time Lily made her way to the Belmont Hotel, she was spitting acid.

"Hi Jenny," she greeted the owner and manager of the hotel.

"Lily!" Jenny responded happily, smiling widely as she took in Lily and her school bag. "What has you here before school?"

"Do you have some new customers here?" Lily asked as innocently as she could. "Around my age, boys, one has long hair," she continued when Jenny looked puzzled. "Arrived on motorcycles."

"Oh, Sirius and James you mean," Jenny said, now seeming to understand and obviously having developed some sort of acquaintance with the two, which annoyed Lily even more, "I wouldn't call them customers," she laughed, "more like temporary handy-men. They can't pay for a room so I said they could sleep in the shed out back if they fixed a few things for me. You need 'em?"

"Yes," she said, thinking it was probably good luck that they were outside in a shed where no one would be able to hear Lily yell, "one of them left a book at the soda shop yesterday and I've come to return it."

"Of course," Jenny smiled, "that's so like you, Lily. Very thoughtful. You can go around the side of the hotel – you'll find them there."

Thanking Jenny, Lily made her way around the side of the hotel, palms now sweating with nerves. The first sight that greeted her was James, outside of the shed, covered in dirt and oil as he fiddled with one of the bikes.

She briefly considered trying to tip toe around him so as to get to her real target without having to engage in some inane discussion but as he was positioned just outside the door, that didn't seem too realistic, so she kept walking. Eventually, the soft padding of her shoes on the grass alerted him to her presence.

"Is he inside?" Lily queried abruptly, eyes jerking towards the shed just behind him, as his face registered her arrival with a smart grin. Allowing him to talk as little as possible was clearly the only way through this obstacle.

"And here I was thinking that you'd come to see me," James rebutted sharply, still sporting the same grin that drove Lily spare.

"Is he inside?" She pressed, practically spitting every word out.

"What is it with you and hats?" He asked, staring at the top of her head which was adorned with a soft pink cap that morning. James stood straight and started to brush down his forearms and fingers with a rag that was as dirty as he was.

"I'd think the better question might be 'what is it with you and my hats?'" Lily replied as airily as she could, hoping that whatever little control she possessed could stop the blush she knew he was hoping to see.

Now not bothering to hide a full blown smile, James sauntered towards her slowly, "Oh, I already know what the answer to that one is," he said lowly, his eyes never leaving hers.

Rolling her eyes, mainly due to the desperate need to look away from him, Lily crossed her arms and strode around him towards the shed door. Her hand shaking a little with determination, she grasped the handle and threw the door forwards.

Sunlight illuminated the majority of the dank and dingy shed, revealing to Lily the sight of Sirius, lying on a grubby looking bed, a cigarette dangling in between his teeth.

"I think you're in trouble, Padfoot," James called merrily from behind her, before Lily had the chance to speak.

Not looking in the least perturbed by this, Sirius sat up a little and propped himself up against the wall of the shed.

"Well?" He queried brusquely, throwing down the cigarette when Lily hadn't spoken after a few moments.

"You," she began, stopping to correct the wobble that had drifted from her hand into her voice, "you stay away…from him."

"I'm afraid you'll need to be a little more specific," Sirius responded, although the amusement painted across his features let her know he was well aware what she meant.

"Remus!" Lily ground out, all but stamping her foot, "stay away from him."

Sirius shrugged, letting out a long sigh, "why should I do that?"

"Because…" Lily tried, the force falling away from her words as she couldn't think how to delicately end the sentence, "because…"

"Because you're his girlfriend?" He suggested, clearly trying to provoke her as she watched the same light flash through his eyes as earlier when he had been challenging in Lucius.

"Because you're going to get him into trouble," she finished bluntly, finding that the longer she spoke to him, the more confidence she gained. This boy would eventually leave – no one here knew who he was and she didn't have to act like a lady around him, as she did around every other boy. So long as their conversation remained in the shed, Lily could say whatever she wanted to him.

"Shouldn't you be at school yelling at your boyfriend for kissing someone else, instead of here, trying to threaten me?"

"Shouldn't you be locked up in some juvenile prison for runaways, instead of here, attacking boys who want nothing to do with you?"

His eyes flashed. She had hit a nerve. Which satisfied Lily because it was exactly what she was trying to do.

Sirius swung his legs over the edge of the bed and started towards her.

"Has your boyfriend ever actually kissed you?" He half-snarled, giving Lily the distinct impression he was holding back.

"Yes," she hissed in response, unconsciously folding her arms the closer he came.

"And did you have to beg him to do it?"

"At least I didn't have to ambush him!"

That short, loud laugh of Sirius's echoed around the shed.

"Is that what he told you?" He asked lowly, his eyes flashing again, this time with danger in them. "That I ambushed him?"

Trying to remember her conversation with Remus last night and wondering how Remus had described the interaction rendered Lily unable to respond.

"Or did he not bother to tell you what really happened? That I kissed him once, slowly, after he had been watching my lips the entire time we talked, and then stopped…"

The pangs of jealousy that Lily had been expecting to feel last night suddenly appeared and swamped her chest. It was as though he was telling her the most compelling story she had ever heard and yet, she wanted nothing more than for him to stop talking.

"…only for him to kiss me. He kissed me like he'd been waiting to do it his entire life. And then he stopped, because he remembered who he was and where he was."

"Are you trying to get him arrested?" Lily breathed, her voice shaking as she tried to quell the burning envy in her heart.

"No," Sirius said forcefully, somehow moving closer to her, "this bullshit country with these bullshit laws are trying to get him arrested, not me."

With that, he strode away from her and threw himself back down on the bed, not looking at her anymore.

"I know what you might think about me," Lily said, getting his attention as she finally found her voice, "but when he told me how he felt, all I cared about was that he was safe. That's why I'm here. I love him. And I'm not going to let anything happen to him. I don't know why you're here," she sniffed, as their eyes met, "but if you care about him, you'll leave him alone."

Deciding to get out of the shed before things got any worse, Lily turned around and walked into the daylight, finding James leaning against his motorcycle, obviously having listened to the whole conversation.

"Need a ride to school?" He asked, eyes following her as she stalked past him.

"No," she replied, wiping the tears from her eyes as she ran away. After that morning, she had no intention of going to school.

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

Legs sore, chest heaving and fists still clenched, Lily strode through dense undergrowth, feet managing to dodge the nettles that were littered amongst the grass. It wasn't difficult for Lily to miss the nettles: she had traversed this place many times before, finding it to be the one place in town she could feel peace.

A cool wind drifted in off the lake and whipped around Lily as she moved around its edge. She was on the unkempt side of the water – the part the town did nothing to maintain and so the grass had grown long and patchy with weeds everywhere. From her usual spot, where there were a few trees, Lily could look out across the lake and see only the water. When she was there, she could miss the entire town and its manicured vegetation and lose herself in the unruly green.

She had just settled into her usual patch, marked by trodden down weeds, when she heard a noise.

"Ow!"

Lily groaned as she recognised the voice.

"Jesus Christ!" Sounded James's voice – she still couldn't see him but clearly he wasn't trying to be quiet.

Finally, she saw the top of his crazy hair come into view, and shortly after, his face: red and flustered.

"Pick a place with more nettles, why don't you?!" He yelped, jumping again after he hit another strand.

"You didn't have to follow me," Lily retorted, the sight of him jumping up and down easing the anger she felt at him.

Ignoring her comment, James moved towards her and stood above her, eyes moving across the lake.

"You okay?"

"You're ridiculously persistent, do you realise that?" Lily bit out, folding her arms around her knees.

"Yeah, I do," he said, taking off his jacket and throwing down on the grass. "I think it's my best quality, personally."

"Well, then you're both deluded and persistent," she muttered, hating that he had now sat down beside her, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

"Sirius really got to you, didn't he?" James said matter-of-factly, irritating Lily with his calm demeanour.

Lily swallowed, choosing not to say anything. Not wanting to give Sirius the pleasure of knowing that he had.

"I know you won't believe me, but he's actually a really nice guy – he's just going through a rough time at the minute."

"Oh yeah, he seems like a great guy," Lily hissed, finally letting out all of her frustration. "In the time he's shown up, he's done his absolute best to get Remus arrested. A real amazing guy, Sirius!"

James watched her diatribe carefully, eyes narrowing as she spoke.

"You're mad because you really like Remus," he said plainly, "because you're jealous."

Lily could've denied it. Maybe she should've protested and seemed outraged at his suggestion. But she already knew it was true. A part of her had always thought of Remus as 'hers'. At the moment, it seemed like that was brutally incorrect.

"Did he actually kiss you?" James asked teasingly when she didn't reply.

Scoffing, Lily regarded him sardonically, "yes," she drawled, sick of every person's inability to believe this. "What?" She gritted, when he started to grin at her again.

"Properly?"

"Are you trying to annoy me?" Lily shot back, resisting the urge to kick him in the shin.

"Answer the question!"

"It's a stupid question! What you mean 'properly?'"

"In my experience, a person knows when they've been properly kissed," James laughed.

This stopped Lily. Shutting her mouth, she knew that when Remus had kissed her, she had felt that something was missing.

"That's a no then," he said, with a small smile.

"It's none of your business," Lily replied, though she knew she had lost the fire in her voice.

"You should be kissed by someone who wants to kiss you," he continued briskly, now giving her the same intent gaze that he had back in the diner.

"You are not kissing me," she said haughtily, eyes moving upwards to inspect the sky.

Shrugging, James adopted the same position as Lily: knees bent towards his chest, arms around his knees and eyes towards the sky.

"Don't you ever worry that you won't make any mistakes?" He asked abruptly, causing Lily to look down at him. She felt her face change at the strangeness of his question.

"You want to get married, have lots of kids, live in a white house, right?" He continued when she was silent.

Lily nodded, as surely as she could. That was what she was supposed to want. No one seemed to care whether it was or not.

"So, when you're fifty, married for thirty years with three kids, aren't you worried you'll look back and regret not ever doing anything stupid?"

The question hit Lily like a bolt of lightning. She had never considered this possibility before. She was so consumed with her life right now that she had never looked into the future to wonder how she might look back on her teenage years. Would she regret how perfectly she behaved, despite feeling and wanting the exact opposite? Would she think back over all the times she had screamed into her pillow and wish, that instead of doing that, for once, she had told someone how she actually felt?

"Well, if you want I'll volunteer to be your one, stupid mistake," James told her languidly, though giving every suggestion that he was waiting to hear her answer, "and save you from a life of no regrets."

"It's just a kiss," she replied with a forcefulness that she didn't truly feel, "why does it matter so much to you?"

Grinning, James's eyes scanned her face, "because, I know when I'm fifty, I'll still be regretting it if we haven't."

"Do lines like that actually work on the girls in New York?" Lily asked, speaking just to distract herself from the butterflies jumping in her stomach.

"Definitely not," he admitted with a smile, ruffling his hair in the annoying way that he did. Although, she had to admit, he definitely wasn't the worst looking boy she had ever seen.

"You've known me for two minutes," she said, letting her knees fall to the ground. "You can't possibly know that you like me in that time."

