#and someone always refuses because 'that's no fun :( its your birthday!' so I get reminded anyways | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

Text

Lionheart

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Fem Reader

Request: “i can’t breathe” with cordelia?? “

A/N: so this prompt screamed ‘panic attack’ but GUESS WHAT?? I cannot write about panic attacks without having one myself so bear with me. This story was inspired by the scene in Apocalypse when Cordelia tells Michael she’s ready to help him if he’ll let her. Thank you anon for the request, and have a good time reading. x

Word count: ~ 5 500

Warnings: panic, anxiety, more or less accidental attempt at murder (idk what to call it)

You opened the door to the little antique shop and walked in with a happy spring in your step. The place was dimly lit and smelt of nag shampa. All kinds of objects were displayed on shelves nailed to the walls. In the middle of the room, more objects – colourful candles, statues carved in rosewood or kingwood or stone, dusty porcelain plates with a rim of gold – were randomly piled on top of each other or on small tables.

The shop had opened a few days ago and its window had drawn your eye. You were on your way back to Robichaux’s, where you had lived for the past five years. Life at the Academy was blissful. You had found yourself, finally embracing your being a witch; and then a few months later you had found love, and with it a new kind of happiness. Contentment you had read about in books but never thought could happen to you. Love had ripped fear and hatred off the world and painted it in softer colours: pink, yellow, brown, colours that reminded you of Cordelia. The constant weight in your heart had changed: it did not drag you down anymore, but supported you. It was not fear and loneliness you carried, but warmth and curiosity.

In the shop the woman behind the counter was scrutinizing you with attention. Her eyes were a deep, dark blue that reminded you of ocean depths. She wore a beautiful, intricate brooch in the form of a tree with the words ‘Anna Morgana’ – her name, probably – engraved on the trunk. A single red rose drooped in a vase on the counter in front of her.

You did not notice the strange look – half fear, half anger – that flashed on her face as you walked up to her.

“I know you”, the woman said as a greeting. “You’re one of the girls from Robichaux’s Academy.”

You beamed at her.

“I’m here to buy a gift for my Supreme,” you informed her happily.

Here it was again, that strange look, and this time you did notice it, but you didn’t think anything of it. The mention of witches – especially powerful ones – still made most people uncomfortable.

“Birthday?” the woman asked.

For a second you considered lying. Cordelia was adamant that you tell no one about your relationship, for she didn’t want the girls at the Academy to think she favoured you over them. But it wasn’t exactly a secret. Cordelia’s face had always been open, and you weren’t particularly good at hiding the joy that spread over your own every time your eyes met hers, every time someone mentioned her, every time the thought of her crossed your mind. Anyone who had spent more than five minutes with you and Cordelia knew you were in love. Most people were too polite to tell either of you how bad you were at hiding your feelings – except Madison, who seemed to think there was no greater joy in the world than to criticize “Foxxy” in front of you so that she could laugh at whatever new insult your “poor unimaginative brain” would come up with. But you didn’t mind Madison. She was a friend – an extremely annoying, unreliable friend, but a friend still. Movie nights with her were the best.

“Random act of kindness,” you told the woman, trying to keep your voice as neutral as possible. “She works so hard for us,” you couldn’t help but add.

The woman curled up her lips and ran one hand through her dark, thick, curly hair. The bracelets that hang off her wrist jingled.

“Well, I could let you look around, but it would take hours. And I think I’ve got just the thing you need. Simple, but beautiful. Not too showy, elegant.”

She went through one of her drawers and drew out a small rectangular box. It contained a necklace – a thin silver chain, a curved bail, a round-shaped moonstone with a blue sheen in the middle. Your heart jumped at the sight. It was perfect for Cordelia.

“And look here!” the woman went on, her voice rising almost to a squeal. You were so lost in thoughts of Cordelia and how beautiful that necklace would look on her, that you did not notice the sudden shaking of the woman’s hands as she drew out another box. “I’ve got another one, exactly the same! So you can match.”

“I’ll take them both,” you beamed.

The woman looked incredibly nervous. She gave you a tight smile as you fumbled in your bag for your wallet.

“I like it,” you said, nodding to the rose in an attempt to help her relax. “Very Beauty and the Beast.”

You paid for the necklaces, then clasped one of them around your neck and stared at your reflection in a small mirror perched on top of a pile. Your fingers gingerly touched the stone. You flashed a grin at your reflection, then sang out “Goodbye!” to the woman. She didn’t say it back.

It was a beautiful spring day, the sun splayed out low in the sky, the air crisp, the branches of the trees overloaded with blooming flowers, but you didn’t linger. Your heart and mind were filled with Cordelia. She had been more tired than usual those past few days, what with the arrival of half a dozen new girls who were very young and very scared of their powers. And she had been bugged by a “weird, tingling feeling”, as she had confided to you two days ago, late in the evening, her head resting on your lap and your hand running through her hair: “I think a new witch might be in town. And I think she doesn’t know who she is. I can feel her confusion, her fear.” You had dropped a kiss on her forehead, offered to run her a bath, but she had let out a tired groan and sat up, rubbing her eyes as if she had a headache, and said she still had paperwork to go through.

It worried you, sometimes, how hard she worked. Too many nights you had had to drag her out of her office and tuck her in and kiss her until her faint protests had turned into sleepy giggles. You and Zoe and Queenie had offered, multiple times, to take over some of her classes, and she had relented after several refusals. As it had turned out, you were quite possibly one of the worst teachers on the planet. Cordelia had attended your first class, wanting to make sure she was not entrusting her girls to an incompetent fool – for the rest of that day you had been unable to meet her eyes, your face red with shame. When in the evening she had finally managed to corner you in an empty room she had burst into uncontrollable laughter, peppering your face with kisses, pausing to try and whisper an apology when she noticed the outraged look on your face. The word “sorry” did not make it out past the first syllable before she was doubled up with laughter, tears running down her flushed cheeks. So it had been decided that you should help Cordelia with daily matters and paperwork, and let Queenie and Zoe do the teaching.

The Academy was very quiet when you reached it, as most of the classes weren’t over yet. You did some cleaning in the kitchen, made yourself some tea, then decided to take a nap. There was approximately thirty minutes left before classes would end and Cordelia would take her usual evening break before dinner.

You ran up the stairs to your room, changed into more comfortable clothes, tip-toed to Cordelia’s room to steal one of her pillows, tip-toed back to your own room, and collapsed on your bed. Your fingers played with the chain of your new necklace, a goofy smile spreading over your face as you thought about the moment you would offer Cordelia her gift. Surely matching necklaces would not be too obvious. Friends did things like that all the time. You were sure to be teased by Madison, though. You lay on your right side, clutching Cordelia’s pillow against your chest and burying your face in it, and closed your eyes. You were not feeling particularly tired, but sleep soon overtook you.

You woke up a few minutes later with a jolt. Your heart was pounding in your ears and your chest was incredibly tight. You remembered when you were in junior high and a brute who kept bullying you because you were “too weird” had unceremoniously thrown you to the ground and decided it would be fun to sit on your chest. The boy was twice your size. He had laid both his hands on your shoulders, pressing your back into the cement, breathed in your face and flashed a cruel smile at you as he shifted his weigh to crush you. “I can’t breathe,” you had managed to get out, your hands coming up to smack weakly at his arms, “get off, I can’t –“

Now the feeling was exactly the same. There was a heavy weight pressing down on your chest as if a demon were sitting on it.

You abruptly sat up, panic shooting through your veins. Instinctively you reached out for Cordelia, for warmth and protection – your hand landed on the cold sheet.

You managed to hiss in a breath, desperately patting the mattress, your other hand coming up to press against your chest. Your arms were shaking. And the sitting position didn’t help. Your chest still felt like it was being crushed.

You threw back the cover, made to stand up, fell back on the bed as the room around you started to spin. Your ears were ringing and you could hear terrifying noises like that of a monster’s rough, raspy breathing in horror movies – your breathing, you realized in terror.

You had to get up. You had to get up and call for help before – on shaky legs you stumbled out of your room and into the empty corridor, leaning against the wall for support, and croaked out: “Delia,” but it was too weak, too low, the words flopped at your feet. The corridor was spinning so fast you could no longer tell where the ceiling was. Cold sweat coated your skin as you took a few steps forward, calling again, “Delia,” a pitiful sound, barely above a whisper.

Your gaze fell on the railing of the stairs. So close, just a few more steps – so far away, too far away.

You wheezed out a breath, tried to inhale. There was no air left in the corridor. Your hand closed around the collar of your shirt. You tried to call out, tripped on nothing, and passed out.

The first think you noticed when you came to was a hum of worried voices. Your head hurt too much for you to even consider opening your eyes. So you focused on the voices, tried to separate one from the others.

“Step back, Millie, step back! Girls, give her some space!”

This voice was too panicky for your liking. It made your heart speed up. But there was something familiar about this voice, something comforting, so when it faded back among the others you groaned, straining to focus on it again.

“Ooh shit, she’s alive,” said another voice, young and jaded.

“Y/N?” The panicked voice again, louder, clearer. Something hot on your face. You let out another groan. “Y/N, can you hear me? Open your eyes for me.”

Now, that you would not do. You were pretty sure if you let the light in your skull would crack.

“Y/N, please.” The voice broke, and something in your heart broke with it. “Please, please sweetheart, come back to me.”

The thing in your heart that had broken kicked and ordered you to obey. There was no way, your heart screamed, no way you would lie here and do nothing to comfort her when she sounded that terrified.

Your eyes fluttered open. A blurry shape was leaning over you, golden on the edges, with two dark spots in the middle.

“Hey,” the voice called shakily, “that’s it, that’s it, you’re doing so good, look at me. Look at me.”

“Delia.” Her name escaped your lips before you had time to think it.

She was very pale, and her face was wet with tears, but she let out a relieved laugh when your eyes met hers.

“Delia,” you repeated, frowning in confusion as you took her state in.

You were lying on your back in the middle of a corridor, surrounded by a group of students. You spotted Madison, leaning against the wall next to Cordelia, staring down at you with interest and just a hint of amusement. “What…”

Your face crumpled as memories flooded you. Your right hand flew up to your chest and you gasped in a breath, fear rushing up to clench at your heart.

Cordelia cupped your face, stroking her thumbs over your cheeks.

“Shh, shh, you’re alright,” she whispered as more tears rolled down her own cheeks.

You bit your lip on a sob, raised your hand to wipe away her tears. Cordelia chuckled and kissed your palm.

“What happened?” you hiccupped between two sobs.

Madison held out something in front of her. Your heart skipped a beat.

“The necklace,” you stammered. “Oh my God, the – Delia I was about to –“

Cordelia shushed you again, leaning forward as if to kiss you before she checked herself. Madison rolled her eyes.

“Please, we’re not stupid, or blind,” Madison said, but you spoke over her, your breath coming out too fast as panic threatened to overwhelm you again: “Delia I was about to offer you the same necklace I was about – “

“Hey hey hey, Y/N, it’s alright, love, it’s alright.” Cordelia slipped one arm around your waist and pulled you up to her. You buried your face in her neck, breathing her in, letting her familiar scent and warmth wrap around you like a blanket. She gently ran her fingers through your hair, supporting you with her other arm.

“How did you find me?” you whispered into her chest.

“I heard you,” she answered, her voice barely louder than yours. “I heard you calling in my head.”

You closed your eyes, confused, angry, and most of all afraid. Afraid of what would have happened if Cordelia had not rushed to you. Afraid of what would have happened if you had offered her the necklace and she had – you wrapped your arms around her, holding her tight, planting a kiss on her chest as you gulped back tears. You were trembling in her arms, your heart beating too fast, feeling like you couldn’t breathe again as images of an unresponsive Cordelia flashed in your mind, asleep but with her chest not moving, her heart not beating, a small moonstone shining pale blue on her skin that was as white as a corpse’s.

Before you knew it you were sobbing again, hanging on to Cordelia for dear life as she whispered words of comfort in your ear and stroke your back in a circling motion. You didn’t hear Madison ordering the girls to scatter, didn’t hear their confused footsteps, barely registered Cordelia pulling you up to your feet and guiding you back to your room. Gently she tucked you in bed, brushed your hair off your face, ran a hand up and down your arm as she wiped your tears with the other. You mumbled something, incoherent and sad, and she lay down by your side and wrapped you up in her arms safely. You pressed your ear to her chest, let the sound of her heartbeat lull you as you counted in your head, one, two, three, on the fourth beat a fond “I love you” murmured by Cordelia with a kiss on your head.

You had rarely seen Cordelia as mad as she was the day after when you explained to her where you had bought the necklaces. Anger burst from her like a snake opening its mouth to sink its fangs into flesh. Cordelia always looked powerful. Now she looked terrifying.

You stammered out short, anxious answers to her questions, instinctively leaning away from her. She noticed, and that seemed to make her angrier still.

She stormed out of the house and you stood nervously waiting for her on the porch. New Orleans would hold a funeral in a day or two. A corpse would be found but no clues as to its murderer would ever be discovered. Anna Morgana would be buried under the eyes of a curious crowd, camera flashes reflecting off her coffin.

You nervously shifted your weight on your feet, your eyes scanning the street in front of you, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes passed, and then Cordelia walked through the gate to the Academy. But she wasn’t alone.

Your heart did something weird. It jumped up your throat in fear, then swelled with warmth and pride and love. Anna Morgana was walking by Cordelia’s side, clutching a small backpack to her chest, her eyes avoiding you. She looked younger, somehow, and even though she was only a few inches shorter than Cordelia her body was like that of a child next to your Supreme.

Cordelia stopped in front of you, squinting in the sun. You tried to scowl at her, but the nervous grin you had been holding back crept up your face and your eyes lit up with love and adoration for this woman.

“Of fucking course,” you said.

Cordelia shrugged.

“What?” She cocked her head to the side, watching you. There was a hint of nervousness in her eyes as she studied your reaction. You reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. “She needed help. That doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences for your action,” she added, shooting Anna Morgana a cold, hard glance.

As it turned out, Cordelia’s intuition had been right: there was a new witch in town, and she was confused and lost. Anna Morgana must have known, deep down, that she was a witch, but the thought was so terrifying, so utterly unacceptable that when she saw you in her shop, when she heard you mention the Supreme, she freaked out. Her magic seemed to be powerful: all she did was wish that the necklaces would harm their owners, and she had quite succeeded.

Anna Morgana kept working at her shop, but she also started attending classes at the Academy. She profusely apologized to you and to Cordelia, bought you countless gifts, did all kinds of nice things for you, adamant that she right her wrong. She had a lovely personality, and quickly became part of the coven.

You knew she had been confused and terrified of who she was; you knew what fear was capable of doing to even the best of people. But you couldn’t help it: every time your eyes fell on Anna Morgana, every time you heard her voice, something in you awoke that you could not control and that had the terrible, pungent smell of panic. It grew in you like a seed, taking root in your stomach, spreading its branches into your chest to wrap around your heart and squeeze, tight.

You could tell it was hard for Cordelia, too. You had never heard her snap at any of her girls but Madison, and now Anna Morgana was added to the list, especially in the first few days of her settling in at the Academy. There often was an edge to Cordelia’s voice when she spoke to her, a flash of anger in her eyes, her arm extending protectively in front of you whenever Anna Morgana entered the room you were in. But Cordelia’s heart was endlessly kind, and she was brave, and believed people could change when given the opportunity to. Soon her attitude towards Anna Morgana softened. And Anna Morgana, like all the other girls in Cordelia’s care, opened up like a flower and blossomed and started healing.

And you felt trapped in a corner. Guilt about not being able to move on and forgive gnawed at you like a dog gnaws on a bone and doesn’t let go. Guilt about not being able to be the brave person Cordelia deserved. And the fear that would clench your heart every time someone would so much as mention Anna Morgana, grew so strong and invasive you were sure it had settled permanently in you like a new organ your body had grown. This organ was ill and worked poorly. It kept you up all night, made you fidgety. The faintest of noises – someone coughing in the room next door, footsteps in your back – boomed in your ears like the detonation of a gun and made you jump.

It became hard to focus on daily tasks. You isolated yourself from the other girls, saying you had too much to do for spare time. You snapped at one of the younger girls, once, for no good reason at all. And then you isolated yourself from Cordelia. You pretended to be too tired to wait up for her on the nights she worked till late. You avoided her at lunchtime, hiding in your room with whatever food your stomach could hold.

That week was particularly busy for Cordelia. She had to fly halfway across the country to bring back a new girl who was too panicked to leave her room. When she came back she had barely slept for three days and did not allow herself to rest until she had gone through the paperwork you had neglected to deal with. She nearly collapsed into your arms that night, and you gently tucked her in and dropped a quick, distracted kiss on her forehead before you all but ran to your own room. You thought you heard Anna Morgana’s voice in the corridor, which nearly drove you crazy with fear and had you mutter a protection spell behind your locked door. You whispered one for Cordelia, too, just in case.

You thought, you really did, that you could carry on living in a constant state of fear.

You woke up one night and everything around you was dark. Terror shot through you as something suddenly pressed all of its weight upon your chest and dear Lord, you could not breathe. You sat bolt upright, gasping for air, your shaking hands coming up to your chest to try and get rid of the necklace, but all you could feel was skin, hot, clammy skin, so you clawed at it desperately but the pressure would not go. It would not let you breathe. So you tried to spring out of the bed, wheezing now, your legs tangling up in the cover, but something closed around your arm to hold you back.

“Let go!” you screamed – and it was angry, it was an order, but above all it was terrified.

“Y/N what – “

You tried to hit whatever was holding you back, but it seemed you had lost your bearings for your hand only slammed air. And then there was light, and you realized it was Cordelia, only Cordelia, sitting up with her eyes wide with fear and worry, and there was nothing, no necklace around your neck.

You had one leg still on the bed, the other dangling out, and your nails had clawed so hard at your chest that the skin was red and scratched.

“Y/N are you alright? What happened?”

You ran a shaky hand through your hair, avoiding Cordelia’s eyes. Her hand that was holding your arm slid up to your shoulder to pull you towards her, but you resisted, trying to blink back the tears that were burning your eyes, humiliation and fear battling to take possession of your brain.

“Hey,” Cordelia called, her voice gentler now. You felt the mattress dip as she moved closer to you. Her warmth pressed against you. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”

“It was nothing.” Your voice was too small. You closed your eyes and squeezed them tight. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

Cordelia let out a sigh. Gingerly, she pulled you back into bed. This time, you let her. But you were still too terrified to lie down, so you sat with your back against the headboard, one hand still pressed against your chest, your breathing still too fast, too shallow. Cordelia hummed, rested one hand on your thigh.

“Bad dream?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head. Your throat was too tight.

“I woke up and I couldn’t – “ you croaked, tears spilling down your cheeks, your chin trembling as you let out a sob.

“You couldn’t breathe,” Cordelia finished for you. You met her gaze, her eyes so big and brown and shining with tears but so brave, and so kind, and so forgiving.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, hiding your face in your hands. Suddenly it was all too much, the fear, the guilt, the anger that had plagued you for the past few days washing over you like water released from a dam and threatening to carry you away in its force. Your body shook and caved in; but Cordelia’s arms met you, and held you tight.

It took a while for you to calm down. When you eventually did, you lay limp and spent with your body sagging into Cordelia’s. She stroked your back in a circling motion, as she always did when you needed to be comforted.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated in a breath.

“Don’t apologise. I’m the only one to blame. I should – “ Her voice faltered, and you felt her swallow hard. Automatically your hand came up to stroke her cheek in comfort. “I’ve been too busy to even notice you were struggling.”

“I can’t –“ You closed your eyes, clutching at Cordelia’s nightdress. “My brain can’t seem to stop associating Anna with danger.” You paused, swallowed hard. “She could have killed me. She could have killed you.”

“I know.“ Cordelia inhaled deeply and dropped a kiss on your head. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “I can’t kick her out. She hasn’t done anything wrong since she’s been with us, and she has no home, nowhere else to go. She’s just coming to terms with her powers. I don’t…” She shook her head, bit her lip and pulled away to look into your eyes. Hers were big and watery and desperate. “I don’t know what to do,” she finished in a breath.

Something in her eyes, something in that confession – the helplessness, perhaps, that was so unlike her – made your heart roar in protest. You thought you could take a lot of things in this world, but this seemed to draw the line: there was no way on Earth, Heaven or Hell you’d be the one to paint that look on Cordelia’s face – your brave, kind, sunlit Cordelia.

You cupped her face, and when you next spoke your voice surprised you both. It was firm and confident and coated in a newfound determination that chased the demons out of the room. “You don’t have to do anything. You’re right, we can’t kick her out.” You tried for a smile. “So I’ll get a grip on myself and get over this.”

You tried to stop avoiding Anna Morgana. You sat next to her at breakfast, initiated a conversation at lunch, laughed at a joke she said at dinner. It sounded and looked too fake, but at least it was a first. You felt too nauseous to sleep that night, so you stayed up in the living room to watch movies. A little after midnight Cordelia joined you, carrying a blanket and two pillows. She snuggled up to you without a word, rested her head on your shoulder and made some sleepy comments about the movie. You fell asleep within the next half hour, lulled by Cordelia’s soft breathing.

The following days were scary, and some too hard when you felt like giving up and fleeing the city. Anxiety couldn’t be reasoned with. But Cordelia seemed to be everywhere with you, lingering in a corner of the room where you and Anna Morgana had a conversation, handing you a cup of coffee in the kitchen when you and Anna Morgana said good-morning, resting a hand soothingly on the small of your back when one time you considered wrapping your own hands around Anna Morgana’s neck and choke her for revenge.

On a Friday afternoon two weeks later, you and Anna Morgana went to get tattoos together. She held your hand during the entire session. Later that day as you met Cordelia in a corridor (dressed in one of her beautiful long floral dresses, stealing all the lights and colours from the sunset), you waved your arm in front of her face with a giddy smile and she gently grabbed your hand, flashing you a grin. The look on her face grew from amused to surprised to moved. When her eyes met yours, they were shining with love and tears.

“A lion’s heart,” you said softly, smiling down at the tattoo on your wrist, then back up at her. “It’s the meaning of your name, it’s what you have, it’s what you gave me.”

Cordelia bit her lip, gave a teary laugh and kissed you passionately in full view of everyone (she freaked out about it later, of course, and held an emergency meeting with the older girls during which Madison lost her cool and cried out, “surprise, bitch, everyone fucking knew”).

On the first day of summer you were awakened by a soft knock on your door.

You groaned, pressed your face closer to Cordelia’s chest as she stirred. Her skin was warm and soft and smelled like safety. You planted a lazy kiss between her breasts.

Another knock, louder. You opened your eyes groggily, and were met with the sight of pale skin, freckles sprayed over the swell of Cordelia’s breasts, a strand of blond hair curling just below her collarbone. Your mouth watered and something excited fizzed in your stomach.

“Your room,” Cordelia grumbled sleepily as another knock sounded.

You considered ignoring the goddamn intruder to worship your Supreme instead, but Cordelia – ever the responsible one – poked your knee with hers. You lifted your head, meaning to scowl, but her eyes were closed, a lazy smirk spreading all over her beautiful, messy morning face.

With a groan you got up, your legs heavy with sleep. You snorted as Cordelia mumbled, “Being the Supreme means I get to have nice boobs,” – because of course she knew exactly what was in your mind.

You opened the door with a rough “What?”

Anna Morgana flashed you a shy smile. She was dressed in a black lace blouse, black pleated skirt, and her hair was braided with pink flowers and sunkissed by the early rays slipping through the window.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said with another shy smile. “I thought you’d be up by now.”

Her gaze slid sideways and stared at something behind you. You pulled the door closer to you.

“I thought you’d be alone,” Anna Morgana went on. Her eyes met yours, amused. You tried to glare, but a smile betrayed you.

“I come bearing a gift,” Anna Morgana announced. She extended both her hands. In the middle of them sat a small rectangular box that looked way too familiar. Something unpleasant rose in your chest. You glanced up at Anna Morgana worriedly, but she nodded encouragement.

“Come on, open it.”

You’d rather not. You’d really, really rather not. Why was it suddenly too hard to breathe? For a second you were about to slam the door in Anna Morgana’s face. But then from behind you came the sound of ruffling sheet, of a warm body stretching in a lazy summer morning light, the sun bright and shining and still going strong, still welcoming every new day.

With a shaky hand you opened the box and lifted up the thin, delicate moonstone necklace. Your heart was pounding, and the room was too hot.

“It matches the colour of your eyes,” you heard Anna Morgana say. “And this one won’t try to strangle you.”

“It’s beautiful,” came Cordelia’s voice. One of her arms slipped around your waist and drew you close to her. Your body relaxed. You glanced up at her for courage, like plants stretch towards the sun for life.

You managed to offer Anna Morgana a smile. “Thank you,” you said, your fingers closing around the necklace.

Cordelia’s fingers playfully tickled your hip and your thigh bumped hers in retaliation, just as something in your chest you had not really known was there loosened and took flight and disappeared out of the window to melt in the summer heat.

#ahs imagines #ahs #american horror story #cordelia goode x reader #cordelia foxx x reader #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #cordelia goode #cordelia foxx #fics

202 notes · View notes

inessencedevided · 4 years

Text

There's been a lot of cql/mdzs atla-au posts going around lately and I need to add my take.

Because I think a lot could be done with Wei Ying as the avatar.

Imagine the story goes similarly as in canon. He is the son of traveling benders. Maybe Cangse-Sanren is a firebender and Wei Changse a waterbender. They get killed on some mission and he gets taken in by his father's old friend and leader of the Yunmeng water tribe. (This reminds me a lot of kyoshi's backstory, too.) He raises him a long his own children, his daughter who takes to healing more than fighting, and his son who likes nothing more than fighting.

Wei Ying already showed signes of being a waterbender, so they train him, even though he is the son of a former servant. He is, of course, more talented than any other of their students, even Jiang Cheng. Madam Yu still hates him for it.

At some point, they let all the children of the sect take the Avatar test. He passes. Occurs, they don't tell him until he is 16, so he doesn't know. Madam Yu dies though and her hatred for him for upstanding her son only grows. But Wei Ying is happy and loves them, much like in canon and, much like in canon, he is also convinced that he is deeply indebted to him and always brings more trouble than he is worth.

When they tell him he is the avatar on his 16th birthday, he is shocked and scared of his responsibility, but doesn't show it. He laughs it off and tells everyone he is glad because that means he can see the world and doesn't have to annoy madam yu anymore. He only shows cracks to his cheerful facade when they tell him that he has to leave the very next day. That means he will miss Jiang Cheng's birthday. When he tells Jiang Cheng's this, he gets angry and tells Wei Ying that clearly he is very important now and why not run off to the other sects, see if they will put up with him. He refuses to say goodbye after that, so it's just jiang yanli and Jiang fengmian seeing him off.

He goes to king Nie first who is the most renowned earth bending master of their time. He is unyielding and harsh, but unbelievably fond of his younger brother, who mostly uses his bending to sculp intricate and detailed statues. Wei Ying likes him instantly.

Next is fire. He doesn't like the fire lord who greets him and treats him like he is royalty himself, but in a way that makes Wei Ying's skin crawl. He does like the shy boy in his group lessons and his older sister. Wei Ying is good at firebending, even though it should be his natural enemy. Maybe it's his mother's side showing itself though.

Then of course, to complete his training, he needs to learn air-bending. He gets to Gusu and immediately dislikes it there. They are monks and they live like it, too. There are rules regulating every waking moment and the sleeping ones too and he vows to break at least half of them. By now he us 20 and he'll be damned if he lets himself be bossed around like he's 12 again.

He is greeted by their unusually young leader and his uncle and brother. He expects the uncle to be his teacher, but no. Lan Xichen explains that the honor of training the Avatar will go to the youngest air bender to ever become a master, his brother, Lan Zhan.

Okay, Wei Ying thinks, he can live with that. At least a teacher close to his own age should be fun, right?

Wrong!

Lan Zhan is strict, reticent, unyielding and punishes him for every single infringement of the 3000+ rules. He scolds Wei Ying for not taking the enormous responsibility of being the avatar more seriously. He never smiles and never praises him with more than a "passable".

But he is a challenge. One he is good! The best opponent in a fight Wei Ying has had since he was 14. And there is something so fun at making him react in even the slightest way! Also, his ears blush when he is angry and it's cute!