"I have eyes, don't I?" James responded, "but as you said, it's just a kiss, it's not that big a deal."

Lily took a moment to consider this, letting her eyes fall to his lips as she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. To have him kiss her when he so obviously wanted to.

"But for the record, I love watching you stand up to people," he taunted, "seeing you yell at Sirius was fantastic."

Already sick of thinking after all the mental gymnastics she had performed, Lily made up her mind and, just as he finished talking, she quickly pressed her lips against his, shutting him up for the first time that day.

"There," she announced thickly, removing her lips from his almost as soon as she had kissed him, "there's your stupid kiss. Will you leave me alone now?"

Watching her with a look made up of amusement, lust and arrogance, James shook his head.

"Can I try?" He asked lowly, as his hand drifted up to her cheek and he leant in, leaving Lily just enough room to leave if she wanted. She didn't move and he kissed her. When his lips first met hers, it crossed Lily's mind that this kiss wasn't that different from the one she had just given him, but then something happened.

Just as she relaxed, James tilted his head to the right, his left arm winding around her waist as he pulled her up and in to meet his chest. Not expecting this, Lily came freely, hands landing on his shoulders instinctively as their bodies met.

He kissed her once, pulling away to break the contact between their lips, eyes pouring into hers, before letting their lips meet a second time. The hand on her cheek moved up to her hair, his fingers tangling amongst the curls just as she felt his tongue run lightly along her lower lip.

Lily hadn't a clue what she was doing but naturally opened her mouth a little, only to find James's tongue meeting her own. It felt a little strange a first and never had she been more aware of her own inexperience. But as his fingers continued to move in her hair and his right arm moved around her waist to pull her more and more towards him, as though he couldn't get her close enough, a flutter started to build in her toes.

James's hand fell from her hair and swept along her skirt, up her hips and around her waist to meet his other arm. He was holding her completely now and the flutter jittered around her whole body, moving to every place he touched her. If she was kissing him incorrectly, James showed no sign of it, kissing her as fervently as he could with no indication of stopping.

As his lips moved against hers, Lily found herself lowering towards the ground. At first she was indignant at the thought that James had moved her in this way, until she realised that it was her who was moving to lie down, pulling James with her by the shoulders as she moved.

Her back hit the flattened grass with a soft 'thump' as their kiss ended. He wasn't lying on top of her but his chest hovered over hers, his hands now either side of her head, propping him up above her. She took a moment to appreciate his appearance – to think how dark his eyes were, how the flush in his cheeks suited him and most strangely of all, how his attractive his hair was.

She noticed he was doing the same review of her and she winced inside, finding she hoped he was still as attracted to her as he had been before they had kissed.

She wasn't given long to dwell on this thought as James was soon kissing her again, diving right back in with the same intensity as before. Allowing her hands to move this time, Lily moved them into his hair, enjoying the feeling of being the one to pull him closer – to push her own body upwards and into his chest.

Lily now knew why everyone did this all the time. Why all the boys in her class were so desperate to kiss. She had never understood it before but lying there with James all but on top of her, the drive flowing around her body felt electric.

And she somehow wanted more of him. More of this feeling. More of whatever was happening now although she had no idea what that was or how to get it. Her body moved as she tried to think; she was still pulling him closer and closer until finally, he came with her, his chest landing on hers, legs in between her own, their bodies completely interlocked.

Lily felt a moment of thrilling satisfaction – this was what she had been trying to get at.

Until, her rational brain kicked in. This was probably what Amy Cline had been trying to get at too. The thought froze her solid, stopping her hands and pulling her lips away from James.

As her mind swarmed with images of homes and babies, Lily felt her arms move to James's chest as she pushed him off her and immediately sprang to her feet, hat falling away from her head as she moved.

"Sorry," he breathed, still on the ground as she looked down at him. With his swollen lips and messy hair, she would've been more pleased with the sight of him if she weren't so busy panicking. "Got a little carried away."

There was no reason for him to be apologising. It had been just as much her as it was him. Her, more so, really. That was the problem.

"Where are you going?" He asked, as Lily began striding away, needing more than anything to be away from him so she could think. "Lily!" He called after her when she didn't answer but she ignored him.

School was the only place she could go to now. Anywhere else and people would wonder why she wasn't there instead.

She would go to school and she could sit and panic there by herself and no one would notice.

Except maybe Remus.

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

Remus kept his eyes trained on the pink potted geraniums that decorated the Evans's front door. Though they hadn't explicitly agreed it, Remus had half-thought that Lily would return to her house prior to school and they could go in together as always.

That would at least mean Remus would know what she had said to Sirius and how he had reacted and then perhaps he could stop worrying about every single thing he had done in the past twelve hours.

His parents usually left for work before he went to school so he had the place to himself as he watched the Evans house, hoping that Lily would appear on the street any moment.

He peered through the windows of the front room for ten minutes, then twenty and finally, half an hour had passed during which he had watched the house to no avail. He had observed Mr Evans leave for work but other than that, the house remained frustratingly still.

Remus looked at his watch. At this rate, he was going to be late for school. Deciding against letting fear control his decisions, he determined that he would go to school and if nothing else, Lily could update him there.

He had just finished locking the front door to his own house when he was rooted to the steps of the porch by the sound he heard in the distance – a deep, rumbling drone that echoed down the streets of Belmont, disturbing the quiet everywhere it went.

By the time Remus summoned the courage to lock the door and turn around, he knew that the motorcycle was on the street outside, coughing and spluttering into the air. As he walked down the steps, schoolbag at his hip, he kept his eyes on the pavement, save for a quick glance that he couldn't help. The glance afforded him a look at Sirius, who was leaning against the bike, still wearing the same leather jacket and jeans that he had been the day before.

Remus had quickly planned not to speak to him as he walked past but found himself unable to just continue walking as he caught sight of him. "What are you doing here?" He muttered, doing his best not to stop in case anyone in the street saw them.

"Well, I'm apparently banned from seeing you, so obviously I came straight here. Jenny was good enough to tell me where you lived," Sirius replied easily, crossing his feet in front of him.

"You saw Lily."

"It would've been impossible to miss her," he retorted dryly, "why are looking at the pavement?"

Remus ignored his question, finally deciding to meet Sirius's eyes, "I asked Lily to speak to you."

"And you can't speak to me yourself?"

"I can but I don't want to."

"Afraid you might kiss me again?" Sirius asked, with something of smile playing about his mouth.

Remus didn't find it so funny. The question horrified him. They were alone on the street but how could they know someone wasn't listening? How could this boy be so cavalier about everything? Why didn't he feel any of the fear that was currently coursing through Remus?

"I'm going to school now," he breathed as unemotionally as he could, his eyes leaving Sirius as he turned to walk down the street.

"I'll take you," Sirius offered, his hand shooting out to grab the sleeve of Remus's jumper.

Remus shook him off, letting out a loud laugh before remembering himself, "no thanks."

"Come on," Sirius smiled, patting the back seat of the bike. "I'll drop you somewhere quiet and I've a helmet so no one will see you."

Looking at him, Remus imagined that Sirius could get anyone to do anything just by smiling at them. That casual, easy smile was so intense, so free – it was hard to look away.

"I promise I just want to talk," he went on, "and we'll be leaving town in a couple of days. After that, you'll never have to see me again."

Sirius picked the helmet up off the back of the bike and held it out to him.

Thinking that the longer he stood there with his face uncovered, the more chance there was of someone seeing him, and knowing that Sirius probably wasn't going to leave him alone otherwise, Remus grabbed the helmet and started to put it on.

A few minutes later, he was climbing ungracefully onto the back of the bike.

"You can hold on to the bars over the back wheel," Sirius told him, looking over his shoulder at Remus, "or, you can hold on to me."

Remus looked at the bars over the wheel and realised that to hold onto them would mean bending his arms behind him. Saying nothing, he put his arms on Sirius's hips, praying harder than he had ever prayed that no one was looking at them. He held onto the jacket as the bike started up underneath him.

Ignoring Sirius's smile, he took a deep breath as the bike jutted forward, motoring noisily along the quiet suburban street. Knowing that the whole street could hear them should've provoked more fear in Remus. And in the beginning, it did. However, as the drive went on, he found himself enjoying the reckless feeling of flying down the road as Sirius increased the speed. The bike rumbled along under his legs, the strength of the vibrations causing his whole body to shake. He saw places that he knew whirl past him in strokes of colour, blurring out of his vision before he had time to register where exactly they were.

He watched as the bike flew past the market, the city's library and soda shop, where they had first met. As they drove, Sirius's hair streamed back behind him, flowing madly in the wind.

At some point during the journey, Remus's arms slipped fully around Sirius's waist – he didn't notice it happen at the time but he noticed it as they sped past the route that would've taken him to school and instead continued onwards towards the lake and woods.

He decided against saying anything, again allowing the reckless momentum to overtake him as he let Sirius dictate their end point.

The bike turned off the road into the woods, the lake passing them on the right hand side. Just ahead, Remus could see the well kept lawns of the picnic area beside the lake. He knew that Lily sometimes came down here to be on the other side of the lake – it was her spot – but he had never been here much himself, save for when he was younger. When the weather was nice, his family used to come here for picnics, if both his parents could take the time off work.

When they were surrounded by trees, the bike started to slow and Remus felt Sirius's legs drag along the ground as the scenery spun slowly into view. When they were fully stopped, Sirius switched off the bike.

"Not to point out the obvious, but this isn't my school," Remus said as he climbed off and began to unbuckle the helmet. Sirius swung his left leg over the back of the bike and climbed off easily.

"What?" He asked, when Sirius laughed instead of answering.

"Your hair," he grinned, eyes trained just about Remus's as he walked towards him.

Remus let his hands move to his hair, feeling it flat upon his head from the weight of the helmet.

"Oh," he smiled, just about to fix it with his own hands when Sirius got there before him.

With a soft touch, Sirius ran his fingers through Remus's hair, shaking it out a little as he went. His right hand came up to do the same to the other side of Remus's hair – at this Remus felt his eyes fall to the ground before they closed completely. He wanted to enjoy the feeling of this moment, and here, in the woods by themselves, he could.

The nervous energy he felt at having Sirius so near dissipated as he paid attention only to the sensations running through his hair.

All too quickly, the hands fell away from his hair and just as Remus was about to open his eyes, he felt Sirius's lips on his.

If he had lied to himself, Remus could've believed that he had forgotten the first time they kissed within seconds of it ending. But that was a ridiculous falsehood – he had barely thought of anything else but the feeling of that kiss since it happened. He had paced the moment in his mind over and over again – trying to remove the crushing disappointment that it could never happen again. Trying to convince himself that he hadn't wasted the one truly romantic moment he had ever experienced.

But above all, he had told himself he would cherish the memory. Even if it had ended too soon, he told himself he could live on the memory of it for years, maybe decades.

Now, as the kiss happened again, had he been able to think sanely around this boy, he would've again told himself to be happy with the first kiss and to move away. As it was, his body got there before him.