The first time, Wei Ying uses something other than air bending in their training fights, Lan Zhan is furious (Undisciplined!). But tge second time he grots his teeth and fights, really fights Wei Ying. He holds his own again a 3/4s-trained avatar for more than 30 minutes until Wei Ying let's him get swallowed by a whole in the ground that he than seals with a thick layer of ice that will take him way to long to slice open with air bending.

After that, their relationship evolves. It's more of a mutual rivalry, rather than just Wei Ying needling his air bending teacher until he snaps. After a few months, once Wei Ying has progressed beyond the basics (he can fly now! He loves flying! How can the Lans be so serious all the time? They can fly!!!), Lan Zhan introduces him to musical air-bending. Through bending, they can use the sounds to heal and to hurt, amplify them at will or direct them to a specific direction. Lan Zhan demonstrates some techniques on his guqin and then plays a song, though he refuses to tell Wei Ying its meaning.

Wei Ying picks a dixi. He takes to music like a fish to water and soon he is declared a fully trained air bender. His last night in Gusu is when it happens. News reaches them that Yunmeng is under attack from the Wen sect, who have been annexing more minor territoires for years. By the time Wei Ying gets there Lan Zhan at his side, Lotus Peer is burned to the ground. They barely get Jiang Cheng and Jiamg Yanli out, helped by Wei Ying's old friend, Wen Ning. They make it Wen Qing, who takes one look at Lan Zhan and tells him to go because Gusu is next.

(The wens knew where the avatar was abd where he wasn't abd chose their attacks accordingly)

Lan Zhan rushes back (alone. Wei Ying has brother to get back from the brink of death) but he us too late, too. Cloud Recesses is burned, his father dead, his brother missing and he is taken prisoner.

The war happens almost like in canon. The other heirs are taken hostage and given lessons as to how to behave towards their occupiers. They escape through the stupidity of Wen Chao.

I don't think that there'd be a burial mounts though, nor an equivalent to the list golden core. you can take someone's bending but i want Wei Ying to remain the avatar because:

In his desperation to beat the seemingly almighty Wen and his grieve for the Jiangs who took him in, he devices a plan. A) he goes to Lan Zhan and asks him if musical cultivation might help him to learn how to control the avatar state. He says they can try. They do try and after a while, Wei Ying reaches that state. And B) he rensacks the world for scrolls on blood cultivation.

When they advance on nightless City, he is ready. No one kniws his plan. Even Lan Zhan only knows of his having learned to control the avatar state. He needs the element of surprise and he needs it when he stavds in front of Wen Ruohan.

So he waits. By the time he stands face to face with Wen Ruohan and his army, the floor us littered with corpses.

Wei Ying, in front of his brother, Lan Zhan, everyone goes into the avatar state and with the power of all his former incarnations, bebds the blood of every single corpse, as well as every single Wen soldier to turn on Wen Ruohan and then each other. It's a massacre.

When he comes to it again, there is silence. And then cheers. Everyone cheers for him, even though blood bending has veen outlawed for ages. He won them their war though.

Everyone cheers, everyone but Lan Zhan.

They fight after that, a lot.

(I helped you enter the avatar state. You could have died! - my problem, not yours! - You desecrated the dead! What about their spirits? - what about their spirits? I'm the avatar, i can deal with them! - the avatar state is the sacret link to your past lifes ... - My past lifes, yeah Lan Wangji! Let me decide what to do with them. - Wei Wuxian! - Lan Wangji.)

They part on bad terms more often than not.

So when knews reaches that the Jins, a notoriously rich noble family in some corner of the earth kingdom, has taken Wen citizens, civilians mostly, for slave labour, he goes alone. He is furious, more so when he realises that his friends are among them. He enters the avatar stare involuntarily and has the blood of all present Jin soldiers boil in their veins. Wen Ning is almost dead, but he uses his bending to circulate his blood in his body until he can get him to his sister. She is in Lanling after all, having married their heir.

Now because I love Jiang Yanli, in this au, she plays a bigger role. She saves Wen Ning and shows them out of Lanling.

They flee to a part of Qishan that was all but destroyed during the war and then used as a mass grave for the Wens wei ying himself killed, the ones whose spirits Lan Zhan had warned him about.

And the workd turns on it's Avatar.

The avatar is supposed to bring Peace, stand for balance and justice. Not choose a handful of people to protect at all costs.

But Wei Ying thinks, this is just! The world is full of greedy rich people trying to outdo each other for power, so isn't protecting those who suffer from it through no fault of their own justice?

Now, this could go two ways. Either, in a plot more similar to mdzs, the spirits Wei Ying disturbed abd that he is now living on top of, betray him when the rest of the world finally comes to ambush him (cue Lan Zhan trying g to protect him abd falling from grace himself. And the eternally yearning because he list his chance. the avatar is reborn ofc and Lan Zhan vows to protect them because Wei Ying is still a part of them, but they aren't Wei Ying. They are a completely different person and Lan Zhan never loves again.) DEPRESSING

So, let's go the atla route. Wei Ying goes through a spiritual journey, similar to Korra, gets the Wen remnants rehabilitated, makes the right people see sense and basically does the whole Avatar shitck of first finding peace within himself in order to bring peace to the world. *waves hand*

He confesses to Lan Zhan. They adopt A Yuan. Cue kiss in front of a glowing sunset and "The End" displayed to soaring music.

Admittedly, the second ending needs more flashing out, but it's late,so if anyone wants to have a go, feel free :D

#this got way longer than intended #another thing that fits? all avatars are bisexual i don't make the rules #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #lan zhan #wei ying #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #atla au #the untamed au #mdzs au #long post #sophie writes #barely ...

466 notes · View notes

jaythelittlegay · 3 years

Text

Photographer Megumi x Model Yuji AU

➳ CAPTURED HEART

Click, click, click.

"Alright, these seem pretty decent. You can take a break while I go through the pictures." Megumi informed the peachy haired model as he lazily made his way to the laptop, loosely gripping the camera from its sling strap as it slightly shook with each step blue eyed took.

"Thank you for your hard work, Megumi!" Yuji smiled at the photographer, his loud but cheerful voice echoing in the empty studio.

"Yeah, it's my job after all." Megumi reminded while he connected his camera to the laptop before he continued talking dryly, pressing his lips to a thin line to suppress the forming smile. "We still have photoshoot to do, so please make sure to be here within 45 minutes."

"Don't worry! I got this~" Yuji laughed, leaving the studio to get some food suitable for his diet.

He didn't really do dieting quite often since he worked out ever day to keep his body shape; but, this time was an exception, due to the criticism he received after the hiatus he had taken. Yuji was hurt by the comments he saw, but knowing that famous people had no time to relax from society's eyes, he shrugged it off. He didn't hide a lot from media as well; he was indeed one of the most honest and genuine models you could see. He had tons of articles about rescuing or helping people, another reason his popularity heightened. Which is why Megumi was take aback when he first saw Yuji, as he thought the model would drop the nice and polite act.

Megumi chose the pictures he liked, moving them to another folder to discuss it with the model once he came back. Megumi truly felt weird about the model: he actually had never taken pictures of models.

The young professional photographer was known for his photobooks consisting of unique and creative scenery, contemporary works as well as each of them had different concepts, usually related to feelings. He had gotten job requests from models all around the world only to reject them all that he didn't do portraits nor any photoshoot related to humans.

Models would fake the emotions Megumi wanted to portray in his photobook and he detested the idea of having an artificial expressions in his works. Until, Yuji had contacted him. He was going to reject him once he saw the email with Yuji's portfolio attached to it. He didn't even want to check the portfolio however the caramel eyed boy's email had caught him off guard. He apparently was a big fan of Megumi. He had asked whether it would be alright to, at least, watch Megumi work even if the photographer refused to work with him. Megumi got curious of the boy and the moment he checked his portfolio, he was stunned. For the first time, he found someone who could reflect the emotions. Those poses and expressions...just a touch away. Megumi could feel what Yuji did. The boy was a pure artwork in the photographer's eyes, although, he refused to say it out loud.

After their first photoshoot was published and got a lot of attention from the public, Megumi lost his interest in photography. It was confusing and weird. He couldn't create emotions through sceneries anymore; he felt useless as though everything had lost meaning. Yuji on the other hand would always contact him like a friend and blabber about random topics comfortably with him. It almost felt like one sided talk he was having with Megumi but both of them were fine with that. Unadmitted, Megumi enjoyed his company. His stories were intriguing for the latter. However, the lack of motivation in Megumi wasn't unnoticed. Yuji was so concerned about Megumi that he canceled the show he had and visited the sleep deprived Megumi, He forced the words out of Megumi's mouth, he had already created a soft spot in Megumi.

"You have to open up so we can find the cause, Fushiguro!"

"There's nothing to talk about, really." Megumi sighed, feeling guilty once he saw the concern filling Yuji's eyes.

"Are you sure? Are you being honest with me, right now?" Megumi stayed silent, not daring to stare at him. Yuji gripped his hands and pulled him closer, lifting his head by his chin with the other hand.

"Don't hide anything; your face is saying it all." The photographer felt his cheeks heating up as Yuji stared only and only at his deep ocean eyes and caressing his cheek.

"I'm sorry...I just can't find...any motivation to work. That's the problem." Megumi blurted, defeated by the puppy look Yuji f=gave him. Indeed Yuji already knew his place in Megumi's life.

"Hmm...must be hard on you...but don't you worry! I have an idea!" Yuji offered to model for him in order to find what was causing his distress.

Megumi's mood lightened up the moment they started the shooting. He was having fun taking his pictures, as Yuji radiated happiness through his angelic smile plastered on his face. Yuji was really talented with helping people; he was just like a medicine. He wasn't the smartest but his ideas always had a solution underneath them. Or maybe Megumi was exaggerating it. Either way his impact was really big on Megumi and people around him. A trait to be jealous of; not something Megumi wanted on himself but wanted Yuji to be al cheery next to him. He found it quite ridiculous but he couldn't hide the thought from his actions.

"You seem pretty happy and motivated to me!" Yuji laughed, looking through the pictures with Megumi.

"It's because you are with me, dummy." Megumi scoffed and slightly pushed Yuji.

Realizing Yuji was the only thing he wanted to capture with his precious camera, he only worked with him to a degree he released several photobooks which only included Yuji's pictures. Their bonds growing tighter and closer, Megumi felt as though he was incomplete without the model in his life.

"I think this picture looks good! What do you think?" Yuji exclaimed, pointing at a picture where his lips are curved upwards more than usual, shining like a sun.

"No." Megumi frowned, moving the picture to another folder.

"Eh?! Why?" Yuji asked, confused.

"Because I don't want to share how you shine when you smile with others. This is mine." Megumi proudly said, forgetting about who was next to him.

"Err, I mean y-you don't look...good here...haha..." Megumi raised his voice as he realized what he had said but it was too late to erase the smug smirk plastered on the model's face.

"Well, I'm all yours." Yuji open his arms, as if proving his own point before embracing Megumi, refusing to let go but the photographer didn't protest, instead, he came closer and hugged him back.

They never confessed any feelings, just to keep whatever relationship they had, scared of being rejected or maybe they were already aware of what was going on.

Megumi and Yuji would visit each other frequently, meeting in either of their houses, Megumi bringing him lunch during his breaks, partying and going on dates without admitting it was a date; otherwise why would you buy flowers for a friend?

Megumi smiled at the memories flooding at the back of his head as he sighed, checking the time; Yuji was, again, late. Megumi tilted his head once he heard the door being unlocked. He sighed and stood up, approaching the door.

"It's been an hour and a half. Any excuses?" Megumi sternly said, trying to hide his smile as he waited for another adventure that happen while Yuji was on his way. He would always find a person to help and prioritize it more than his actual job. He would totally forget about it and if his manager got mad at him he would defend himself by saying 'They needed my help.'

"Well...not really, hehe sorry." Yuji awkwardly chuckled, scratching the back of his head with his right hand and hiding the left behind his body.

"What was it this time, then?" Megumi watched the boy push him inside and kick the door shut as he moved closer to him.

"It's your birthday, Megumi." Yuji smiled at the photographer who had forgotten about it. Yuji handed Megumi the blue roses and wrapped the blue yang necklace around Megumi's neck as Yuji was already wearing the yin on his own neck. He continued:

"Aside from giving you a gift and eating a cake, how about I take you on an actual date to make us official?" Yuji pulled frozen photographer closer to himself by the waist, locking lips. He held him firmly yet so gentle as if he was scared to break the latter. Megumi wrapped his hands around Yuji's neck and kissed him back, tears of joy staining his porcelain face. Megumi opened his mouth giving enough space for the model to get in. Yuji couldn't get enough of the soft cloudy lips biting his, leaving traces of pleasure. Time lost its meaning for them, they were unable to see anything but themselves. Nothing mattered if they could be together in this world. But, they had to break their affectionate kiss once they were both out of breath.

"Sure, why not?" Megumi laughed, accepting the offer as he hugged Yuji one more time.

posted this on ao3 but also wanted to share it here! enjoy :)

#jujtsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi fushiguro #yuji #jjk megumi #jjk anime #itadori yuuji #itafushi #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jujutsu kaisen imagines #itadori x fushiguro #itadori yuji x fushiguro megumi #jujutsu kaisen au #jjk au #jjkdaily

57 notes · View notes

kmikaelsonimagines · 3 years

Text

The 1: A Kol Mikaelson Imagine

Request from Anon: The 1 please xx

I didn’t realise until I read over this, but there’s a bit of me in this one, in that what Kol feels is very similar to my own experiences. If you guys ever need to talk about anything similar to the content in this imagine, please don’t hesitate to pop me a message. Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x

Want to hear the song? Find a link to it just below:

The 1

I'm doing good, I'm on some new shit Been saying "yes" instead of "no" I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn't though

Kol had been doing well for the first time since it happened. It had only taken a few months, but he was finally beginning to feel some level of peace. He knew that he would never be the person he was again, never feel entirely complete, not after what had happened, but he was starting to feel almost contented.

It was what she would have wanted, always moaning at him for being too moody whenever things didn’t go quite the way he wanted them to. He smiled at the memory, seeing her faint outline standing in front of him.

It wasn’t really her, he knew that, but it was better than nothing. Better than being alone with his thoughts, better than letting himself spiral into a deep dark void where he was reminded of all his mistakes, self-loathing swallowing him up.