Letting his hands slide up to Sirius's face, he did what he had wanted to do the first time, and pulled him closer. Hands now at his neck, Remus forgot who he was and how he was supposed to be and kissed Sirius with all the pent up energy that had been controlling him since they first met. He kissed him, knowing that if this were to be their last kiss, he wouldn't regret it.

Sirius's hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him in and Remus got lost in the burning sensation rising in his body – the kind he had felt after they first kissed and did his best to suppress. This time he wouldn't suppress it.

He was all too ready to dive head first into the moment when Sirius broke away, exhaling raggedly.

"I thought you weren't going to do that again," Remus said breathlessly, eyes still closed, his nose against Sirius's as he felt him grin.

"I lied," he smirked, hands now back in Remus's hair, "I can apologise if you want."

This was meant to taunt. To show him Sirius knew how much Remus wanted him.

"I'm not sure I'd believe you if you did," Remus replied as Sirius moved away, back towards the bike. At some point, he had grabbed the helmet from Remus without him noticing.

"Something to remember me by," he said, with his back to Remus, throwing the helmet to the ground, a tone echoing around the forrest that Remus didn't recognise.

"When are you leaving again?" He asked, trying desperately not to sound as though he wanted him to stay.

"Few days," Sirius shrugged, now sitting on the bike, his eyes examining the tree tops.

"Oh."

"And your plans are?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Your plans," Sirius stated decisively, "what are you planning to do with your life? Don't tell me you're just going to stay here and pretend for their rest of your life. I might have to throw myself off the nearest cliff."

Remus tried to feel that this was a joke and ignored the fact that he had once considered this option, "I'm going to go to Paris when I graduate. Lily and I. We're leaving as soon as we can."

At this Sirius let out his usual abrupt laugh, which echoed off the wood and bounced around the air for a few minutes.

"So, you have one of those too then?"

"One of what?"

"One of those friends who is going to ruin their life for you."

The statement struck Remus coldly and he felt his skin prick with anger. That wasn't true. Paris had always been Lily's escape too. He hadn't talked her into it. If he remembered correctly, the whole thing had been her idea. Even after he had told her how he really felt, she had still wanted to go.

"She wants to come," Remus replied as calmly as he could. "She's always wanted to go. I haven't asked her to."

"Of course not," Sirius said with the same harsh voice, "I'm sure she's dying to run off with Prince Charming to a foreign land while he wishes she was actually a guy. Getting married are you?"

"No," he retorted, now losing his cool. "We'll tell everyone here we are but when we're…"

"And explain to me how running off to Paris with a man who isn't her husband isn't going to ruin her life?" Sirius interrupted. "That's not going to destroy her reputation when she finally does want to get married?"

"Lily wouldn't want to marry the kind of man who cared about that."

He laughed again, "as far as I know that's pretty much all of them."

Rather than argue more, Remus fell silent. Part of his brain blocked off what Sirius had said. It wouldn't be like that. He wasn't ruining her life.

"And college? She's giving up that for you too?"

Remus took a moment to steady himself, "she can't go. Her parents can't afford it."

"You said she was smart."

"She is."

"But not enough to get a scholarship?"

Again, this brought silence pounding down on Remus. She could get a scholarship. He knew she could. If someone would just care about her education, her mind, tell her she was smart and allow her to believe it, Lily could get into any college she wanted.

"James doesn't need a scholarship," Sirius went on, now looking at his feet. "His family could afford it. He's a cert for Yale or Columbia. Or he was…before he ran off with me."

"Why did you leave?"

"I didn't fancy being locked up in a psychiatric ward," he replied bitterly. "I never planned on telling my parents how I felt – I knew they were vindictive assholes. But never in my wildest dreams did I think they'd try and cure me."

"How did they find out?"

"When I kept bailing on every match they set me up with, they figured something was up," Sirius told him, "and then they found photos and all hell broke lose."

"Then you left?"

Sirius nodded, kicking the tyres of the bike, "it was James's idea. Stupid bastard. I told him I could go on my own but he refused. Now we're here and his life is as fucked as mine." He stopped kicking to take a deep breath, throwing his head back to the sky, chest puffed out as far as it could go.

"You didn't ruin his life," Remus said quietly, when neither of them had spoken for a few minutes, "he chose to go with you."

"I know," Sirius acknowledged, breathing out heavily, "you can let me know if that makes you feel any better when you're in Paris with Lily. Come on," he said, patting the back seat of the cycle, "I'll take you back to town."

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

It didn't bother Lily too much when Remus didn't show up to their first class together. Occasionally, he might volunteer to open up the soda shop before school and that would keep him late.

But by the time lunch came and Remus was still nowhere to be found, Lily was starting to panic. What if something had happened to him? What if he had run into Sirius again?

In the beginning, she had selfishly wanted him there so she could tell him about James. So he could tell her that everything would be alright and there was no way that you could get pregnant just by a boy lying on you. As the day went on however, his absence panicked her more and more, so just as lunch ended, she had stopped worrying about James and started worrying about Remus.

She had made up her mind to go home and call at Remus's house and was on her way out of the school when a hand shot out of a classroom and pulled her sideways.

"Lucius!" She jumped, backing away from him as he shut the door over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, Lily but we need to talk," he stated firmly, towering over her.

"What's wrong?" She asked, hearing the tremble in her voice and hoping against hope that nothing terrible had happened.

"It's about Remus."

The grave look on Lucius's face left no doubt in Lily's mind as to what he was talking about and she fought back to urge to be physically sick then and there.

"What do you mean?" She said, trying to keep a plain face.

Lucius opened his mouth to speak but then seemed unable to continue, eyeing her uncertainly and with something that looked like pity.

"I…I don't like being the one to tell you this Lily," he said, "and I hate to see you used like this. You know I've always liked you."

"Lucius, please," Lily tried shakily, "just tell me what it is."

With another uncertain look, he continued. "You know I go shooting in the woods sometimes?"

Lily nodded, hearing her heartbeat thudding in her ears. She wasn't sure if she did know that but now wasn't the time to interrupt.

"I was there this morning with a few of the guys and…"

"And?"

"Lupin was there."

"Okay," Lily encouraged – she was already doing a worthless job at stopping tears but what he was about to tell her was everything she had feared since these boys had arrived.

"He wasn't alone, Lily."

"Oh," she said quietly, feeling the tears slip over her eyes as she let her head fall forward, desperate to hide her face from him. The sight of her crying changed Lucius's face entirely – Lily was doing her best to hide it but she was no match for the fear currently rattling around her chest.

"You know," he confirmed, eyes drilling into her as she saw the shock on his face.

"Lucius, please…"

"You know he's a fucking…"

"Lucius!" She interrupted, grabbing him round the shoulders. "Please. This is a misunderstanding. This is…"

"There's no misunderstanding," he snarled. "I saw him with that degenerate on the motorcycle. I came here to warn you but now I see…"

"Where is he, Lucius?" She wept, hands shaking as she grasped his arms. "Please, just give me some time."

"I came here to warn you but the rest of the team went to find him," he continued cruelly, pushing her off him. "I can't guarantee what state you'll find him in, Lily," he called after her as she ran towards the door, flinging it open, running faster than she ever had in her life.

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

She had torn her nails to shreds. She looked down at her hands, now bloody and red raw, her eyes feeling the same way.

She had lost the ability to cry – the tears disappearing hours ago when it became clear to her that she wasn't going to find him.

The clock on her desk table told her it was now after 10pm. After running all over town trying to find Remus – the soda shop, the woods, even the hospital – Lily had come home, praying that maybe he was in his house. It only made her feel worse to know that his mother hadn't seen him since this morning.

Defeated, devastated and drained, she had returned to her bedroom and sat, looking out her window across the street, willing him to appear – safe and sound.

At some point, Lily knew she would have to call the police. If he hadn't come home by midnight, she'd have to either go out and look for him again or call the police and ask them to help her find him. Lily didn't want to think about that – she didn't want to think about what state she might find him in.

She was busy getting lost in this horrible thought when there was a tap against the window nearest her bed. Hardly believing that she had heard anything, Lily bolted to the pane. There was nothing there but as she opened it and pushed her head out through the gap, she saw two shadowy figures standing outside by the side of her house.

Not taking the time to say anything, Lily paced to her bedroom door and ran down the stairs as quietly as she could. Her parents would be watching television in their front room and Petunia would still be out with Vernon – caring only that she didn't disturb them, Lily tiptoed quickly past the room and then fled to the back door.

As she fell out into the garden, she saw Remus and James. She would've cried merely at the sight of seeing Remus standing upright but as she moved towards him and the moonlight struck his face, she broke down.

They had beaten him black and blue: his right eye was purple and swollen and she could see dried blood around his mouth.

"Remus," Lily breathed, tears already roaming down her face, "oh my God," she cried, as he came towards her and she wrapped her arms around him. His head fell to her shoulder and she felt her clothes dampen as he cried too.

"I hate them," she spat through her tears, feeling him shake with anguish, his fists clenched at her side. "I hate them so much."

He shuddered and moved back a little, wiping at his face, wincing when it obviously hurt him, "I got off lightly," he said, not looking like he believed this, "if Sirius and James hadn't fought them off, I don't know what would've happened."

At the mention of the other boys, Lily finally looked behind Remus to see James standing with them, his face pale and grave as they talked.

"Where is Sirius?" She asked, looking around to see there was no one else with them.

"By the bikes," James told her, as she looked down to see the skin on his knuckles was bloody and torn, "he got hit badly too. Didn't want to come here with us."

"Oh. Is he okay?" she asked. When James nodded Lily looking back to Remus. "Have you been to the hospital? We can talk about what we're going to do afterwards but first, we need to…"

"I'm going with them, Lily," he said quietly, his soft, abused eyes staring into hers.

"What?" Lily whispered, hardly believing what he had just said.

"I can't stay here now," he went on, taking both her hands in his. "Not after this."

"But we can report them. We can have them arrested."

"And that will change how they feel about people like me?" Remus retorted honestly. "That will stop them from ostracising me even more? From hating me?"

He squeezed her hands, another errant tear escaping him, "I can't live like that, Lily. I don't want to live like that. I want to go somewhere I can be free. Somewhere I can be myself and be happy."

Knowing he was right, Lily found herself unable to speak. She wanted him to be happy more than anything but life without Remus was unimaginable to her.

"I'm sorry about Paris," he said, his forehead now meeting hers. "But it wasn't right, for either of us."

"What do you mean?"

"You should go to college, Lily," Remus stated earnestly. "Go to college. Find a scholarship or find a way. You are so smart – you could be whatever you wanted to be. Don't listen to your mom or Petunia. Screw finding a husband. Find out what it is you want to do in life and do it."

She was about to reply when a noise echoed from insider her house, catching all of their attention.

"We should go," James said, clapping Remus on the shoulder.

Nodding, Remus pulled her into another hug.

"I'll write to you when we get there," he said into her hair, squeezing her tight before letting go.

Tears now in full flow, Lily wasn't able to say anything to him. Instead she was rendered speechless as he walked away.

"I'll take care of him," James told her, catching her gaze. Grabbing her hand, he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, before he followed Remus out of the garden.

And Lily stood quietly in the moonlight, watching them both go.

#jily fanfiction #jily #jily au #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar au #remus x sirius #lily x james

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siriuslymoon · 7 years

Text

She Ain’t Mine - An Alfie Solomon’s Imagine

Requested: yes

Pairings: Alfie Solomon’s x reader

Description: You work for Alfie, and a certain Shelby takes an interest in you which angers your boss

Warnings: swearing, G slur, soft Alfie

( Gif: @tommyandthebadseeds )

{Can I request an Alfie prompt with 16. “She’s not mine.” ‘But?’ “ but she sure as hell cant be anyone else’s “ please? The rest is up to you! I love your writing ^^}

Thank you sweetheart! I’m so glad you like my writing, I hope you like this one too x x 💕

You weren’t sure exactly what your official job title was, the closest thing that came to mind was a secretary, but you did a lot more than that would suggest.

You were Alfie’s saving grace, not that he would ever admit how much you helped him, or meant to him.

You didn’t just assist in running his business, you helped Alfie as a person.

He would come to you when he didn’t know how to handle a business deal, he would come to you to get patched up after wrongly handling a business deal, and he would come to you when he just needed to listen to someone talk- someone who wasn’t a dirty gangster.

You of course didn’t know that you helped Alfie quite so much, or that he was madly in love with you. All you knew was that he was your boss, and you shouldn’t feel about him the way you do.

But you couldn’t help it, there were nights when, for just a short moment, you thought maybe he knew- that maybe he felt the same.

You two slowly began to be affectionate, he would walk you home from work, he would mindlessly place his hand on your thigh or his arm around your shoulders; you would press your lips to his cheek in greetings or goodbyes, your hands running over his shoulders when he’s stressed.

But that door of hope was quickly slammed shut in your face, usually by reality.

There were nights when you and Alfie would stay in his office, long after everyone else had left, just doing paperwork together; occasionally swapping stories of your day but mostly just relaxing in the comfortable silence.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You were led across the small sofa he had in his office, your nose buried in a book you had took off of one of The shelves, occasionally muttering about its contents to Alfie, who would nod or hum in response.

“So,” you folded the book shut “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” You asked him, sitting up and shuffling to the end of the sofa to be closest to him.

He peered at you over the frames of his glasses, putting down his pen and folding his arms. He let out a sigh, his chest falling and shoulders slumping.

“Got to meet with the fuckin’ gypsy ain’t i” he muttered, features twisting.

You rolled your eyes at him, for a man, he sure could be childish.

“The shelby’s you mean?” You corrected him with a grin.

Not everyone would talk to Alfie how you did, grown men wouldn’t dare correct him- but you did it with ease. Never having to worry about Alfie’s temper being directed at you as that hardly ever happened-... and if it does than you definitely deserved it and you will give as good as you get.

“S’what I said love” he looked at you, his eyes smiling.

You quickly learnt to read Alfie’s features, after many weeks at the start of not knowing whether he was angry, sad, or even amused.

Now you could probably write an extremely detailed guide on ‘how to read Alfie Solomon’s.’

With it’s sequel of, ‘understanding the grunts’

“Do you want me to sit in?” You questioned, watching him carefully for his reaction.

You knew he was gonna say yes before he even opened his mouth.

Sitting in on business meeting’s was something you did frequently, you would take notes, be the voice of reason, usually stop people from killing each other.

Most of Alfie’s business partners just assumed you were his wife, though they never voiced their assumptions.

Which was probably for the best, since the one time a man did voice his assumptions on you- thinking you were a prostitute Alfie kept around just in case- he near enough had his head smashed in.

Out of view from you of course, Alfie wasn’t too fond on you seeing that side of him, no matter how many times you told him you didn’t mind.

“Nah but it ain’t nice is it love” he would wince at his own actions, adamant on deterring you from it.

“Then why do I get the task of cleaning you up after these, not so nice things?” You raised a brow, hands on your hips.

He would shrug.

“Gentle hands?”

Alfie also just liked to keep you close to him, his emotional rock. He liked that in a business meeting he could look over and see you, head buried in your notes, smiling at him when you met his gaze; sending Alfie’s stomach into knots.

He wasn’t ashamed of how crazy he was about you.

Hell he found it amusing that such a dark rain cloud like himself would fall for such a ray of sunshine like you.

But he was raised to respect women, not believing in all of this men owning their women crap. He preferred the idea of near on worshipping your women-... not that you were his.

But that wouldn’t stop him from worshipping you.

“I would, Yeah” he let himself smile slightly, covering his mouth with his hand before you could see and running it over his beard.

“I’ll be there...” your eyes flicked to the clock in the corner of his office “but I should get home now. Dorothy doesn’t like when I stay out late” you explained, even though he knew.

He made sure to thoroughly check out the owner of your building, and everyone else that lived there.

“Still don’ know why ya live in that piece of shit love, fuckin’ dump that is” he vented whilst you were packing up your things, his eyes trailing you as you slipped into your coat.

“True,” You hummed, moving to stand beside his desk and then sitting on the edge of it.

“But it’s my dump”

He continued to mumble, staring down at his desk until you placed your lips on his cheek in a quick kiss. His beard tickling your skin and making you smile as you pulled away.

“Goodnight Mr Solomon’s” you shot him one last smile, before hopping off his desk, and leaving his office.

You didn’t live too far from the bakery, and Alfie always had men in the area, so he knew you’d be safe. But that didn’t stop his hands twitching at the thought of you being alone.

He grazed his fingers over his cheeks, where your lips and touched his skin- and grinned.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell I’m gone on that one “ he downed his glass before turning his attention back to his paperwork and burying his thoughts in the words.

True to your word you were there the next morning, bright and early; ready to sit in on the meeting.

You had placed a cup of coffee on Alfie’s desk before spending some time on the main floor, making sure everything was going as planned and filling in some orders.

“Morning y/n” Ollie grinned at you, making his way over to his desk.

“Morning Ollie,” you smiled “how’s the wife?”

“She’s great, wants to see you actually, have dinner again” he informed you, whilst sifting through his work.

“Definitely, I’ll call her and set it up” you patted his shoulder before returning to your own desk, sitting yourself down and making yourself busy.

You heard the chatter around you die down, the workers hushing each other and putting their heads down.

“That’ll be Alfie” you chuckled to yourself.

“Y/n” Alfie greeted, walking past your desk and into his office, not waiting for a reply.

“Morning to you too sunshine ” you grinned to yourself.

Alfie tended to be a little -very- grouchy in the mornings.

Something you found utterly adorable.

And while you liked his deeper voice, still laced with sleep and how he would rub at his eyes with the back of his hand, looking so soft it hurt- you knew he needed to be alert.

Hence the coffee on his desk.

“You’re an angel!” You hard him yell, obviously having found the drink.

“Only for you” You called back, purposely making your voice quieter.

You didn’t notice Alfie’s men all roll their eyes.

They all had bets going on when Mr Solomon’s and ‘basically Mrs Solomon’s’ would eventually confess to each other.

You didn’t have much to do today, aside from sit in on the meeting so you popped into Alfie’s office to grab the book you had started the night before.

You turned to leave when you heard Alfie grunt.

You looked over to see him writing in his book, he nodded over to the sofa, not once looking up.

“You know, words are appreciated” you sat yourself down, quickly sprawling out until you were comfortable.

“Overrated” he retorted, quickly looking up from his work to see you near on hanging off the chair, the book perched in your hands.

So with a shake of his head he returned to his work, and you returned to watching him.

He was much more interesting to read.

“They’re late” you commented eventually, startling Alfie slightly.

“That they are love, Yeah”

He had finished his work, everything still strewn out over the desk in a way which made your head hurt.

“I should go to my desk, be ready to greet them-“

But before you could move you heard voices from outside the office, some of those voices having the Birmingham accent.

“Think they’re already here pet”

You quickly sat up, Alfie passing you your notebook and pen with a grin.

“Alfie” one of the three Shelby’s greeted your boss.

“Thomas” Alfie cheered, passing his desk to greet the three men in the doorway.

“Arthur” he bellowed, grinning at the glaring man.

You stifled a laugh behind your hand, you knew how much Alfie had pissed the eldest Shelby off, and you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t find it amusing.

“Arthur don’t be rude” the youngest smirked at his brother, and earning a subtle smack.

“Where are my manners, sit” he gestured to the chairs in front of his desk

“we got a lot to talk about ain’t we”

And talk they did.

You filled three sheets of paper with your notes, your fingers cramping up on the second.

You also noticed the youngest Shelby constantly looking over at you. Quite often missing something Alfie had said because he was watching you.

Something Alfie had noticed as well. And was not pleased with.

So as the meeting was drawing to a close, he sent you off to check on the workers.

“Sweet girl” Tommy commented once the door had shut behind you.

“Mhm Yeah She is” Alfie wouldn’t look away from John, his eyes burning holes into his skin.

John met Alfie’s gaze.

“She yours? Or can I-“

Alfie really wanted to punch the smirk off his face.

“She’s ain’t mine.” He told them, his words lingering

“But?” John prompted, curious.

“but she sure as hell can’t be anyone else’s... especially not yours mate. Say one word about her, right, and I’ll smash your-“

“Alfie,” Tommy cut in “there’s no need for that. John won’t bother your lady. Right John?” he promised, shooting his brother a warning glare.

“Right” he mumbled, eyes on the ground.

“Better fuckin’ not. Now get out, I’m done with ya” he waved a hand at them, not giving them a second glance as they left.

You waved at the brothers as they left the bakery, hearing Tommy grumble at John about ruining things, making you raise an eyebrow.

You decided to head into Alfie’s office, just to check on him.

He had his shoulders hunched up, head buried in his hands- he didn’t even react to the door opening and closing.

“Alfie” you tried quietly, voice filled with worry.

No response.

“Alfie, hun, what’s wrong?”

His heart strained at your small voice but he made no attempt to move.

He nearly fucked everything up.

As much as the Shelby’s could piss him off, he needed business with them, he needed them to be somewhat allies.

And he nearly ruined that all by smashing the youngest’s face in, all because he couldn’t help how he felt about you. Because he couldn’t stand to hear anyone else talk about you.

You perched on his desk, tentatively rubbing a hand over his hair.

“It went good right?” You asked, smiling when he lifted his head up.

“Sorta”

You frowned at his expression.

“Alf....Whatever went wrong, we’ll call Tommy tomorrow and sort it out, Okay?” You cupped his cheek, your thumb tracing his cheekbone.

He looked at you, eyes wide.

He never quite knew how to deal with the kindest you showed him. It was foreign to him at the start, but he was getting used to it.

“Aren’t ya curious? ‘Bout how I fucked it up?” He questioned, eyebrows raised as he leant back in his chair.

You shrugged, of course you were, but you were Also polite.

Alfie could see that you weren’t going to ask, but wanted to know.

“John liked ya, the fucker. Went about asking who’s you were, fuckin’ threatened to smash his face in an-“

You grabbed his face again.