He refused to let that happen, not again, knowing that if he fell down that hole again, there would be no-one to help him out of it. No-one had the first time, after all, his family either hiding and pretending it didn’t happen, or threatening him if he stepped a foot out of line.

It was why he had left Mystic Falls, not being able to face them, not that they would have missed him.

But now a few months on, he realised that he needed to go back. He took a breath before opening the front door, stepping into the house where it happened.

The house where Y/N had died.

I hit the ground running each night I hit the Sunday matinée You know the greatest films of all time were never made

The first thing he saw was the book on the armchair. Spine broken, pages old and worn, leather bookmark sticking out of them. He knew that book, knew its smell, its touch, the way it made the reader smile.

It was Y/N’s, something he had obviously left behind when he had taken her things and moved them out of the Mikaelson mansion. Someone was reading it, and as Kol inhaled its scent, hoping that Y/N’s had lingered, he felt anger bubble up as hers was swallowed by that of his older brother.

Elijah.

Kol tried to drown out the image of his sibling with one of Y/N, of her telling him just how this was the greatest book of all time, how a film should be made out of it. He had promised her that one day, when that movie was made, he would take her to see it on a Sunday afternoon, and she had smiled, her eyes lighting up as she kissed his cheek.

Kol pulled the bookmark out of the pages, and pocketed the book. He would take it home with him when he was done here and leave Elijah with the ever damning thought that he would never find out what happened at the end of the novel.

Just like Y/N would never see that movie. I guess you never know, never know And if you wanted me, you really should've showed And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow And it's alright now

“You’re back.” Kol was snapped out of his thoughts of Y/N by the voice of his sister. Turning, he looked at Rebekah, her eyes so full of sadness and hope that maybe her brother would stay this time.

“Not for long. Just need to pick up some things, and then I’ll be gone.” His words were clipped, and he turned his back on his sister as he walked towards where his bedroom was. No, not his bedroom. Their bedroom. His and Y/N’s.

“Kol.”

“What, Rebekah? What could you possibly want?”

“How are you?”

Kol shook his head. He knew his sister cared, knew that she was trying. But it was too little, too late. If she wanted him to stay in the first place, then maybe she should have tried a little harder all those months ago. Maybe she shouldn’t have sided with Klaus when Kol went on a bloody rampage out of grief, his hybrid brother threatening to dagger him again.

Fucking hypocrite. How many people had died at Klaus’s hands after he had lost someone?

But Kol didn’t say any of that. “Fine.”

He opened up the wardrobe, trying not to look at the bed where he and Y/N had slept.

But we were something, don't you think so? Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool

Kol knew Rebekah was still standing there, watching him as he ran his fingers over Y/N’s clothes. Unlike the book that still rested in his pocket, her scent still lingered, and he resisted the urge to cover himself in it, to wrap each dress, each t-shirt, each jacket around his body.

If he did that, he was sure he would break down, and all his progress would be for nothing.

His gaze turned to a black dress, short feathered sleeves between his fingers as he remembered the day Y/N had worn it. It had been her birthday, he forgot which one, but he remembered how she had leaned over the railings surrounding the pond in the park.

He remembered how she had pulled coins out of her purse and given one to him.

“Make a wish, Kol.”

“You know we could just do this with magic.”

She’d pushed him playfully. “Just throw it in. You can’t tell me your wish otherwise it won’t come true.”

She had said that he couldn’t tell her. It hadn’t stopped him from showing her that night, pushing the dress off her shoulders and her body into the bed behind him.

Kol took the clothes off the hangers and packed them into the box he had brought with him.

And if my wishes came true It would've been you

“Kol, can you just talk to me? Please.”

Kol walked past his sister with that box of Y/N’s clothes, pretending as if she wasn’t there. He hadn’t forgiven her for what had happened those months ago, for siding with his brothers, for acting like Y/N hadn’t even lived in the house.

Kol hadn’t stopped blaming himself for what had happened to her. If only he hadn’t shown her his wish, maybe she would have still been alive. If only he hadn’t whispered it onto her skin, maybe he wouldn’t have had to bury her.

If his wish had come true, Y/N would still be here. If his wish had come true, Kol and Y/N would have been spending the rest of eternity together.

He surveyed the room, patting his pocket to check that her book was still there. It seemed he had everything he needed. Except-

There was a dagger at his back, the point digging into his skin through his coat. He froze, a familiar chill creeping over him. It had been Klaus last time, it had been Klaus almost every time.

He had never thought it would be his sister, never thought it would be Rebekah threatening him.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting you to listen.”

In my defense, I have none For never leaving well enough alone

Kol’s anger grew as Rebekah spoke, and he tried ridiculously hard not to snap.

“I know you’re upset with us, but we’re your family Kol. We were hurting too. We miss her too.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” His voice was flat as he tried to remain calm, tried to keep his defenses up, the way Y/N would want him to. “Are you going to put that bloody dagger down?”

“Not until you agree to forgive us.”

That was it. That was the moment Kol snapped, his rage pouring over him in waves.

“Forgive you? Forgive this family? You must be joking. You’re the reason she’s dead. Klaus thought the best idea would be to put me away, Elijah won’t even show his face, and you’re swanning around in one of her dresses. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I can’t forgive you when you won’t even acknowledge that she’s dead, and that it’s your fault, because this bloody family is too damn obsessed with pride and power, and can never leave things alone.”

“But we’re family, Kol.”

Hearing in Rebekah’s voice that she was off guard, Kol turned and gripped the blade in his hand, yanking it away from his sister. “No, we’re not. Y/N was my family, and you all took that away from me.”

He dropped the knife to the floor and left the house.

But it would've been fun If you would've been the one

Once back in his car, Kol put the box full of Y/N’s clothes on the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel so tightly he thought his knuckles would protrude from his skin. He wanted to scream, but knew that once he did that, it would attract attention and that was the last thing he wanted.

So he took deep breaths, trying desperately to steady himself before he drove home. Whatever home was anymore.

He remembered the book in his pocket, and pulled it out so as not to damage it whilst he drove. He fingered the pages, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he remembered Y/N’s words.

“You’d like it if you just read it, Kol.”

“I’ll wait for the movie.”

Kol smiled, tears welling in his eyes. If there was ever a time to read Y/N’s favourite book, it was now. He opened it up and his breath caught at what was scrawled onto the front page.

Kol,

If you’re reading this, it means you’ve finally listened to my advice.

I love you, and just so you know, you’ve always been the one for me.

Y/N xxx

Kol lifted the book up to his nose, and there it was, the last lingering trace of her scent. He inhaled it, breathing in all he had left of his Y/N.

None of that stopped him from placing his forehead on the steering wheel and crying until his throat was raw.

None of that stopped him from mourning Y/N, the woman who should have been the one.

Masterlist

Folklore Masterlist

#the vampire diaries #tvd #tvd imagine #tvd imagines #the originals #to #the originals imagines #the originals imagine #Kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson imagines #kol mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson x reader #nate buzolic #nate buzz #Nathaniel Buzolic

114 notes · View notes

warmau · 4 years

Text

☆ [nostalgic] summer romance!au haechan happy birthday haechan!! | find others here: johnny

jaemin’s hand is waving in front of your face for a good minute before you come to the realization that he’s even there

you’ve been zoning out - thinking about how this is about to be the start to a very, very, very awkward summer

“our plane leaves in like thirty minutes so we gotta make these goodbyes quick!”

he repeats and you nod, throwing your arms around him a big hug, when you let go - you do the same to jeno and chenle and jisung and renjun

who are all leaving for the summer, going backpacking in some faraway country

you would have gone - but you’re the only one in your friend group who has a summer commitment (working at the boat rental store your parents friends run)

and haechan would have gone too - but he had said something about not handling wilderness all too well, even though other people had the sneaking suspicion he stayed behind on purpose

something about spending this time with you, but you aren’t sure if you believe that

you and haechan, along with the rest of the boys, have been best friends since you can remember

you had become an official member of their little inner circle when you beat them during the middle school sports festival

coming in first in a race and making them all too embarrassed to face each other

since then you’ve all been inseparable and so the idea that haechan would sacrifice a summer of fun with five of your other friends just for you well -

that narrative makes something in your stomach twist, and you don’t know if you like the feeling or not. or maybe, you’re scared of liking it

either way, you and haechan are left outside the airport, watching your best friends disappear into the crowd of people

you zone out again, thinking about these feelings in your gut - thinking about you and haechan, how is it different from you and renjun? or you and jaemin?

you spook a little when haechan puts a hand on your shoulder and asks if you want him to drive back

the first week is better than you expect, but only because you throw yourself into your summer job at the boat rental

its not busy, but you make work for yourself - walking up and down the pier, talking to the owners, washing the windows, anything so that when haechan comes around

all golden, all handsome, all everything he’s ever been - leaning across the counter, playing with the boat brochure, asking if you want to hang out later

you can say, “sorry, ive got to do this other thing and ill be so tired that i just wont be that fun to be around.”

it works twice, three times and then suddenly haechan goes

“i dont care if it’ll be fun, i just want to spend time with you.”

the way he says it is so straightforward. like it is a fact - the way he always speaks.

you find yourself agreeing to meet him out on the dock after your shift before your mind can even convince you otherwise

you get out at around seven, when it is still light out but the shadow of night is slowly and surely creeping in

haechan is leaned against one of the benches, half sitting on it, half still standing

he’s wearing a yellow shirt with a pocket, in the pocket are some wild flowers it looks like he plucked from someone garden or maybe even the side of the road

his hair is in waves, a pretty color like dark cedar that has been speckled with streaks of yellow sunlight

he plays with something on his phone, eyes narrowed in concentration

and you are standing a little bit away, he hasn’t noticed you yet, and the whole reality of the situation hits you like a truck

you’re nervous to be alone with him

so, so very nervous

and those questions that have been waltzing about your head about why you feel this way - what is so different about haechan to you

is the fact that you like him

and not as the best friend who suffered through growing pains with you, who ran home through the rain with you, who spent hours spread out on the carpet of your living room with the sound of video games blasting from the tv and happy laughter from your other friends

you like him as a - as a -

haechan rises when he catches view of you from the corner of his eye.

he slips his phone in his back pocket and comes over to you with a wave and no care in the world

he’s so calm about this because he doesn’t feel the same way. this isn’t as nerve wrenchingly terrorizing to him as it is for me. im going to have to bury these feelings away for this whole summer-

he sees your eyes, wide and contemplating, and stops

in a flash of horror you think he’s read your mind. you’ve been friends for so long that he probably knows how to.

but instead, his hands reach out and take a hold of yours

he tugs you forward and you feel like a baby deer wobbling into his arms

“im going to do something i couldnt have done with all the other guys around.”

he starts

you think you feel a part of your heart rupture

“and if you don’t like it, im giving you full authority to punch me in my face.”

you want to say something, ask him what the hell he’s going on about

when he leans in and kisses you

his body blocks out the view of sun that’s waving its goodbye on the shore of the pier, but in your eyes - which flutter to a close as you kiss him back - you swear you see stars

he’s good at this, is your first thought, which makes the rupture in your heart piece itself back together

and then proceed to fall back apart when you feel him bring your hand up into his hair

when you two break away from each other, it is a little darker and the lights on the pier have flickered on

haechan looks down at you and grins

“your technique could use a little work, but we have all summer to practice.”

he says and you pinch his arm as he feigns a loud ouch!

of course, of all things to say, he says that

but he’s right, that summer you feel like you have all the time in the world.

you start eagerly awaiting the end of work, just to meet up with haechan outside the shop and go walking down the pier or making the ten minute drive to the ice-cream shop that’s plopped in the middle of nowhere on the nearby highway

on your days off you and haechan go to the lake, he splashes water at you and the two of you race through the calm water - just like you do when all your friends are there

but now, once you’re back on land with wet hair and curious hands - you find yourself practically glued to him

kissing on the one towel you brought - getting cooed at by other groups of local teenagers who pass by

haechan starts working for some of the boatmen on the pier, cleaning decks and helping carry equipment

he says he’s doing it just to be closer to you - but it’s also because he wants to shower you in gifts

even if they are mostly paying for fast-food dates, drive-in movies, and gas

although at one point he drops something in your hands when he comes to stop by for lunch

he’s too shy to stick around and see you open it, so he makes an excuse about needing to head back home

and when you open it, you see that it’s a simple silver necklace with a sunflower charm

you put it on and refuse to take it off, even when your mother points out that it might tarnish when you go swimming with it

you do the same for haechan though, you give him all the affection you can manage because even when he’s being all grumpy about it - the reality is his love language is touch

and even when he says he doesnt wanna kiss right now, you find him melting into it five seconds later

you use some of your work money to rent out some fishing equipment and you guys spend some time at the pier trying to reel in food

the local people who know you from your job start asking how things are going with your very handsome boyfriend

and it makes you flush, hand playing nervously with the necklace around your neck

it all seems like a dream, until summer comes dwindling down to a close and you and haechan are in his backyard

your head rested on his arm, his face turned toward you

you’re busy counting his birthmarks, you do it when you’re in this comfortable silence when you remember

sitting up

“what’s wrong?”

“the guys - they’re coming back tomorrow. what are we going to do?”

haechan joins you, pull himself up and throwing an arm around you

you let out a small yelp when he falls back to the grass and you end up with your hands on his chest - his eyes lost in yours

“we’re just going to tell them.”

“but what if they’ll be ma-”

“i don’t care. i love you.”

it’s the first time he’s ever said that - even through these months - he’s never said that

and so you freeze, the summer night air blows a gust of wind that makes you shiver and reminds you both that fall is coming

“i - i love you too.”

he leans up to kiss you and grins a little when he pulls back, hocking his finger around the chain of the necklace

“plus, the look on jaemin’s face is going to be priceless.”

just as expected, it is priceless - even before you and haechan say a word

the five of them come running toward you outside the airport, each with something to say about the trip when chenle points to you and haechan’s hands

“WHAT?”

jaemin exclaims and you try to talk him down, explain what is going on, but he just shakes his head

“WE LEAVE AND SUDDENLY YOU TWO ARE DATING? WHAT ELSE DID I MISS? ALIEN ABDUCTION?”

jeno flicks him, a smile on his face as he turns back to you and haechan with a congratulations

when you look back on that moment years later, you can still remember haechans fingers squeezing yours - your free hand toying with the sunflower charm

but you also remember the sound of jisung and chenle arguing, jaemin prodding about the relationship and jeno trying to fish out souvenirs from his bag

even though everything had changed that summer

somethings had stayed the same

#happy birthday i know its late but our sunflower prince <3333333333 #haechan scenarios #haechan imagines #haechan au #member: haechan #nct sceenarios #nct imagines #nct au #nct dream scenarios #nct 127 scenarios #haechan #sfw #lee donghyuck #donghyuck imagines #donghyuck au

939 notes · View notes

quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years

Text

I Was Good To You

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 4,000 (lol sorry)

Summary: You were good to Bucky

Warnings: Angst

A/N: I really love the song “you were good to me” by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler (actually they have a lot of good songs, together and separately). But I felt like this song needs to be read from the opposite perspective literally every time I hear it, hence this fic. It’s a little different than what I have written so far, so I hope you still enjoy it! I put some of the original lyrics in the fic as quote-block format; it’s mostly in the reader’s POV and I’m sorry in advance for having to do Bucky like this – it just fits the song.