“And Did you tell him? Who’s I was?” You were closer now, sat on his desk right in front of Alfie, your legs dangling beside his chair.

Alfie’s nostrils flared, he didn’t know you were anyone’s.

“I din’t know you were-“ he started.

“Yours Alfie, I’m yours you idiot” you told him, finally.

And you didn’t need your Alfie Solomon’s guide to know he was happy.

He grinned at you, eyes bright, his expression unreserved.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell c’mere”

His hands found your waist, slipping you off of the desk and onto his lap, his arms immediately going round you.

You looked down at him, eyes flickering between his eyes and lips, until they shut when Alfie kissed you.

Pulling you against him as his lips parted yours.

You ran your fingers through his hair, nails raking against his scalp, making him groan into your mouth and grip you tighter.

He kissed you slowly at first, not knowing if this was some sort of daydream he’d never get again. But once he realised you were still in his lap, your lips still on his, he deepened it. Kissing you harder and faster until your forgot how to breath completely.

Both of you sighing when you pulled away, staying close to each other.

“Is this gonna change anything, about us?” You asked him, arms still round his neck, legs still either side of him.

“Hhm,” he ran his hands up and down your thighs “not much love... we already act together don’ we”

You watched him carefully, you knew something was coming-

“Just now we can actually have sex”

You slapped his arm, grinning when he pulled you into another kiss.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders imagines #alfie solomon's #alfie Solomon #Alfie Solomon’s Imagine #Alfie Solomon x reader #tommy shelby #john shelby #Arthur Shelby #Finn Shelby #Polly gray #Michael gray

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schtroumpf-a-lunettes · 6 years

Text

The Smurfs That Canon Forgot, Ch.9

Read this chapter on: AO3 | FF.net | DeviantART | This post!

Previous Chapters: Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8

This chapter’s word count: 2679 (longest chapter so far... way longer than most of the other chapters)

Note: This chapter contains vague references to violent/serious injury.

In the “present”…

Smurfette, Hefty, Painter, Tuffy and Flighty were all out doing some casual smurfberry picking in the forest. After the group had been busying themselves with this for around ten minutes, Flighty motioned the others to come over to him.

“I think I might have heard something, but then aga-“ Hefty clamped his hand over Flighty’s mouth as some figures emerged from nearby, but still at a rather safe distance. They probably wouldn’t have heard Flighty speaking had he been allowed to finish, but it did well to be cautious.

“Eet iz Gargamel,” Painter whispered.

“And is that…?” Smurfette rubbed at her eyes, looking at the figure that walked alongside the mean old wizard, “…Scruple?”

“But he’s so… different!” Hefty chimed in. Scruple was taller now – rather lanky in fact, and less round in the face. He was also sporting a slightly different outfit compared to the one Hefty remembered. He looked to be taller than Gargamel, although Gargamel’s stooped figure greatly helped in that regard.

“Ah, but of course! Scru-pel should be a teenager by now, no?” Painter pointed out.

“Late teens” Flighty confirmed with a mutter, “Now come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Ah, come on Flighty, they’re plenty far away, plenty far!” Tuffy insisted, rapidly picking more smurfberries from the bush they were hiding by, “I just wanna fill up these baskets a little more, or we probably won’t hear the end of it from Greedy.” The village had needed to go back to stocking a lot more food now that the others were back – especially Greedy.

“But Tuffy-“

“Give me two minutes tops, you keep an eye on them and tell me if they get too close.”

They all knew arguing with Tuffy would be more trouble than it was worth if he was going to be so quick, and the last thing they wanted was for Tuffy to get flustered and inadvertently raise his voice, alerting Gargamel to their presence. At least Azrael could clearly be seen trailing along behind Gargamel and Scruple, so there was no risk of the cat sneaking up on them without warning. A few moments of silence passed, Tuffy rapidly picking away at the berries as the other four trained their eyes on Gargamel, Scruple and Azrael.

Gargamel adjusted the direction he was walking in, although thankfully he was still not walking towards where the smurfs were hiding. The change in position allowed them to get a good view of his other side.

Smurfette gasped softly, and Hefty and Painter’s eyes widened. Gargamel’s hand and part of his forearm were missing, as well as most of his ear.

“Whaat, what is it?” Tuffy demanded. He looked up at where the old wizard was along with Scruple and Azrael, now gradually moving further away from them. “Well, what is it?” Tuffy asked again irritably.

“Gargamel – his arm” Painter said simply.

“…And ear” Smurfette added.

Flighty immediately turned away with a shudder at their words. The memories of just how it happened, deeply branded into his mind as they were, were flashing back to the fore.

There’d been so much blood.

“Couldn’t you see it?” Smurfette asked Tuffy as Flighty hugged himself unhappily.

“Uh… Oh-Ohhh, yeah, of course. That.” Tuffy was suddenly looking mighty uncomfortable.

“Let’s get back to the village.” Flighty’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Before they come back.”

Tuffy and Flighty promptly picked up the baskets of smurfberries and set off back to the village, with Smurfette, Hefty and Painter quickly hurrying after them.

“Hey, wait a – wait!” Hefty pulled Tuffy and Flighty to a stop. “You two want to tell me what that was all about?” There was a slight touch of concern to his voice, as Flighty was looking rather pale.

Tuffy let out a short, nervous laugh. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Like smurf there isn’t. You two know something about what happened to Gargamel, don’t you?”

After a pause, Hefty was going to soften the situation with an added ‘we don’t want to pry too much, but…’, yet all he managed to say was “We don’t want to-“ before Tuffy’s response came tumbling out hurriedly.

“It was- It was an accident, I swear!”

Painter, Hefty and Smurfette gaped at Tuffy. “What?”

“I didn’t – we didn’t even do anything, really, it wasn’t our…!” Tuffy cut himself off, collecting himself.

“Tuffy, what are you talking about?” Smurfette implored worriedly.

Tuffy shook his head, “Ah, it’s…” his voice gained more bluster as he continued on, his tough persona flowing back. “It happened a long time ago anyway, so there’s no use talking about it already!” He turned away, signalling the end of the discussion.

Painter frowned. “You cannot just…!” he began, but Hefty was already well in control of the situation.

Hefty spoke firmly and with confidence “Oh, no you don’t.” They all began marching back to the village. “I think you have some explaining to do. Papa Smurf needs to hear about this.”

***

There were many things in life that Clumsy Smurf didn’t understand. This was one fact about life that he understood very clearly. Clumsy didn’t mind; he’d gotten through life just fine as it was. He was content, as long as he had his friends and his rock collection.

But he couldn’t help feeling that lately, there had been even more things he didn’t understand than usual. Life, and the world that he thought he knew well enough, had changed in a myriad of subtle ways.

He could see Dreamy, standing a little bit apart from the smurflings. He looked pensive, almost… sad? That was just one of the many things that Clumsy didn’t understand. Why would Dreamy be unhappy? Hadn’t everything smurfed out fine in the end? The whole situation was beyond him.

Clumsy began making his way over, almost tripping on the way there.

Dreamy looked up and smiled weakly. “Ah, hi Clumsy.”

“Hey Clumsy, we’ve got some good news!” Snappy informed him emphatically.

Clumsy grinned widely. “Oh gosh, really?”

“Yeah!” Sassette beamed, “We want you and every other smurf to know that we smurflings, we’re not gonna let any time differences or separate houses keep us apart! Ya better believe that we’re gonna have plenty of sleepovers, too!”

“I sure am happy to hear that…!” Clumsy’s voice was light and carefree. Everything smurfs out fine in the end.

As Clumsy watched the smurflings all talk amongst each other, it did seem like they were managing to work together cohesively as a group again. He hadn’t understood why they’d seemed to have had some difficulties, but it looked as if they had done a good job of dealing with them.

Clumsy turned to Dreamy. “There seems to be somethin’ on your mind, Dreamy.”

“Oh… me? Yeah. I was just thinking about some things. But… I’ll be fine.” He was looking at the ground rather wistfully as he said this, but then he raised his head to meet Clumsy’s eye. “I’m so glad you’re back, Clumsy. You and everyone else.” Maybe he couldn’t just make certain memories he didn’t like disappear at will. But it was okay. (Or… it would be okay). What mattered was that all of the smurfs were back together again, so he could move on from the past and try to enjoy the present.

“Papa Smurf!”

Clumsy and Dreamy turned around. It was Hefty – he had Flighty and Tuffy with him, who both looked uneasy. Smurfette and Painter trailed behind them.

Greedy spotted the recently arrived smurfs and brightened up immensely, going over to them. “Ooh, goody! You’ve got the smurfberries, now I can-“

“Sorry Greedy, but where’s Papa Smurf?” Hefty asked him.

“Uhh, I think he’s just in his lab…” Greedy watched the group go off in the direction of the lab, startled.

***

“Papa Smurf!”

“Hello – is there something wrong, Hefty?” Papa Smurf turned around as Hefty, Tracker, Flighty, Smurfette and Painter filed into the room.

Hefty quickly relayed what they’d seen in the forest, and how it seemed that Tracker and Flighty knew what happened to Gargamel and may possibly be somewhat responsible.

Papa looked at Tuffy and Flighty, who both looked like they just wanted to shrink away. “Great smurfs! Is this true?”

The two of them both started talking over each other rapidly, the others only able to pick up some snatches of what they were saying.

“The village-“

“I wasn’t even-“

“You should ask-“

“Not just-“

“Alright, alright” Papa Smurf motioned them to calm down, “so the rest of the village knew about this?”

Tuffy and Flighty nodded.

“In that case, I think it’s best to call a village meeting to talk this over. I’ll get Harmony to make the announcement.”

***

The smurfs were all gathered in the meeting hall. Everyone was present, apart from Baby Smurf and the smurflings, as well as Grouchy. Seeing as the topic of the meeting didn’t concern them, Grouchy had been chosen to be excused from the meeting in order to watch over them as they played, and also to look after Baby.

Papa Smurf sat at the front to run the meeting. All smurfs who had not been caught in time travel, but had instead remained at the village, sat in a large group facing Papa, while all of the smurfs present who had gone time travelling sat separately, off to the side but also facing Papa Smurf.

Once Papa Smurf signalled that he was ready to begin, they all quietened down.

“This meeting is now in session, thank you everysmurf for coming. This is how today’s meeting will work: if you wish to speak, please raise your hand and wait to be called upon. I will also be choosing smurfs at random to call upon to respond to questions, and I also ask that you please stand to speak so that you can be more easily heard by all. With that out of the way, let’s begin…” he cleared his throat. “Miner Smurf?”

Miner Smurf stood, awaiting Papa Smurf’s question.

“I’ve heard that Gargamel has had part of his ear and forearm amputated – removed. Can you confirm this?”

A startled ripple went through the room. Miner Smurf appeared to be very caught off-guard by the question. “Uh, yes Papa, I can. It’s true.”

“And can you tell me whether this has any connection to we smurfs?”

Miner took a moment. “…Yes.”

Some of the smurfs from off to the side of the room stirred.

“Miner Smurf, are you able to elaborate on that connection for me?”

“Uhh… May another smurf be called upon, Papa?”

“Very well. Miner Smurf, you may be seated. Timber Smurf?”

Timber stood up rather nervously.

“Do you agree with Miner’s assessment?” Papa asked.

“Yes, Papa Smurf.”

“Can you please tell us all more about the connection between Gargamel’s amputations and the smurfs?”

“Well… They occurred on separate occasions. It’s – it’s nothing too – it wasn’t exactly –“ Timber shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “Well, the ear. Gargamel had captured most of us and, he had this machine to use on us. For… yeah, his usual sorts of intentions. We were all desperately trying to save ourselves, we, including smurfs who weren’t captured who’d come to help, managed to turn the situation around, it was uh, kind of an us or him situation, I guess?” he grimaced. “And it didn’t seem the machine was functioning too well either, making it even more dangerous…”

If it hadn’t have been for Scruple… Well, it would have been a lot worse. For Gargamel.

Timber didn’t mention the part where some of them may have further caused Gargamel to be directly in harm’s way that day. It had been a “him or us” situation. And it had given them all the opportunity that they needed to escape safely, one they probably would not have had otherwise.

“I see…” Papa Smurf replied. “And… his arm?” But Timber was clearly finished, so Papa Smurf allowed him to sit back down again before calling on someone else. “…Reporter Smurf?”

Reporter stood.

“Reporter, if you could tell us about Gargamel’s arm…?”

“Right. Yes. Erm. First, you have to understand… We had to do everything we could to protect ourselves and the village. We built up village defences. They worked well enough, but… They made Gargamel even more determined, if you can believe it. Kind of turned into a bit of an… escalating war…?” he trailed off awkwardly, uncertainly. “Especially after the whole ear thing… Gargamel was relentless. Then…” he closed his eyes. “he lost his hand, thanks to our village defences.”

“Village defences…” Papa murmured. “Reporter, you’re mentioning these “village defences” quite a lot. So you are claiming that Gargamel’s hand was sliced off in “self defence”…? I’m afraid we may have different definitions of the term.”

Reporter straightened, absorbed the comment. “We had to. We had no choice. It’s not like we wanted it to happen. But we were helpless and terrified. He was at the village, closing in on us all. It was actually kind of an accident - one of our defences wasn’t working properly, but we realised at that moment it could be used to… you know. And that’s how we managed to stop him.”

“…Thank you for your responses, Reporter. You may now be seated.”

Once Reporter took a seat, Papa surveyed the room, his expression unreadable. “It sounds like they were not so much village defences as they were weapons… Not so much focused on protecting as opposed to attacking.” Disapproval had slipped into his voice.

Woolly raised his hand; Papa allowed him to stand. He found it very difficult to look up, to look at Papa. “You don’t know what it was like, Papa Smurf. We couldn’t risk losing any more smurfs. We couldn’t.” His words hung in the air.

“…So this was the kind of approach taken to any threats towards the village,” said Papa at length. He wasn’t quite sure he knew what else to say. “None of this has been mentioned when discussing how the village fared in my, Grandpa’s and everyone else’s absence.”

Tailor fielded this question, eyes downcast. “I think I can say that we just wanted to move forward, and not draw attention to what’s already done. We don’t want to focus on-“ he stopped and looked as Farmer abruptly interrupted what he was saying.

“If any smurf’s to blame, it’s-“

But Papa Smurf swiftly cut Farmer off. “No, you are all responsible. You all share responsibility for this village and how it was run. Farmer, I don’t believe you raised your hand to be called upon. In any case, I hope you all understand that there were probably better ways for these kinds of bad situations to be dealt with. As we all heard Reporter state earlier, Gargamel only became more determined in response to aggressive behaviour. Escalating the situation only tends to make things worse.”

Tracker’s hand shot up, and Papa gestured for him to speak.

“Well actually, Papa Smurf… After the incident with Gargamel’s arm, our encounters with him dropped off quite dramatically.” There was the ghost of a smile on his face. “He seemed to be much more hesitant to attack us all. We still had to deal with him occasionally, but…” he gave a shrug. “Word happened to spread about what happened to him too, and that it was our fault. Suddenly, a lot of our other enemies, so to speak, started leaving us alone more too.”

Everyone who wished them harm had all thought that Papa Smurf being gone was the perfect opportunity. They’d swiftly learned otherwise.

The smurfs had come to be more formidable in the eyes of their enemies than they ever had been in the presence of Papa Smurf’s guidance and protection.

Papa Smurf smoothed over his expression, made it blank. “It seems there’s much more for all of us to catch up on than I could have even imagined… I think we can continue to discuss this later. I would like to thank all of you once again for coming.” And then the village meeting was over.

#smurfs #the smurfs #Clumsy Smurf #Hefty Smurf #Papa Smurf #Hmmm I'm nervous about this chapter. feel it's mayhaps a bit Wonky.#(in places)#I promise I know what I'm doing... I'll be back on track with future chapters lol #This was supposed to be shorter but then I just included the meeting scene in this chapter #instead of having it as the start of the next one #because yeah I just want to. get this chapter out there and run lol #uhgh

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teamfreewill-imagine · 7 years

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I Know Your Wife (She Wouldn’t Mind) - Part Twenty-Eight

Summary: Jensen gets a phone call from Genevieve during his and Jared’s Sunday morning panel at PittCon, alerting them to the situation going on back in Vancouver Words: 5.6k Jared x Reader x Gen, Jensen, Danneel, JJ, Tom, Shep, Arrow, Zep Warnings: angst, pregnancy Beta: @blacksiren

I Know Your Wife - Masterpost

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“This episode is complete bullshit,” you announced, throwing your purse down and kicking off your shoes as you entered your house. “I don’t know what the writers are thinking- actually, yes I do. They’re thinking, ‘Hey, Y/N was rude to Eric over hiatus so now it’s time to fuck up her fucking character’. Fuck.”

You’d finished your little rant before you reached the front room, ready to fall down onto the couch and forget about Supernatural for the weekend.

Instead you were faced with a slack-jawed JJ, her mom sat behind her with her arms folded.

Bailey, however, was super pumped that you were home and greeted you with enthusiasm.

But then again, she hadn’t heard you swearing your way through the hallway.

You smiled awkwardly.

“I, uh-”

“Ditto, you said a bad word,” JJ told you, and you cringed. “You said a lot of bad words.”

You nodded, scritching between Bailey’s ears to give you something to do.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed not knowing what to say. “I didn’t... I didn’t know you were home, sweetie.”

Gen had told you she'd taken the kids to the airport to say goodbye to Jared and Jensen for the weekend, and you'd wrongly assumed that meant JJ as well.

She folded her arms, her little face as stern as you’d ever seen it; an excellent impression of her mama.

“Tha’s no excuse,” she said, firmly. “Zep and Arry are nappin’ and you could’a woke them up with your potty mouth.”

Danneel’s firm resolve cracked as she laughed, leaning forward to wrap her arms around JJ and pull her onto the couch beside her.

You sat down in the armchair, Bailey following to sit against your chair, already loyal to her owner.

“In all seriousness,” Danneel began, “I know this is your house and we're the guests, but...”

She trailed off, but you nodded.

“I honestly thought it was only you home, and I figured the twins would be asleep,” you offered, biting your lip. “I’ve had… a rough day.”

JJ’s look of chastisement turned to an expression of worry as she looked between you and Danneel.

“Why?” she asked you. “What happened?”

You shrugged, resting your hands on your pronounced bump.

“Filming wasn't fun,” you explained. “I'm gonna have to do some stuff that I didn't really want to.”

Danneel raised an eyebrow.

“It's not… you and Jay aren't-”

“Oh, no,” you shook your head. “No, we were pretty firm on that and they can't make us because he's my dad. Just some other stuff.”

You waved a hand dismissively, sighing.

“Whatever, got a long weekend while the boys are in Pittsburgh so I don't have to think about it.”

Danneel smiled sympathetically, tucking a loose strand of hair back into JJ’s braid.

“Do you wish you were going to the convention?” she asked, and you took a moment to think about it.

“I did kinda feel like I was missing out last time,” you allowed, “But I'm way too pregnant to be travelling and stressing myself out with panels and stuff. That kinda stress wouldn't be good for the baby. My number one priority is looking out for the little one.”

JJ was watching you with a small frown, leaning against Danneel but her eyes never leaving yours.

“What's up?” you asked her, and she took a deep breath.

“Are you still gonna want to play with me when Baby Ditto is here?” she asked in a rush, making Danneel gasp softly.

Your heart began to ache at the question and you swallowed to clear the dryness in your throat.

“JJ, you are my sister,” you reminded her. “You're my best friend, and I love you very much. Do you understand?”

She nodded, Danneel staying quiet and letting you handle it.

“When the baby comes, I’m gonna be tired, maybe a little grouchy, but I will never stop loving you,” you promised. “I will always enjoy your company and, as long as I have the time and the energy, I will want to play with you.”

“And when you don't?” she asked, quietly.

“When I don't have the energy?” you clarified, and she nodded. “Then we can just watch ‘Punzel and take a nap.”

She grinned, getting up and running across the room.

Leaning over the arm of the couch, she hugged you as best as she could and placed a kiss on your cheek.

“Good,” she smiled, turning to leave the room. “I'm gonna go play upstairs.”

You laughed softly as you watched her go, disappearing into the hallway before you could hear little footsteps on the stairs.

You looked over at Danneel, smiling a little sadly.

“She thought I wasn't gonna have time for her,” you murmured, and Danneel offered an understanding smile in response.

“She was the same before the twins,” she assured you. “But we told her not to be silly and she's not thought about it since. Just an insecurity, it makes sense.”

You nodded in agreement, running a hand over your bump.

“Things are gonna be so different in a few weeks,” you mused, half in awe, half terrified.

“They are,” Danneel agreed. “You're gonna have your baby in your arms. You'll be able to hold and kiss and love your own child, your perfect little creation. It'll all be worth it.”

You smiled, stilling your hands.

“My own child,” you breathed, unable to stop the grin. “I'm gonna be a mama.”

“Yeah,” Danneel grinned back. “My baby’s havin’ a baby.”

You nodded, rolling your lips to stop the smile before a thought popped into your head.

“You're gonna be here, right?” you asked, and she frowned. “I mean, in the room. When it happens.”

“I'm gonna be wherever you want me to be, sweetie,” she assured you. “I won't leave your side the whole way through if you don't want me to.”

You nodded, letting out a small sigh of relief.

“Don't think I could do it without you,” you admitted.

Danneel got up and walked over to you, perching on the arm of your chair and brushing your hair from your forehead to place a kiss there.

“You're an Ackles girl, you're strong,” she reminded you. “You could do it without me, but you don't have to. I'm not going anywhere.”

You smiled, leaning against her as she dropped her hand to your shoulder.

“I love you, kiddo,” she murmured. “Sorry you had a crap day at work.”

You laughed softly.

“Sorry I said ‘fuck’ a hundred times in front of Tex.”

Danneel laughed, kissing your head once more before getting to her feet.