...

It was a fairly new relationship. And while you and he were both equally cautious about taking said new relationship too fast, it couldn’t be helped that the two of you were inseparable. From the day you met, he had been invested in you – your life. He claims it was because he was frozen for so long; because he didn’t know how to live “normally” in the twenty-first century. He went from World War II to Hydra to today. While that made perfect sense to you, a part of you always wondered if it was something more. Sure, Bucky had never had the chance to (and likely will never the chance to) live mundanely. He won’t ever work a 9 to 5 job, he won’t spend nights cooking and washing dishes, he won’t be doing lawn maintenance, working on a dingey car, or grocery shopping (and then forgetting your grocery list at home). You thought that he may have attached himself so quickly to you so he could partly experience the normalcy of civilian life. Not that you were complaining.

He often spent nights at your house, sleeping in your too-small bed, sitting on your countertop, and lounging on your loveseat. Waking up next to him was heaven. If you weren’t securely wrapped in his arms, head laying on his bulky torso, then he was using your chest as a pillow, the weight of him almost making it impossible to breathe. But that extra weight was calming; he may have even been the weighted blanket that has been sitting in your Amazon cart for well over four months. You’d wake up from an uninterrupted night of bliss, fingers running through his long hair, Bucky refusing to get up until you promised pancakes.

But then, three months into it, he left. Its not like he had a choice, you reminded yourself, its his job. And you were well aware of it – he made you aware of it. He told you he would be gone for three weeks. And that’s fine; you could spare less than a month of your life for the good of the rest of the world? It felt almost selfish to think that way. He wasn’t yours; he had to save the world, he belonged to the world – to himself.

So, you tried to keep yourself busy to distract yourself. But there really wasn’t much to do; hobbies you once enjoyed felt exhaustive and boring. The issue is you used to do everything with him: eat, work, eat, shower, sleep. Now it’s eat alone, work alone, eat alone, shower alone, sleep alone; each task a glaring reminder how desolate it was.

Floating, but I feel like I’m dying

Your routine felt like nothing – it just felt empty, the way that it lacked conversation, playfulness, fun, it lacked him. Nothing, in fact, felt real. You walked around the neighborhood and it felt like a fever dream, like you were gliding along the sidewalks. Not a single thought roamed through your mind, just the absence of what used to be. The days always went by painstakingly slow, but every Friday night you wondered how the week had gone by so quickly.

Your friends invited you out on the weekend, and while you mostly said no, they made sure to drag you out a couple times. The company was honestly welcome, it just felt like an empty effort to get dressed up and go to the bar when you really would rather be there (or home – in bed) with someone else. But by the time your friends got you in a routine to go out, Bucky came back home to you.

Months went by while the two of you were attached at the hip, smiles never leaving either of your mouths.

You woke up one morning to a heavy figure sprawled across half of your naked body. Yawning and trying your best to inhale a breath with his chest laying directly on top of yours, you flexed your arms and legs straight out, cracking a few joints that had been overused just a few hours ago. Bucky’s eyes popped open, his blue iris’s peering into your own. He rubbed an eye-booger away with the palm of his hand and started off the morning with “I have to leave tonight.”

You were confused and you knew he could read it on your face. “No good morning?” You joked haphazardly, trying your best not to blurt out every thought racing across your mind at that moment – the main one being what the fuck?

“’M sorry, baby,” he mumbled, still half asleep, pushing his face into the corner of your neck, planting a wet kiss to your shoulder, then your collarbone, then your jaw.

“How long do you think you’ll be gone for?” Your fingers traced up and down his back, nicking on the scratches you left last night; nearly healed but you knew they were there.

He hummed and lifted his head to press a kiss to your lips. “Couple weeks.” Another kiss. “I’m not sure.” That being said, you didn’t bring it up again. It was better to spend the day binging pancakes and watching movies in bed than discussing it any further.

I know it’s easier to run

After everything I’ve done

It was finally time for him to leave. After all your distraction kisses didn’t work. As soon as the clock hit 8:00 pm, he stood, despite you feigning sleep beside him. He leaned over you on the bed and held a head to your cheek, then pushed the hair from your face. You opened your eyes, holding his hand in yours. He stood there for a moment that felt like an eternity, just watching each other with sad eyes. “I wish I could stay,” he murmured.

You nodded, unable to find your voice. As he straightened back up, you stood next to him, pulling a shirt on and following him to the door. After opening the door, he cupped your face with both his hands and pulled you close to him. “See you soon, okay, doll?” If this was his best reassurance tactic, it wasn’t very good. You met his mouth in an open-mouthed kiss, tongues swiping over each other, exchanging the words you couldn’t find earlier. Slowly, he kissed you back, releasing a long breath as he pulled away.

And then you did it.

“I love you.”

And then you regretted it.

He stared back at you, eyes scanning over the whole of your face: faltering smile, eyebrows drawn together, eyes suddenly glazed with worry.

“Goodbye, (Y/N).”

He turned and shut the door without looking back or saying another word. He really left. He really ran away.

Tears welled up into your eyes. Like that morning, the only thought you could process: what the fuck? albeit, this time, it was a little angrier than before. What did that mean? You immediately assumed he was done with you. But the more you laid on your bed, sobbing your eyes out into your pillow, the more that didn’t make sense. There’s no way he wanted to breakup with you – he was so happy before he left. Maybe he just didn’t love you? Maybe he loved you but he just wasn’t ready to say it? And honestly, knowing Bucky, it was most likely the last option. He enjoyed spending every waking moment with you doing the most absolute boring tasks; you don’t just suffer like that if you don’t love that person.

Then again, despite agreeing to take this relationship slow, he surely did not have a problem basically moving into your house and sleeping with you (which you would’ve assumed to be a much greater step than saying “I love you,” considering he was from 1917 where usually the order is reversed).

All that worrying seemed to be in vain. He returned to you no later than 13 days after.

You pulled open to your front door only to find a sheepish-looking Bucky on the other side. His hands were tucked into his pockets, shoulders shrugged unusually high as he stared directly at the ground. But as soon as that door swung open and he saw you standing bewildered on the other side, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you off the ground against his chest. He hummed softly into your collarbone, “I missed you.”

And suddenly your heart began beating out of your chest. You hands found his hair and you gently untangled the knots, while you shut your eyes and breathed in his earthy scent. So, you’d been right: Bucky was just weird. You didn’t want to relive that scene from two weeks ago, instead opting to relax in his arms. “I missed you, too.”

Growing, but I’m just growing tired

Now I’m worried for my soul

And I’m still scared of growing old

As time went on, him leaving became more frequent. You couldn’t help the fact that they were getting a lot of new leads. Honestly, you couldn’t be more grateful to have Bucky. Not only is he the light of your life, but invariantly the same for everyone else in the world. His job was to protect people and you couldn’t imagine the world if he wasn’t off doing what he did so well. But they became more frequent and longer. Lately, it had felt like the two of you had spent more time apart than together.

Laying on the couch, his cheek resting atop of your chest, his torso and hips nestled between your legs, you broke the calm silence. “So next Friday’s my birthday,” you mumbled.

He chuckles in response, tilting his head up to meet your gaze. “Is this your way of reminding me to get you a gift? Because don’t worry, doll, I already got you something.” He winked and set his cheek back to his original position, softly shutting his eyes as you curled a lock of his hair around your finger.

“No,” you giggle back, rolling your eyes to yourself. “I want to take a trip. I think we should get away for the weekend.” You released the strand of hair, instead running your hand over the back of his neck. “What do you think?”

He sits up immediately, no disregard for your hands, and shakes his head. “(Y/N), you know that I can’t. What if they need me and I’m not here?”

You bite your lip, quickly searching for something to say. And what you blurt out actually happens to be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said. “Aren’t there like a million Avengers? I think you can take one weekend off.”

Now he rolls his eyes and scoffs. “(Y/N), you can’t be serious. You know it doesn’t work like that.” And at this point, you’re not sure if he’s talking about the Avengers not working like that or if your relationship doesn’t work like that – after all, he still never said “I love you” back. Not when he came home that time, not when he left for the next mission, not for your one-year anniversary, and not after the fact he realized that date occurred while he was away on work.

“I know, but – ”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts, his tone harsh. “But no.” The way his jaw sets and eyes narrow at you doesn’t make you think he’s very sorry.

Staring back at him, you nod, getting up from the couch before he can see the tears well up in your eyes (for the record, he saw them). “I’m tired, Buck. Goodnight.” And with that, you scurried off to your bedroom. You locked the door and fell onto the bed, silently letting the tears fall down your cheeks. You buried your face into your pillow, throwing his against the wall, the smell of your bed – that smelled like him – pissing you off beyond belief.

Was this going to be your life? Constantly leaving, never saying “I love you” when everything he does clearly shows that he’s in love with you. There as a point in your life when you thought men were confusing. But, damn, James Barnes is a whole new story.

He clearly got the message that he’d be sleeping on the couch that night. He didn’t disturb you for the rest of the night – he didn’t even try. Could he hear you sobbing in your room? You could only assume yes. But that clearly didn’t make a difference to him.

But that’s okay. You’ve learned how to console yourself, how to calm yourself down during a panic attack, how to make the tears stop on your own.

That would become your reality. Would that be your future? Bucky talked about the future – quite a lot, actually, especially for being the one who won’t say “I love you.” He wanted to settle down, he wanted the future that was taken away from him years ago: to eventually settle down, raise little babies, grow old with you. He surely liked to talk about it, but never show it. There had to be some way he could ask Steve to take a weekend off. If he was reluctant to do it now, would he ever? Or would you just live in the shadows of his life, tying down the house alone, raising babies alone, growing old alone.

The next morning, you woke up to Bucky next to you in bed. He stroked your hair until you opened your eyes (that you could only assumed were swollen and red). He had apologized for the night before, pleaded for you to understand, and even gave you your birthday gift early. While you decided to forgive him, for the sake of the universe, you still couldn’t bury the hatchet completely. You weren’t going to show it, but what you were thinking about was important, and dammit you were justified in asking yourself those questions. (Even more justified to ask him those questions, but it was just never the right time).

And I’m so used to letting go

But I don’t want to be alone

One day, months later, your grandfather had passed away. It came as quite a shock, and it took you a few hours to even process the fact that he was gone. You’d been through countless calls with other family members and friends checking in on you. And while everyone meant well, every call resulted with you in a rush to hang-up, falling into a fit of sobs as you ended each call.

He had basically raised you since you were born and the fact that he had been ripped away from you so suddenly had burned you even more. Despite how sad you were, however, you had to be glad that you were able to fall apart in Bucky’s arms. Holding you tightly, reassuring you yet never telling you you’re overreacting. As someone who had been around loss his whole life, he definitely understood and thought it best to let you express your feelings earnestly.

That’s why, when Steve Rogers called his phone later that night, you couldn’t help but express your feelings very earnestly.

“Bucky, no, you’re not going.” You were sitting up in bed, in the middle of the night, darkness swallowing the room as Bucky stood to dress, not even bothering to turn on the lamp beside him.

“(Y/N), I have to. Please, don’t make this hard, baby.” His hand reached out to touch your cheek if only for a moment before he continued to dress and gather his things.

Tears fell down your cheeks freely, your voice coming out cracked as you begged him once more. It might have been pitiful, from his eyes, you’d assume. You were only one step away from looking like a sobbing toddler making grabby hands at her favorite toy. “Please, Bucky. You can’t leave me alone right now.” A sob rips through your throat and you nearly scream. “I’m always alone. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

You’d done the research: there were at least 12 Avengers nowadays. You didn’t know who was in what galaxy, but you were positive that one of them could take his place. Its not like he even really had superpowers. He was basically an enhanced man – plus they already had one of those? Surely, he could be spared this time around.

He shakes his head but sits down to pull you in his arms. “Baby, please. You can’t do this to me.”

And it takes everything in your whole being to not scoff. Do this to him? What exactly are you doing to him? Oh, just something he does to you on the weekly basis. You swallow your tears and shove him away. You don’t know what made you pull a complete 180, but it did finally feel good to get some things off your chest that had been plaguing your mind recently. “You always leave. I’m used to it.”

He opens his mouth to speak. Nothing comes out. He watches you pull the covers over yourself and turn away from him. He closes his mouth and leaves the room.

God only knows where our fears go

Hearts I’ve broke, now my tears flow

You’ll see that I’m sorry

Cause you were good to me

It was the post-mission jitters. The remnants of the adrenaline from earlier that day still coursed through his veins as he paced back and forth around the jet, eagerly anticipating his return to you.

“What’s up yours?” Sam asks, eyes narrowed at Bucky, clearly in confusion but also in annoyance.

Bucky stops in his tracks, eyes wide, feeling as though he had been invisible for the whole plane ride. He shrugs, and as Sam raises an eyebrow, he offers an explanation: “I’ve gotta see (Y/N).”

A grin breaks out on Sam’s face. He falls back in his chair, throws a hand over his heart and pretends to faint. “Oh, you have to see your lover. I’m Bucky, I’m so in love,” he mimics in a high-pitched voice.

Where Bucky normally would threaten to beat Sam to within an inch of his life, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. He stood, staring at Sam’s hideous imitation of himself – he swears his heart stopped beating. “Yes, exactly.”

Sam chokes and stutters a “what?” before Steve interrupts them from the cockpit.

“We’re landing, guys. Buck, grab a seat.” So, Bucky does exactly what he’s told, plopping himself into the seat across from Sam, ignoring all the questions and comments from the man across from him.