“I'm gonna check on the twins,” she told you. “You gonna be alright down here for a few minutes?”

“Yep,” you smiled, nudging the dog with your socked feet until she nuzzled against your leg. “I’ve got Bails to entertain me.”

The next day was spent relaxing with Gen, Danneel, and the kids.

You hadn’t really had a chance to relax with them since they’d made the long journey up over a week ago, filming as much as you could get in before the convention so the weekend wouldn’t put you behind.

It was nice to be able to catch up, to hold Arrow and Zep and speak to Danneel and JJ without a screen and a couple thousand miles between you.

Tom and Shep were happy to have JJ there to play with them, and Bailey’s gentleness around the twins reassured you that she’d be great with Baby Ditto.

“Someone's gonna have to keep Bailey out of the room,” Gen said out of the blue on Saturday afternoon.

“What?” you asked, laughing softly.

“When it's time for the baby,” she clarified. “We can't have a dog in here while you're giving birth.”

You nodded in understanding.

“Yeah, that's Jensen and Jared’s job,” you told her, gently stroking Arrow’s hair as she slept in your arms. “They're on kid and dog patrol.”

Danneel frowned, shifting beside you on the couch to look between you and Gen.

“Jared’s not gonna be in the room?” she asked, and you shook your head.

“I don't want him to see me like that,” you explained, continuing when it looked like she would argue. “Plus - and this is a bigger reason - Jensen can't look after all five of them on his own. Six, with Bailey.”

“I could always trade places,” Danneel offered. “If you want him with you.”

“I think…” you paused trying to remember the way you'd explained it to Gen and Jared. “I think, especially ‘cause it's happening at home, I'm gonna want to have the two most experienced birthing partners I can get. And y’all both have more experience poppin’ out babies than they do.”

They both laughed, Gen nodding in agreement.

“You're right, they really can't relate,” she smiled from the armchair.

“Exactly.”

You smiled down at Arrow, admiring the way she was so relaxed in your arms and allowing yourself to imagine holding your baby like this.

“Jared will still be the first to hold the baby,” Gen explained to Danneel. “After Y/N.”

Danneel nodded, still looking slightly unconvinced; as if it was unfathomable that you’d rather have her there than Jared.

“He really isn’t the most helpful during the actual birthing part,” Gen added, speaking from experience. “He’s an incredible daddy and a great partner, but while giving birth? If I had the option of you two, you would’ve been in the room with me over him.”

Danneel visibly relaxed, now understanding more.

“So it’s not about seeing you in labour, it’s about him being a bad birthing partner.”

“Exactly,” you confirmed. “I mean, he’s seen me throwing up. He’s seen me crying and sniffing. But I need strong women with me if I’m supposed to push a freaking watermelon out of me.”

They both laughed for real that time, so much so that Arrow started fussing as she was woken.

“Hey, shh,” you soothed, stroking through her soft hair again. “It’s nap time, baby girl.”

Apparently she didn’t agree.

Her fussing turned to sniffles, and Danneel got up to take her from the room so that she wouldn’t wake Zep as he slept in his dreamer bouncer.

“Kid can sleep through anything,” Gen joked, nodding at Zep as she walked across to take Danneel’s seat beside you.

“Takes after his daddy,” you laughed softly. “Jensen can fall asleep anywhere. It’s impressive, really.”

“I’m kinda jealous,” she agreed, wrapping her arm around your shoulders as you leant into her.

“I hope the baby sleeps this well,” you murmured, making her laugh. “Hey, it’s not unheard of for babies to sleep well.”

“No, I know, it can happen,” she agreed, kissing the top of your head. “But that doesn’t mean it’s gonna.”

You huffed indignantly, her fingertips lightly running up and down your arm.

“You’ll be fine either way,” she murmured, and you allowed a small smile.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I hope so.”

It wasn’t unusual for you to wake up in the early hours of the morning.

You often found that the baby was pushing against your bladder, so waking up in desperate need of the bathroom had been a regular occurrence for the past couple of months.

Waking up with stomach cramps a little after 5am, however, was new.

You got out of bed, careful not to wake Genevieve as you tried to walk it off.

Maybe you’d just been sleeping funny and your body didn’t like it.

It seemed to fade so you went to use the bathroom seeing as you were awake anyway.

You walked around the house some more, deciding to check on the kids and the babies while you were up.

They were all sleeping soundly, and you found yourself watching them for a while.

All of these kids were going to grow up with your baby.

Two as siblings, two as friends, one as an aunt.

All as family, and you cared about all of them the same way you did about Baby Ditto.

Your back started to ache as you were standing for too long, so you decided to go back to bed.

On your way back into the bedroom you had to stop in the doorway as the cramps came back.

You pressed lightly against your bump where you felt the pain most, trying to ease it, but nothing helped.

“Fuck,” you breathed, leaning against the doorframe.

Once the pain passed again, you got back into bed, thinking that laying down might help.

It used to help with menstrual cramps and this was the same kind of pain, so maybe-

“Oh, God.”

As soon as you thought about it, you began to panic.

“Oh, God,” you breathed, propping yourself up with pillows behind your back as you shook Gen’s shoulder lightly to try and wake her.

She groaned slightly, shifting onto her stomach in her sleep.

You shook her again, harder this time as panic really started to set in.

“Gen,” you spoke, not quite normal volume but louder than a whisper.

She groaned again, propping herself up on an elbow and squinting her eyes open.

“What?” she asked, groggily.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you admitted, the panic in your voice making her wake up fully.

“Sweetie?” she asked again, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you repeated, your words coming out in a rush. “I woke up with cramps so I got up and they went away but they came back like twenty minutes later and I thought laying down would help because it always helped with period cramps but then I realised… Gen, I’m not ready.”

“Hey, shh, calm down,” she soothed, cupping your cheek in a gentle palm as she shifted in front of you, her other hand resting on your shoulder. “You’re okay.”

You shook your head but took a deep breath as she did, following her lead and letting it out in a long puff of air.

“I can’t do this yet,” you told her, tears in your eyes ready to spill with a blink.

“Please don’t panic.”

She spoke softly, soothingly despite having only woken up less than a minute ago.

“It might be false labour, okay?” she reminded you. “Braxton Hicks? Remember you had them before?”

You nodded before shaking your head as you started to cry.

“It’s different,” you told her, sniffing. “Worse. A different kind of, of-”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say ‘contraction’.

If you said it, it would make it all real.

You weren’t ready.

“Okay, that’s okay,” she smiled, her voice still calm. “If this is early labour, we’ve still got a ways to go. Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?”

You could feel the incredulous look on your face but Gen just smiled softly.

“You’re gonna need your energy later,” she reminded you. “At least try and relax, get some rest.”

You nodded, leaning back into the pillows and trying not to cry.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

You still had three weeks left, this couldn’t be happening now.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Gen murmured, gently carding her fingers through your hair. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Your eyes shot open and your heart started to race as you felt her leave the bed.

“Try to keep calm, sweetie,” she soothed. “I promise I’ll be right back. I need to get some stuff to make you comfortable.”

You nodded, trying to concentrate on your breathing as she left.

Your heart rate had stopped rising, but it was now evened out at a racing pace as you closed your eyes again.

Your hands were shaking as you rested them on your bump, trying not to panic too much about the fact that you might be going into labour at 36 and 6.

Sure, you’d been told that the baby could arrive early, but the doctors said that usually meant late September instead of your official due date of early October.

You weren’t even halfway through the month yet.

You heard the door open but you didn’t open your eyes, knowing that if you did your vision would probably be impaired by tears anyway.

“Alright, that’s enough crying.”

You were surprised to hear Danneel’s voice rather than Genevieve’s, so you sniffed as you opened your eyes.

“I know you’re scared,” she told you, walking further into the room.

She was still in her pyjamas - just a pair of sleep shorts and one of Jensen’s tees - clearly fresh out of bed as she got in beside you.

“Contractions, huh?” she asked, and you nodded, wiping your tears with your sleeve.

“I think so,” you told her.

“So you need to stop freaking out,” she told you, kind but firm. “Your baby is gonna pick up on your stress and that’s the worst thing you can do.”

You nodded again, knowing she was right but finding the practice much harder than the theory.

“We’re gonna start noting down your contractions so we can see the progression,” she continued, leaning over you and picking up your phone from the nightstand.

She unlocked it with her thumbprint, opening up your notes.

“What time was the first one?”

“I woke up at 5:07 because of the pain,” you told her, resting your head on her shoulder. “Then there was one five minutes ago.”

Danneel noted it down, kissing the top of your head.

“Okay,” she murmured. “That sounds like they were around twenty minutes apart.”

You nodded, looking up as Gen came back in with water and snacks.

“We don’t have to do much until your waters break,” she explained, closing the door and squeezing in beside you on the other side.

You all shifted so you easily fit together, and the two of them encouraged you to lay back.

They both got comfortable beside you, relaxing back into the soft pillows.

Just having the two of them there with you had already helped to calm you down.

“We should call Jared,” Gen murmured, but you shook your head.

“Don’t want to worry him,” you explained. “It might not be anything.”

They both looked unconvinced, but you were insistent.

“He has a panel in two hours,” you reminded them. “I don’t want to panic him. Please.”

They shared a look, clearly communicating between them before Danneel spoke up.

“Okay, baby,” she agreed, resting a hand on your bump.

Gen placed a soft kiss to your shoulder, shifting to lay down properly.

“Try to get some sleep,” she murmured, earning a hum of approval from Danneel.

You sighed, praying that you’d be able to get some rest as you closed your eyes once more.

When your waters broke, there was no denying that this was really happening.

The contractions were steadily getting more intense, the twenty minute gap going down to fifteen in the two hours that passed between deciding to rest and your waters breaking.

It happened on your way back from the bathroom and your shocked, choked-off cry had JJ rushing out of Tom and Shep’s room.

She took in the sight of you and reached for your hand.

“It’s ‘kay,” she whispered. “It’s ‘kay to have an accident. I can help you clean up if ya want?”

You squeezed her hand, trying not to cry in front of her.

“I’m okay,” you told her. “I just gotta get to my room, baby.”

She nodded, keeping hold of your hand as she tried to help you back to your bedroom.

Danneel and Gen were both sat up on your bed, getting up and rushing over to you when they realised what had happened.

Danneel pulled you into a hug while Gen took JJ to sit on your bed.

“It’s really happening,” you whispered, feeling yourself start to cry.

“It is, sweetheart,” she agreed, stroking your hair soothingly. “You’re gonna be okay.”

JJ was watching on, worried about you but not wanting to get in the way.

“Alright, we’ve gotta call your midwife and get her over here,” Gen told you, and you took in a shaky breath as you pulled back from Danneel.

“I’m- I’m not-”

Danneel’s hand rubbed small, grounding circles into your lower back as they waited for you to continue your thought.

“I know I said I would do this at home, but I’m…” you paused, biting hard into your lip as you sniffed.

“Y/N, if you want to go to hospital I’m not gonna think any less of you,” Gen told you, honestly. “We had a plan, sure. But that plan didn’t involve it all happening quite so soon.”