God, he mentally kicks himself. It’s been almost two years. Two years you let him treat you like that. Now, while Bucky doesn’t think he’s done anything outwardly wrong and had obviously never purposely tried to hurt you, maybe he could’ve been a little better regarding work. Maybe he could’ve taken that weekend off with you.

You really consumed his whole life. His thoughts were constantly about you (mostly sweet and innocent, sometimes dirty), he constantly wanted to be by you, talking, laughing, touching.

He made up his mind before the plane even lands. The last mission is over, and new – personal – one begins.

He leaves the complex, stopping by the florist to buy the biggest bouquet of roses he can get his hands on. A grin is itching at his mouth as he anticipates your reaction during the rest of his drive. His heart is racing – in a good way. In a way he hasn’t felt in, well, forever. His confidence is at an all-time high as he’s never felt surer of himself in his life.

He’s already planned it out. You’ll open the door and he’ll scoop you up in his arms, hand you the flowers, and finally say “I love you.” He doesn’t know what took him so long anyway.

And now I’m closing every door

Cause I’m sick of wanting more

You know he didn’t get to decide when he left and for how long he’d be gone.

But he did get to decide his priorities. And honestly, you weren’t even sure if you were one of them anymore.

You were torn because you know how much his work means to him. Not only was it his calling, but it was something he thought was important to use his good work as a means to make up for all the bad things he’s done in the past. And while you’ve told him multiple times that that’s definitely not how it works, nothing will change his logic. So, you’ve stood by him; if it was important to him, it was important to you. Of course, you wanted to see your boyfriend exceed, feel fulfilled.

Now, you were just tired of seeing Bucky like that when it cost you everything. He was your everything. You had a job, yes, a home, a family. But the one person you were supposed to be with – actually be with – didn’t value you the same as his job. And thinking that to yourself just has to be the worst, most necessary wake-up call you need.

That was all you needed. You sat at your desk with a pen and a piece of paper. You couldn’t even think of an opening line for about two hours. Sitting there, chewing the inside of your cheek, you wrote countless paragraphs, scrapping some, keeping others, adjusting sentences, trying not to sound too mean – then having to start over because your teardrops fell onto the paper and smudged the ink.

All in all, it took you two days to write him the note – note turned letter. You folded it in three, left it on his pillow. As you placed it down, you broke out in tears. Falling to your knees, you shoved your face into the mattress, wailing into the sheets one last time. It remarkably still smelled of Bucky’s soap; probably just god handing you one more gut-wrenching blow.

You’d spent the night on the couch, unable to bear the sight of that letter or the smell of those blankets. The next morning, you tried to keep your head as clear as possible. No breakfast (no more pancakes with Bucky), no music (no reminders of your song), no phone (no messages from Bucky). It was time to leave. Time to leave this house, this life, this relationship. You’d quickly shoved a few bags full of clothes and necessities and threw them in the back of your car, not looking back. Just like he did after you’d told him you loved him.

Swear I’m different than before

I won’t hurt you anymore

Cause you were good to me

He practically skips up the steps. Knocking first, he rocks up and down on his tip-toes unable to contain his excitement anymore. Not getting an immediate response, he knocks again.

It would make sense that you weren’t home if it was work hours, but it was 7:00 pm. Bucky was thrown-off; you’d be at home eating dinner right now. Chalking it off to maybe you were in the bathtub, he digs around in his pocket for the key. Pushing the door open, he cautiously looks around the kitchen, then the dining room and living room, unable to find you. The bathroom was empty, and you hadn’t responded to him calling your name, echoing throughout the house.

He pulled out his phone while carefully kicking the bedroom door open with his foot. Straight to voicemail. Voicemailbox full. He tosses the roses beside him on the bed and sits on the edge, nearly ready to go searching again before a piece of paper catches his eye.

His heart drops.

It sinks.

There’s not a time in his whole one-hundred-year existence that he’d felt this much anticipation and fear.

He grabs the letter with shaking hands, carefully unfolding it and his eyes are fixated on the date you’d scribbled at the top of the page. Two months ago.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #fanfiction #angst #bucky barnes angst #captain america #bucky x you #bucky fanfic

275 notes · View notes

5lazarus · 3 years

Text

Weavers

this was meant to be severitus, or at least Snape-mentors-Harry, so let’s call this the precursor to it

Summary: Bored before the start of sixth year, Harry goes through Petunia's old family photo albums. He demands some answers, and Dumbledore sends Snape. Read on AO3 here

The days are hot and dusty and Harry is left roving the same suburban streets, bored as hell, as the Dursleys pretend nothing is wrong and everyone he knows acts the same. Voldemort’s back, and he wants to kill him. His godfather’s dead. No one wants to talk about Cedric, and he doesn’t even know how to talk about Cedric, even if anybody knew to ask. Harry just walks, and kicks at fluttery bits of newspaper littering the ground, and tries not to let the heat sour his mood. When Aunt Petunia’s busy at the neighbor’s garden parties, Harry steals into the living room and starts going through the photo albums. Why, he’s not so sure, he just wants to know, to see, to remember that there was a past before Hogwarts, and so he flips through grotesque faded photos of Dudley and Uncle Vernon eating cake with him a shadow cut in half, just barely in view. These were not happy days, but Harry’s not sure he’s ever had any of those. It was fun laughing with Sirius and Ron and Hermione and the Twins sometimes, and he feels free and devoid of all this heavy thoughts on a broom. He finishes one photo album, slots it back in the shelf, and pulls out another. This one is older--before he was born. Maybe he’ll find a photo of his mother in it. He flips through time, ignoring a wedding photo--after his grandparents’ deaths--and polaroids of truly soul-crushing dates. He laughs at the bad hair, though he knows he of all people shouldn’t point fingers. Finally, he reaches his aunt’s teenage years, and he hopes he’ll find his mother there. It’s a weird thought, that his mother was barely more than a teenager when she was killed. She was only twenty when she had him. He’s almost sixteen now. He can’t imagine that, the pressure of having a baby with a target on its back in the middle of a war, and he wishes desperately he could know what she was like. Sirius didn’t like to talk about her, and Lupin talks in circles about everything. He wishes there was someone he could ask. He finds a photo of her laughing with a boy who is not his father, who’s got his long black hair and a hand thrown up, too, covering his face. She’s about his age in this photo, or a bit older. Carefully he slides it out of the plastic. There’s writing on the back: “Weavers, Sev & Lily, 1976. to Baba O’Riley and the rest of our lives!!” The writing is familiar, spidery, almost indecipherable, and he squints because it reminds him of someone, it’s strangely familiar, and then he drops the photo in shock. Because he knows: that’s Severus Snape.