You nodded, tears spilling over as Danneel wrapped her arm around your waist.

“Alright my love,” she whispered, kissing your temple. “JJ can you and the boys get up and dressed please?”

JJ nodded, sensing the urgency in her mom’s voice as she left the room without question.

“We’re gonna change your pants and get you comfortable then we’ll head out, okay?” Danneel told you, and you nodded.

While you were talking, Gen had pulled on sweatpants over her pyjama shorts, thrown her hair up into a bun and pulled on a sweater.

“Gen, can you help the kids? Get the twins in their car seats?”

She nodded, walking over to you and kissing you softly.

“I’m gonna call Jared,” she told you, and you shook your head.

“His panel’s only just started-”

“Y/N, you’re in labour,” she reminded you, no room for argument in her tone as she cupped your cheeks. “It’s real. It’s happening. Jared needs to know.”

You nodded as she leant up to kiss your forehead.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she promised, waiting for you to nod before letting you go.

“Meet you downstairs in ten,” Danneel told her and Gen nodded, squeezing Danneel’s arm as she left the room.

“That’s not how it happened,” Jensen insisted, Jared’s laughter cracking his faux-annoyed expression.

“That’s exactly how I remember it,” Jared grinned. “You weren’t even there, it was Nesnej.”

Jensen laughed at that, nodding in defeat as the crowd at the Gold morning panel burst into cheers for his drunk alter-ego.

“Yeah, that’s true,” he admitted as his phone started ringing in his back pocket.

He pulled it out, frowning when he saw Gen’s name on the caller ID.

“Dude, your wife is calling me,” he told Jared, making the crowd laugh as he answered on speaker. “Hey, cutie. Finally realise you wanted a real man?”

The crowd was still chuckling and Gen could hear them through the phone.

“Funny, Jensen,” she humoured him. “Jared’s phone is on silent I guess. Can you please take me off speaker and pass me over?”

Something about her tone made him oblige, instantly taking the phone off of speaker and lifting it to his ear.

“Genevieve? Is everything- are the kids-?”

“The kids are fine, but I need to speak to Jared,” she told him, and he nodded.

“Alright, here he is,” he murmured, handing the phone over and apologising to the crowd.

“Hey, babe,” Jared answered, his heart already racing as he stepped back from the mic to take the call.

“Jared,” Gen breathed, relieved that she finally got hold of him. “It’s Y/N.”

“What?” he asked, feeling the colour drain from his face. “What’s- what’s wrong?”

“She’s fine, she’s… She’s gone into labour. Her waters just broke,” she explained, as calm as possible in the knowledge that her husband would be freaking out.

“Wha- how?” he asked unintelligently.

“We’re going to the hospital,” Gen continued. “She didn’t want me to call you, but-”

“No, you did good,” he promised, aware of Jensen’s and everyone else’s eyes on him. “I’ll… I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Gen sighed. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He hung up the phone, running a hand over his face and breathing harshly into his palm.

He handed Jensen back his phone, getting pulled into a hug as he did.

“Y/N’s in labour,” Jared whispered, not loud enough for the crowd to pick up.

Jensen pulled back, slapping his friend’s shoulder.

“Go,” he told him. “I’ll bring your stuff back with me.”

Jared nodded, stepping back to his mic.

“I’m… I’m really sorry, but there’s a family emergency and I have to get back,” he explained. “I’m- sorry, I’ve got to go.”

He left the stage with calls and cheers of ‘we love you, Jared’ following him out of the hall.

Jared was on the phone the whole way to the airport, determined to find the quickest flight back to Vancouver.

The woman on the other end was very helpful, telling him that the first flight out wouldn’t get there as fast as if he waited until just before noon.

“I need the flight that will get me into Vancouver the earliest,” he explained. “There’s… I need to get back.”

She assured him that she was doing everything she could to find him the best flights.

After a few minutes of nail-biting silence, she was back on the line.

“Mr. Padalecki?” she asked as he let out a shaky breath.

“Still here,” he confirmed.

“There’s a flight out to Chicago I can put you on at 11:59,” she explained. “Landing in there at 12:39 local. Then you’d pick up a 14:10 flight to Seattle, in at 16:30 local at the destination. Finally a short wait in Seattle before a flight over to Vancouver, arriving at 18:36.”

Jared nodded, his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he jotted down the information.

“And this flight from Seattle would be quicker than driving up?” he clarified.

“Yes, sir. By around an hour,” she confirmed.

He sighed, hating how far away he was from you but knowing this was his best option.

“Alright, can you book me on those?”

“Yes, sir, I can,” she told him. “Will you need to check in any luggage?”

“No, I, uh-” he laughed softly. “It’s just me, my wallet, passport, and phone.”

“Alright then, Mr. Padalecki, we can book you onto those flights. I’ll be able to check you in online so that you can go straight through to security when you arrive to cut down on time, we’ll email your tickets through to your phone.”

“Thank you,” he breathed. “Thank you so much.”

“Not a problem, sir,” she replied. “I’m just gonna need to take down some details.”

For the flight to Chicago, Jared was mostly numb. It passed without much thought, but the journey out to Seattle was a totally different story.

Jared Padalecki was a well travelled man. He had been on many planes in his life, many transatlantic and transpacific flights, but none of them had ever felt as long as this.

He’d paid for in-flight wifi so he could keep in contact with Genevieve the whole way, but that did nothing to soothe his anxieties.

Gen was in the waiting room with the older three kids while Danneel stayed with you.

The twins had been picked up by Briana when she’d heard about the situation, wanting to take some of the stress away from Gen.

Knowing that so many people were so close to you yet he - the father of your child - was still miles away, offered little comfort.

He knew that even if he was there he wouldn’t be in the room with you, but that wasn’t the point.

The thought that his baby could be born and he wouldn’t be there to hold it, to kiss you and let you know how proud he was of you, made his heart ache for you.

Knowing that you were currently in the active labour phase, according to Genevieve’s most recent message, probably wasn’t helping his predicament.

Tell that baby to hold on. Daddy’s four hours away.

His throat was dry no matter how much water he drank and he closed his eyes, willing the next few hours to go quickly.

Waiting for his final flight, Jared called Gen as soon as he could.

“I’m less than two hours away,” he told her, his leg bouncing with anxiety. “My next flight is in twenty-five minutes and then it’ll land just after 6:30. I should be with y’all by 7.”

“That’s great, babe,” Gen replied. “We’ll be waiting.”

He laughed softly, biting his lip.

“How’s… how’s she doing?” he asked, concern dripping from his tone.

“She’s doing great. Doing us proud,” she assured him. “But she’s… I’ve got to tell you, she’s 8cm.”

“Shit,” Jared breathed, sinking back into his seat. “I’m gonna miss it.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” she reminded him, “But I think she’s tired, Jare. She’s been in labour for twelve hours.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I know. If she feels like it’s time, it’s time. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“I know. We love you.”

“I love you, too,” he promised. “Keep me updated.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “Fly safe.”

You were sweating, your hair sticking to your face as your jaw clenched against the pain of your contractions.

The doctors told you that you were fully dilated, letting you know that it was okay to push whenever you felt the urge.

Danneel was letting you squeeze her hand while stroking your hair from your forehead.

“You’re doing so well, sweetie,” she murmured, and you nodded as you took deep breaths. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“No,” you replied, meeting her eyes. “Not until Jared is here.”

Her expression morphed into sympathetic concern.

“Y/N… you can’t put this off,” she told you, gently. “This baby is coming whether you like it or not.”

You knew she was right as you threw your head back with another contraction.

You couldn’t deny that you were starting to feel the urge to push this baby out.

“I can’t,” you cried, trying to focus on your breathing. “I can’t, Jared-”

“When you feel the urge, you’ve gotta bear down,” your midwife reminded you. “Chin to chest. Your mom is right, this baby is coming and it’s coming soon.”

You shook your head, trying to will your baby to hold out for Jared, to wait for him to get to the hospital.

“I can’t,” you whimpered, your head turning against the pillow towards Danneel. “He needs to be here.”

“I know,” she soothed, stroking your hair back again. “I know, but you’ve-”

She was cut off as somebody entered the room.

You turned your head to see Genevieve, out of breath and haphazardly dressed in the same kind of disposable hospital coveralls that Danneel and the doctors were in.

“Jared’s here,” she told you, walking over to your side. “He’s here, sweetie. He’s here.”

You felt yourself begin to cry as she leant in to kiss your forehead.

“I’ll go get him,” Danneel murmured, stepping away.

You squeezed her hand, pulling her back in.

“Mama, please,” you breathed. “Please stay.”

Adoration crossed her expression, her eyes glistening as she nodded.

“Alright, baby,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Gen took your other hand, the two of them offering words of encouragement as the next contraction hit and you started to push.

You were cradling your baby against your chest, looking down at the face that you’d fallen in love with in an instant, when Jared entered the room.

He was trailed by JJ, Tom, and Shep; Gen bringing up the rear after having left to tell them of the birth.

You looked up and met Jared’s gaze as he looked between you and his baby.

“Can I-” he cleared his throat as his voice bubbled with emotion. “Can I hold her?”

You nodded, smiling as he leant in to kiss you.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured against your lips, placing another kiss to your cheek as he pulled back. “I’m so so proud of you.”

You carefully passed him your daughter, falling more in love with him than ever when you saw the love in his eyes as he looked at her.

“I’m glad you made it,” you told him, watching as Gen stood beside him, gently stroking your daughter’s light hair.

“A sister?” Tom asked, standing beside your bed.

“Yeah, buddy,” you smiled tiredly. “That okay?”

Tom and Shep both nodded enthusiastically as JJ walked over to Danneel.

Danneel picked her up, letting her sit next to you when you shifted to make room; only slightly wincing at the movement.

“A baby girl?” JJ asked quietly, and you nodded, kissing the top of her head.

“You’re an auntie,” you whispered, and she grinned.

Danneel smiled, stroking JJ’s hair as she looked across at Jared and Gen, both still enamoured with your baby.

“Does she have a name?” Danneel asked and Jared smiled, finally tearing his eyes away from his daughter to tell her.

“Dallas,” he announced, looking at you. “You want to tell them her full name?”

You nodded as he passed her back to you, cradling her carefully as you let JJ get a better look at her.

You smiled at Danneel as you told her.

“Dallas Elta Padalecki.”

Her jaw dropped as her eyes flitted between you, Dallas, and Jared.

“Are you- are you serious?” she breathed, and Jared nodded.

“Dallas Elta,” he confirmed, and a tear slipped down Danneel’s cheek as she blinked.

“That’s perfect,” Gen smiled, her hand resting on Shep’s shoulder as he leant against her legs.

“Thank you,” Danneel whispered, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Thank you.”

You smiled as your daughter stirred in your arms, making a small noise that melted your heart.

“We wanted her to be named after family,” you explained softly as JJ gently reached out to touch her niece’s cheek.

“I love her,” JJ breathed, sitting back as you helped her hold Dallas.

“Yeah,” Danneel agreed, taking your hand now that you had one free. “Me too.”

tags are closed because this always takes me 20 years

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