Rapidly now he flips through the pages. There’s one of his bright-eyed mother with a sullen-looking boy with a big nose and greasy hair, glowering at the camera as she laughs. There’s even one of her and Petunia and him all together, sitting in someone’s garden, and Snape is wearing too-big jeans and a stained t-shirt, staring solemnly at the camera. Now that he’s seen it he can’t unsee it. Aunt Petunia comes clattering in, throwing her keys onto the coffee table, and stops sharply at the sight of him with the photos all around him. “Put those back!” she shrieks. “You knew Snape?” he shrieks back. Petunia rears back, apopletic. “You know Snape?” “Yeah, I know Snape,” Harry yells back. “He’s my Potions professor, that greasy git. How do you know Snape?” Petunia sinks onto the couch. “That--awful boy,” she says falteringly. “A teacher? At your school?” She puts her hand over her mouth. “He hated it there, he’s went back to teach?” Harry says, “Yeah. We hate him too.” Petunia begins to laugh. “Bastard,” she says, chortling, “serves him right. I always thought he’d end up teaching chemistry, or in prison. I suppose your Headmaster made him one of those offers you can’t refuse, like he did with me. I never wanted you, I hope you know.” “Believe me,” Harry says wearily, “I picked up on that early on, thanks.” Aunt Petunia yells at him for nosing into her family’s business and Harry heroically resists the urge to inform her that it’s his family too, and instead keeps the photos of his mother stealthily hidden in his pocket. When she’s done, he rushes to his room, pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill, and writes a simple sentence: “Snape knew my mom?” He sends it off to Dumbledore. This complicates the whole Prophecy bullshit he told him about, and he wants answers. Hedwig knows how to charm them out of people, too. She won’t peck the Headmaster, but she sure will be cute. Sure enough, two hours later--or however long it takes for an owl to fly from Surrey to an unknown part of rural Scotland--the doorbell rings. Harry rushes downstairs and throws open the door. He falters. It’s not Dumbledore. “Mr. Potter,” Snape sneers. He’s wearing muggle clothes, black jeans that actually fit him, a band t-shirt, and a blazer with its sleeves rolled up. Harry blinks. Snape likes the Clash? Snape likes things? “I have been told to take you on a walk.” Harry says, “Uh. Do you have that in writing?” Snape’s a Death Eater, after all. He doesn’t want to die. Snape grabs his shoulder and pulls him out of the house. He closes the door. Harry yelps. “Rest assured while I have no interest in ending your idiocy as of yet,” Snape hisses. “Now, to walk. This way.” Sharply he turns, and Harry runs to catch up. “You wrote the Headmaster.” “You knew my mom!” Harry says. He pulls out the photos from pocket and fans them out like a hand of cards. “For your whole childhood! And my age, too!” “Obviously,” Snape sneers. He snatches the photos from him and scrutinizes each snapshot. His scowl deepens. In Potions class, this would be a sign to get out of blast range. Unfortunately, the only thing around to hide behind is a street lamp and a hedge, and Harry’s pretty sure Snape can get around that. Snape snorts when he gets the Weaver photo. “Your aunt kept these? She hated your mother--and me.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to say, “Well, you’re not very likeable. Sir.” With truly heroic, Gryffindor-standard effort, Harry restrains himself. He shrugs instead. He wants information. He’ll have to tap into whatever Slytherin qualities the Sorting Hat identified in him to get it. Snape says finally, “I grew up across the river from your mother. She was my friend. Then we went our separate ways.” “Well, you called her a Mudblood,” Harry says. “I mean, of course she’d stop talking to you.” “Do not say that word,” Snape hisses. Harry mentally kicks himself. He shouldn’t have brought up the Pensieve incident--except, ravenously, he wants to know everything about the Pensieve incident. Dumbledore sent him there, to answer his questions. He’s got nothing to lose by asking. Snape’s gonna lose his shit anyway. “Yeah, sorry,” Harry says, annoyed. He stops under a lamp post. Dusk is coming on thick, and even on Privet Drive, it’s turning to a pretty night. Snape crosses his arms and looks at him sardonically. He is sneering, preparing to spit his usual venom, but Harry persists, “How’d all that even happen? I mean, clearly my dad was a bit of a prick--I don’t know what she saw in him--” “Potter,” Snape says. “Shut up.” Harry holds his hands up. “Fine. We won’t talk about it. But you and my mother were friends. No one tells me anything about her. It’s like she had nobody but--you, I guess, and my dad. They just say I have her eyes. It’s almost my birthday, uh, Professor.” He adds the title and the respect a little thick. Snape is unamused. “Aunt Petunia just says she was a showoff. What was she really like?” Snape says, “Your aunt’s right, she was a showoff. But she was barely more than a child when she was killed. She never got the time to grow out of it. Dumbledore sent me, Potter. I’m supposed to bring you to the Weasleys. But I am not dealing with your aunt’s histrionics. Bring your things and meet me the block over. I’m parked over there.” He points at the rather nondescript gray car. “I’ll answer your questions on the drive over. You will not mention this to anyone, particularly your little friends.” It sounds sketchy, but Harry’s willing to do it just for the rumors that will circulate around the neighborhood as they see him sneaking into a strange man’s car with a wooden trunk and a bird cage. Harry darts back home and drags his things down the street and piles them into Snape’s car. Funny thought, that--that Snape has a car, and a driver’s license. He goes in for the back first, to sit with Hedwig, but Snape snaps, “I am not your chauffeur!” so he returns to the front seat. He eyes him warily as he steps in. Snape does not look at him, but sorts through a pile of CDs. “You do a lot of driving?” Harry asks disbelievingly. Snape’s nostril twitch in reply. He pulls out a battered case--The Who. He puts it in, starts the car, and there they go, driving away from Privet Drive. This is not the most surreal thing that has ever happened to Harry. He’s watched a baby hatch into a man out of a cauldron before, and listened to the whispers of the dead, and ridden on an invisible horse, as well as a broom. But Snape is serene, tapping his long, skinny fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. Harry sneezes. The car stinks of weed. “Are you high?” Harry asks. Snape says, “To deal with you during my time off--there is no other way.” He looks at him suddenly. “Get the map. I haven’t driven through Devonshire in years. When does the road merge?” Harry shuffles through the hatbox of the car, shoving aside a pair of leather gloves, a pack of cigarettes, and a spare wand. He pulls out the map and looks at it despairingly. “What, Potter? Can’t read a map?” Harry says, “Uh. Think we drove past it. Sir.” Snape curses and does a U-town, flipping off the cars that beep in their wake. Harry is beginning to get a little scared. Snape hates him, that’s obvious, and sometimes he thinks he wants to kill him. He really doesn’t want to die in a car crash, he can just imagine the headlines. Eventually Snape gets them on their way, nasty and irritated. They detangle the suburban streets and drive into the night, getting out of the suburban tarmac into the muddy rural. When Harry tries to ask a question, Snape turns up the music. They listen to “Baba O’Riley” three times. Harry stays silent the whole time, afraid. His mother wrote this on the back of the photograph, after all, maybe there’s a subliminal message here. She wanted to go. Harry wonders, but where to? The end of Avada, a flash of green light. Maybe a car crash would have been better, more glamorous, like Princess Diana. What would she have even thought of that? Harry musters up the courage. He says, “She wrote about this on the back of one of the photographs. 1976, weavers.” He puts it on the dashboard, and Snape, keeping one hand on the wheel, picks it up and glances at it. His expression, already sour, curdles. “What does that mean?” “Tuney doesn’t talk about her childhood much, does she?” Snape remarks. He faces the road and misses the exit they were supposed to turn onto. Harry puts his hand into his other pocket and surreptitiously takes ahold of his wand. Snape’s probably not trying to kill him, but as Moody--well, fake-Moody says, “Constant vigilance!” He keeps his mouth shut. Snape’s always been garrulous, using ten words when three would suffice, and cramming as many syllables into them as he can. Hermione once despaired that lectures with him were like a speech class. It was all about the enunciation. Finally, Snape says, “We grew up in a textile town. Most of the men worked at the factory, until it closed. They were the weavers, and we were too, if it weren’t for magic.” “You’re not muggleborn!” Harry says, alarmed. “How--” “No,” Snape says. “I am not answering any questions about myself, Potter.” He veers sharply on the road, finally getting them back on track. By Harry’s reckoning, they’ve got about a half hour left. He sinks in his seat, sullen. “So what about my mum?” he asks. “Did she like--weaving? Growing up in the town? What was she like?” Snape says, “No, no, and--young, because she was young. Headstrong. Sarcastic. She didn’t suffer fools, until she did.” Harry says, “My father wasn’t a fool!” “Your father used to run around school grounds with a fully transformed werewolf.” Harry has to say, maybe his father was a bit of a fool, after all. He does not, though, have to say all that aloud. He says, “Sarcastic?” Snape says, “I think much of her wit went above her Housemates’ heads. They always said she was kind. That was not my experience. She was extraordinarily righteous, and outspoken, and strict with herself and everyone around her. To the point where one wondered how anyone could measure up to Saint Lily’s grandiose proclamations.” The CD ends, finally, and Snape clicks a button. He seems amused. “Lupin didn’t like her much, and she didn’t like Sirius. I am not surprised they avoid talking about her.” Eyes on the road, he goes through the electronic piles by touch, and pulls out a tape. He sticks it in. Harry blinks. It’s the Velvet Underground now, “All Tomorrow’s Parties.” “What costume shall the poor girl wear,” the car radio warbles, “to all tomorrow’s parties?” Harry says, “They said she was kind.” “Perhaps she was to them. She was always demanding of me, and I do not call that kind.” “You called her a Mudblood.” Snape says wearily, “And no one has ever let me forget it, twenty-one long years later. Righteous, and demanding, and strict--but never kind.” “Yeah, well, you joined the Death Eaters, too.” Snape laughs suddenly, sharply, bitterly. “Much worse than calling someone a slur. And I have spent the rest of my life repenting of it.” They’re in Devon now, getting close to the end. Harry’s gotten used to the smell and he’s enjoying the music now, even though he thinks it’s a little sad. He wonders if Snape is thinking about himself, or his mother, and if his mother would’ve liked this song. It’s the first time he’s ever heard someone talk about her like a person, not a saint, and he wants more. He wants to see her be mean--meaner, he guesses, than what he saw in the Pensieve. He wants to see her being too hard on herself and snapping back for justice, whatever she thought justice was. But she’s dead, and he’s only six years younger than she was when she died. That’s an insane thought. In six years, if Voldemort doesn’t kill him, he’ll be the same age as his mother when she died. Maybe he’ll be even older. He looks at Snape, who is meditative, hands relaxed on the steering wheel. Snape’s watching the road. He looks not-old for once, not angry or sour or raging. He just looks like a guy approaching middle-age, who’s tired, who’s thinking about the past. Harry thinks, he’s not really ugly when he lets his face be. Maybe he’s thinking not-ugly thoughts. Melancholy makes a person look human. Snape doesn’t seem like a Potions professor in this car--just sad. They pull through the town of Ottery St. Catchpole and Snape stops at a park. He looks at Harry directly and says, “Your mother...she was more than her eyes. She was an extraordinarily vibrant young woman, who died too young, who had plans for herself and everyone around her. You’re nothing like her. No one is. There was only ever one Lily Evans, and we wouldn’t want anymore.” Harry gets out of the car and clambers to the boot of the car, getting his trunk and rattling Hedwig’s cage as he goes. She squawks at him, outraged, and he smiles at her affronted dignity. He’d thank Snape for telling him all this, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, because he only did it on Dumbledore’s orders. He gestures with the cage that he’s heading to the Burrow now. “Uh, bye then,” Harry says. He doesn’t necessarily want to wish him a safe trip. He gets five paces before Snape stops him. “Potter!” Harry turns back. Snape is standing in front of the car, illuminated in the headlights. His wand is up. Harry drops Hedwig’s cage, going for his own, but Snape is faster. “Obliviate!”The days are hot and dusty and Harry is left roving the same suburban streets, bored as hell, as the Dursleys pretend nothing is wrong and everyone he knows acts the same. Voldemort’s back, and he wants to kill him. His godfather’s dead. No one wants to talk about Cedric, and he doesn’t even know how to talk about Cedric, even if anybody knew to ask. Harry just walks, and kicks at fluttery bits of newspaper littering the ground, and tries not to let the heat sour his mood. When Aunt Petunia’s busy at the neighbor’s garden parties, Harry steals into the living room and starts going through the photo albums. Why, he’s not so sure, he just wants to know, to see, to remember that there was a past before Hogwarts, and so he flips through grotesque faded photos of Dudley and Uncle Vernon eating cake with him a shadow cut in half, just barely in view. These were not happy days, but Harry’s not sure he’s ever had any of those. It was fun laughing with Sirius and Ron and Hermione and the Twins sometimes, and he feels free and devoid of all this heavy thoughts on a broom. He finishes one photo album, slots it back in the shelf, and pulls out another. This one is older--before he was born. Maybe he’ll find a photo of his mother in it. He flips through time, ignoring a wedding photo--after his grandparents’ deaths--and polaroids of truly soul-crushing dates. He laughs at the bad hair, though he knows he of all people shouldn’t point fingers. Finally, he reaches his aunt’s teenage years, and he hopes he’ll find his mother there. It’s a weird thought, that his mother was barely more than a teenager when she was killed. She was only twenty when she had him. He’s almost sixteen now. He can’t imagine that, the pressure of having a baby with a target on its back in the middle of a war, and he wishes desperately he could know what she was like. Sirius didn’t like to talk about her, and Lupin talks in circles about everything. He wishes there was someone he could ask. He finds a photo of her laughing with a boy who is not his father, who’s got his long black hair and a hand thrown up, too, covering his face. She’s about his age in this photo, or a bit older. Carefully he slides it out of the plastic. There’s writing on the back: “Weavers, Sev & Lily, 1976. to Baba O’Riley and the rest of our lives!!” The writing is familiar, spidery, almost indecipherable, and he squints because it reminds him of someone, it’s strangely familiar, and then he drops the photo in shock. Because he knows: that’s Severus Snape. Rapidly now he flips through the pages. There’s one of his bright-eyed mother with a sullen-looking boy with a big nose and greasy hair, glowering at the camera as she laughs. There’s even one of her and Petunia and him all together, sitting in someone’s garden, and Snape is wearing too-big jeans and a stained t-shirt, staring solemnly at the camera. Now that he’s seen it he can’t unsee it. Aunt Petunia comes clattering in, throwing her keys onto the coffee table, and stops sharply at the sight of him with the photos all around him. “Put those back!” she shrieks. “You knew Snape?” he shrieks back. Petunia rears back, apopletic. “You know Snape?” “Yeah, I know Snape,” Harry yells back. “He’s my Potions professor, that greasy git. How do you know Snape?” Petunia sinks onto the couch. “That--awful boy,” she says falteringly. “A teacher? At your school?” She puts her hand over her mouth. “He hated it there, he’s went back to teach?” Harry says, “Yeah. We hate him too.” Petunia begins to laugh. “Bastard,” she says, chortling, “serves him right. I always thought he’d end up teaching chemistry, or in prison. I suppose your Headmaster made him one of those offers you can’t refuse, like he did with me. I never wanted you, I hope you know.” “Believe me,” Harry says wearily, “I picked up on that early on, thanks.” Aunt Petunia yells at him for nosing into her family’s business and Harry heroically resists the urge to inform her that it’s his family too, and instead keeps the photos of his mother stealthily hidden in his pocket. When she’s done, he rushes to his room, pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill, and writes a simple sentence: “Snape knew my mom?” He sends it off to Dumbledore. This complicates the whole Prophecy bullshit he told him about, and he wants answers. Hedwig knows how to charm them out of people, too. She won’t peck the Headmaster, but she sure will be cute. Sure enough, two hours later--or however long it takes for an owl to fly from Surrey to an unknown part of rural Scotland--the doorbell rings. Harry rushes downstairs and throws open the door. He falters. It’s not Dumbledore. “Mr. Potter,” Snape sneers. He’s wearing muggle clothes, black jeans that actually fit him, a band t-shirt, and a blazer with its sleeves rolled up. Harry blinks. Snape likes the Clash? Snape likes things? “I have been told to take you on a walk.” Harry says, “Uh. Do you have that in writing?” Snape’s a Death Eater, after all. He doesn’t want to die. Snape grabs his shoulder and pulls him out of the house. He closes the door. Harry yelps. “Rest assured while I have no interest in ending your idiocy as of yet,” Snape hisses. “Now, to walk. This way.” Sharply he turns, and Harry runs to catch up. “You wrote the Headmaster.” “You knew my mom!” Harry says. He pulls out the photos from pocket and fans them out like a hand of cards. “For your whole childhood! And my age, too!” “Obviously,” Snape sneers. He snatches the photos from him and scrutinizes each snapshot. His scowl deepens. In Potions class, this would be a sign to get out of blast range. Unfortunately, the only thing around to hide behind is a street lamp and a hedge, and Harry’s pretty sure Snape can get around that. Snape snorts when he gets the Weaver photo. “Your aunt kept these? She hated your mother--and me.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to say, “Well, you’re not very likeable. Sir.” With truly heroic, Gryffindor-standard effort, Harry restrains himself. He shrugs instead. He wants information. He’ll have to tap into whatever Slytherin qualities the Sorting Hat identified in him to get it. Snape says finally, “I grew up across the river from your mother. She was my friend. Then we went our separate ways.” “Well, you called her a Mudblood,” Harry says. “I mean, of course she’d stop talking to you.” “Do not say that word,” Snape hisses. Harry mentally kicks himself. He shouldn’t have brought up the Pensieve incident--except, ravenously, he wants to know everything about the Pensieve incident. Dumbledore sent him there, to answer his questions. He’s got nothing to lose by asking. Snape’s gonna lose his shit anyway. “Yeah, sorry,” Harry says, annoyed. He stops under a lamp post. Dusk is coming on thick, and even on Privet Drive, it’s turning to a pretty night. Snape crosses his arms and looks at him sardonically. He is sneering, preparing to spit his usual venom, but Harry persists, “How’d all that even happen? I mean, clearly my dad was a bit of a prick--I don’t know what she saw in him--” “Potter,” Snape says. “Shut up.” Harry holds his hands up. “Fine. We won’t talk about it. But you and my mother were friends. No one tells me anything about her. It’s like she had nobody but--you, I guess, and my dad. They just say I have her eyes. It’s almost my birthday, uh, Professor.” He adds the title and the respect a little thick. Snape is unamused. “Aunt Petunia just says she was a showoff. What was she really like?” Snape says, “Your aunt’s right, she was a showoff. But she was barely more than a child when she was killed. She never got the time to grow out of it. Dumbledore sent me, Potter. I’m supposed to bring you to the Weasleys. But I am not dealing with your aunt’s histrionics. Bring your things and meet me the block over. I’m parked over there.” He points at the rather nondescript gray car. “I’ll answer your questions on the drive over. You will not mention this to anyone, particularly your little friends.” It sounds sketchy, but Harry’s willing to do it just for the rumors that will circulate around the neighborhood as they see him sneaking into a strange man’s car with a wooden trunk and a bird cage. Harry darts back home and drags his things down the street and piles them into Snape’s car. Funny thought, that--that Snape has a car, and a driver’s license. He goes in for the back first, to sit with Hedwig, but Snape snaps, “I am not your chauffeur!” so he returns to the front seat. He eyes him warily as he steps in. Snape does not look at him, but sorts through a pile of CDs. “You do a lot of driving?” Harry asks disbelievingly. Snape’s nostril twitch in reply. He pulls out a battered case--The Who. He puts it in, starts the car, and there they go, driving away from Privet Drive. This is not the most surreal thing that has ever happened to Harry. He’s watched a baby hatch into a man out of a cauldron before, and listened to the whispers of the dead, and ridden on an invisible horse, as well as a broom. But Snape is serene, tapping his long, skinny fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music. Harry sneezes. The car stinks of weed. “Are you high?” Harry asks. Snape says, “To deal with you during my time off--there is no other way.” He looks at him suddenly. “Get the map. I haven’t driven through Devonshire in years. When does the road merge?” Harry shuffles through the hatbox of the car, shoving aside a pair of leather gloves, a pack of cigarettes, and a spare wand. He pulls out the map and looks at it despairingly. “What, Potter? Can’t read a map?” Harry says, “Uh. Think we drove past it. Sir.” Snape curses and does a U-town, flipping off the cars that beep in their wake. Harry is beginning to get a little scared. Snape hates him, that’s obvious, and sometimes he thinks he wants to kill him. He really doesn’t want to die in a car crash, he can just imagine the headlines. Eventually Snape gets them on their way, nasty and irritated. They detangle the suburban streets and drive into the night, getting out of the suburban tarmac into the muddy rural. When Harry tries to ask a question, Snape turns up the music. They listen to “Baba O’Riley” three times. Harry stays silent the whole time, afraid. His mother wrote this on the back of the photograph, after all, maybe there’s a subliminal message here. She wanted to go. Harry wonders, but where to? The end of Avada, a flash of green light. Maybe a car crash would have been better, more glamorous, like Princess Diana. What would she have even thought of that? Harry musters up the courage. He says, “She wrote about this on the back of one of the photographs. 1976, weavers.” He puts it on the dashboard, and Snape, keeping one hand on the wheel, picks it up and glances at it. His expression, already sour, curdles. “What does that mean?” “Tuney doesn’t talk about her childhood much, does she?” Snape remarks. He faces the road and misses the exit they were supposed to turn onto. Harry puts his hand into his other pocket and surreptitiously takes ahold of his wand. Snape’s probably not trying to kill him, but as Moody--well, fake-Moody says, “Constant vigilance!” He keeps his mouth shut. Snape’s always been garrulous, using ten words when three would suffice, and cramming as many syllables into them as he can. Hermione once despaired that lectures with him were like a speech class. It was all about the enunciation. Finally, Snape says, “We grew up in a textile town. Most of the men worked at the factory, until it closed. They were the weavers, and we were too, if it weren’t for magic.” “You’re not muggleborn!” Harry says, alarmed. “How--” “No,” Snape says. “I am not answering any questions about myself, Potter.” He veers sharply on the road, finally getting them back on track. By Harry’s reckoning, they’ve got about a half hour left. He sinks in his seat, sullen. “So what about my mum?” he asks. “Did she like--weaving? Growing up in the town? What was she like?” Snape says, “No, no, and--young, because she was young. Headstrong. Sarcastic. She didn’t suffer fools, until she did.” Harry says, “My father wasn’t a fool!” “Your father used to run around school grounds with a fully transformed werewolf.” Harry has to say, maybe his father was a bit of a fool, after all. He does not, though, have to say all that aloud. He says, “Sarcastic?” Snape says, “I think much of her wit went above her Housemates’ heads. They always said she was kind. That was not my experience. She was extraordinarily righteous, and outspoken, and strict with herself and everyone around her. To the point where one wondered how anyone could measure up to Saint Lily’s grandiose proclamations.” The CD ends, finally, and Snape clicks a button. He seems amused. “Lupin didn’t like her much, and she didn’t like Sirius. I am not surprised they avoid talking about her.” Eyes on the road, he goes through the electronic piles by touch, and pulls out a tape. He sticks it in. Harry blinks. It’s the Velvet Underground now, “All Tomorrow’s Parties.” “What costume shall the poor girl wear,” the car radio warbles, “to all tomorrow’s parties?” Harry says, “They said she was kind.” “Perhaps she was to them. She was always demanding of me, and I do not call that kind.” “You called her a Mudblood.” Snape says wearily, “And no one has ever let me forget it, twenty-one long years later. Righteous, and demanding, and strict--but never kind.” “Yeah, well, you joined the Death Eaters, too.” Snape laughs suddenly, sharply, bitterly. “Much worse than calling someone a slur. And I have spent the rest of my life repenting of it.” They’re in Devon now, getting close to the end. Harry’s gotten used to the smell and he’s enjoying the music now, even though he thinks it’s a little sad. He wonders if Snape is thinking about himself, or his mother, and if his mother would’ve liked this song. It’s the first time he’s ever heard someone talk about her like a person, not a saint, and he wants more. He wants to see her be mean--meaner, he guesses, than what he saw in the Pensieve. He wants to see her being too hard on herself and snapping back for justice, whatever she thought justice was. But she’s dead, and he’s only six years younger than she was when she died. That’s an insane thought. In six years, if Voldemort doesn’t kill him, he’ll be the same age as his mother when she died. Maybe he’ll be even older. He looks at Snape, who is meditative, hands relaxed on the steering wheel. Snape’s watching the road. He looks not-old for once, not angry or sour or raging. He just looks like a guy approaching middle-age, who’s tired, who’s thinking about the past. Harry thinks, he’s not really ugly when he lets his face be. Maybe he’s thinking not-ugly thoughts. Melancholy makes a person look human. Snape doesn’t seem like a Potions professor in this car--just sad. They pull through the town of Ottery St. Catchpole and Snape stops at a park. He looks at Harry directly and says, “Your mother...she was more than her eyes. She was an extraordinarily vibrant young woman, who died too young, who had plans for herself and everyone around her. You’re nothing like her. No one is. There was only ever one Lily Evans, and we wouldn’t want anymore.” Harry gets out of the car and clambers to the boot of the car, getting his trunk and rattling Hedwig’s cage as he goes. She squawks at him, outraged, and he smiles at her affronted dignity. He’d thank Snape for telling him all this, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, because he only did it on Dumbledore’s orders. He gestures with the cage that he’s heading to the Burrow now. “Uh, bye then,” Harry says. He doesn’t necessarily want to wish him a safe trip. He gets five paces before Snape stops him. “Potter!” Harry turns back. Snape is standing in front of the car, illuminated in the headlights. His wand is up. Harry drops Hedwig’s cage, going for his own, but Snape is faster. “Obliviate!”

15 notes · View notes

newtxtinaforever · 4 years

Text

Happy Birthday Tina!

Hello there! Today's one shot is sponsored by @neighborhood-newtina-reblogger, a tumblr that I greatly admire. Okay, it's not technically sponsored by the blog, but it did provide the prompt/idea for this one shot, which I will include at the very end in case you want to know what it is. Also, the fanart above belongs to @sydsketch and partially inspires my fanfic as well. Don't want to put the prompt at the beginning and spoil the story, so without further ado, I hope you enjoy this little piece of my Newtina heart. Oh, and happy birthday Tina! ☺️

3rd POV

"Oh, Newt. She's perfect!" Tina exclaimed happily, a smile brightening up her usually tense features. It wasn't that the American witch held a grudge against smiling or having fun; quite the opposite, in fact. She was so used to being responsible that her default look was to come across as a professional who took her job seriously. When she was with Newt, however, she couldn't help but smile. His light-hearted nature simply had a way of making her feel like she could let her guard down and didn't have to worry about what kind of person Newt was. Having fought alongside him in the fight against Grindelwald, Tina knew she could trust Newt. It was a good thing because he had just given her a creature to call her own.

"Really? That's wonderful to hear. I hoped you would like her but I wasn't completely sure if you would be interested in-" Newt was quickly interrupted by Tina's warm words of gratitude. "I love her, Newt. Thank you," she replied. Her eyes sparkled with a light reminiscent of the creature that currently rested in its small glass case. "What's her name?" Tina asked softly as she admired the speckled salamander. Newt blushed before replying, "Well, I thought you might like to name her seeing as she's yours." Both pairs of eyes connected for the briefest of moments.

"Of course!" Tina blurted, although she soon regained her composure. "I'm not quite sure where to start, but I'm sure we can think of something." Newt's tender smile at Tina's inclusion of the word 'we' went unnoticed for the most part, yet the tone of their environment was clearly evident. It was nearly impossible to miss the delicate care each person felt for the other, so alive and tangible was it. The silence that settled in during certain moments of the conversation were not uncomfortable, but peaceful instead. Surprisingly enough, Newt was the next one to speak up.

"Keegan," he uttered cryptically. Tina tilted her head to the right by a dozen degrees. "Who?" she wondered aloud, her sharp eyes fixed on Newt. The famous magizoologist remained quiet for several seconds until Tina cleared her throat. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was simply suggesting Keegan as a name, but I understand if you don't like it. She's yours, so feel free to choose whatever name you feel is best."

Tina lowered her gaze to the ground, then extended her head upward. "The name's fine, Newt. And I want you to be included in the naming process, trust me," she said with reassurance in her voice. Newt smiled. "What about Thea? She's the Greek goddess of light, which is fitting since salamanders feed off of fire, right?" Tina inquired. She waited for a response from Newt, but he appeared not to have heard her. Beginning to wonder if something was wrong with him, Tina repeated the end of her previous sentence. "Right, Newt?"

The man in question displayed signs of life after what seemed like forever. His nose was scrunched as if he had caught a whiff of rotting maggots while his eyes blinked ferociously. What was going on? Tina prompted Newt to explain his behavior, although it took some serious persuading. "The name sounds a bit like... well... like Theseus, my brother." Tina nodded her head in agreement and decided to move on. The last thing she wanted was for her new companion to remind Newt of his older brother.

"Perhaps you might consider Idris. It's Welsh and can mean 'fiery' depending on the language." Newt explained gently. His voice was rich and full of childlike wonder, much to Tina's delight. It was rare to find such a kindred spirit in a world where brute strength and power was often congratulated. Tina tried not to let her emotions become too obvious as she lovingly murmured, "I think Idris is a lovely name. Thank you, Newt." Once again, both pairs of eyes connected and lingered; the result was pure fascination and ultimately love.

With their eyes still fixed on each other, Tina closed the space between them. Her long, thin arms wrapped themselves around the middle of Newt's back. Much like their prolonged glances, this embrace was personal and private, something that was special between them. Tina was keenly aware of Newt's reservations regarding the hug, so she made sure to take baby steps while reassuring Newt at the same time. Her fingers brushed lightly against Newt's back, the warmth from her hands radiating through his pale blue shirt. With a great amount of hesitance and care, Tina tightened her grip on Newt. Hopefully he wouldn't feel uncomfortable; that was the last thing Tina wanted. Nevertheless, she held on to him, refusing to let go just yet.

Nearly a minute had passed before Newt reciprocated the hug. Unbeknownst to Tina, his eyes watered and a huge grin spread across his face. Both sets of arms rested gently on the other's back, a sign of peace and acceptance. It didn't take long for Tina to pull Newt in closer, more confident this time. Any lingering doubt as to whether or not Newt would perceive such intimate physical contact to be desirable was gone. She knew that he would understand just as she had learned to understand the roundabout way he comforted and complimented her.

With an overflowing heart, Newt Scamander enveloped Tina in his arms; pure, sentimental emotion surrounded them. Every part of him wanted nothing more than to freeze that moment and remember it forever. Not only was it rare for Newt to desire physical contact, but it was also rare for him to feel so content as a result of it. In Tina, Newt found appreciation and compassion. Despite miscommunication being a continuous issue between them, the two old souls always managed to make things right. If Newt was honest, Tina completed him — to a certain extent. He hadn't felt that his life was 'less than' without her, but he did notice a change whenever she was around, whether physically or in Newt's thoughts. She was someone who helped him restore his jaded view of humanity, and for that, Newt was grateful.

The embrace continued for several more minutes, Newt mentally recording what it felt like to be so close to Tina.

The scent of her hair, the touch of her hands. Newt was so mesmerized that he even dared to lift Tina off the ground, just a couple inches, and spin her very gently. It was instinct and had occurred before he could stop himself. Never before had he allowed his emotions to come off so strongly in the presence of another human being, and he had to admit: it felt freeing.

As for Tina, she experienced similar sentiments during their embrace. Mind racing, heart soaring... Since when did Newt display such sudden outbursts of affection? While Tina was slightly confused by this, she didn't question it because of her elation. If Newt was comfortable enough to be so physically close with her, she took it as a sign of growth and was proud of him. Each second that passed served as a reward earned by the energy both had spent in order to fight against the evil forces that threatened wizards and muggles alike. After years of fighting, Newt and Tina were given a moment of reprieve. A moment to be still, but more importantly, to be happy.

For Newt, happiness took the form of feeding his creatures. This was nothing new, but having Tina by his side — her eyes full of adoration — made the event much more enjoyable. For Tina, growing closer to Newt served as her main source of happiness, although she also happened to find it in the pursuit of wizardkind's most elite criminals. After all, being an Auror was an important part of Tina's life. The fact that her devotion to justice nearly managed to get her killed was unfortunate, yet Tina had put it in the past where it belonged. She needed her job because it allowed her to protect innocent lives, and that was something Tina would never stop pursuing. Whether it was a sideways smile or a lengthy yet tender hug, both Newt and Tina were fond of the little things in life as well as each other. Nothing, not even Grindelwald, could take those feelings away from them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note: Below is the prompt for the above one shot ⬇️⬇️

I want Tina to initiate newtina’s first embrace. And I want it to happen in a happy context. I want her to realize that maybe Newt isn’t bold enough just yet to make that move, so she takes control and latches onto him. It won’t be like when Theseus hugged him, arms and back stiff the whole time. It will be at first, while he takes a few seconds to process what’s happening. In those few seconds, Tina is fully aware he’s processing the situation, so she holds him even tighter to reassure him that yes, she’s here. She wants this. She will wait. And once he finally accepts that, I want Newt to reciprocate her embrace with an enormous grin on his face (bonus points for misty eyes). I want him to wrap his arms around her back and tentatively return her gesture. Tina pulls even tighter to erase that last bit of questioning how far he should go. Then, Newt fully wraps her up in him, encasing her with his arms and body as completely as he can (bonus points for a little pick up and spin or something extra cute like that). And they stay like that for a while, just appreciating each other. Wordlessly processing their emotions. Surrendering to their feelings. Just being together like they want.

#AugustNineTeenie2020 #fantastic beasts #newtina #newtina fanfiction #newtina fanart #tina goldstein #newt scamander #salamander #happy birthday tina #tina goldstein birthday

104 notes · View notes

lettrespromises · 4 years

Text

> LettresPromises informs you : You have one notification.

> Letter object : The cry of the heart.

Zoro Roronoa sent you a letter, would you like to read it?

@me11orine sent a letter : ❝hiii! i hope your currently feeling well and staying safe! may i pls request an angst but a happy ending with zoro? its not really specific so you could do whatever you’d like! pls take your time!❞

author’s letter : ❝dear reader, i’m so, so, so, so, sorry for being so late regarding this request! i hope you’ll be able to forgive me. i really had a lot of fun writing this request and showing my undying love for zoro love my birthday twin, i missed writing for one piece so thank you for sending me this and thank you for trusting me with your request!! love you and take care.

sealed with a kiss, nikki.❞

Warnings : Cursing, blood, injury. Genre : Kinda angsty, kinda fluff. Word count : 1.6K.

The weather was hot in Dressrosa, perhaps too ideal for a kingdom ruled by the living and breathing personification of evil, or maybe was it just another trick played upon the Straw Hat crew : how could this kingdom possess the weather of heaven and, paradoxically enough, be ruled by the new face of evil?

Although the sunny weather complimented the thoughts of relaxation, enjoying the sinful pleasures of life and whatnot, the reality drew a sharp contrast with these ideals— it was a hunt led on the scale of an island, a literal hunt, where the horn would only be blown once all of the targets will be taken down. It was a race against time, a permanent sword of Damocles was dangerously hanging over each member of the Straw Hat crew as a reminder that every action taken had a consequence— some reduced drastically the distance between the tip of the sword and their head, and others helped to deliver the last blow to their opponent.

Sword of Damocles or not, Zoro Roronoa could handle any situation with the help of his very own swords, that is… Almost all of them. His expertise regarding the art of fighting his opponents with both his most cherished and lethal weapons seemed like poetry in motion to the common eye— he was the living testimony of empiricism, each of his experience added yet another step-stone on the ramp to become the best swordsman alive.

Nonetheless, the legendary prowesses of his swords could not fix the deep wounds caused by the poisonous mix of emotional numbness and physical pain. His sole valid eye was entirely focused on your small form (or at least, from his point of view, it did seem smaller given the fact you were bending under the echoes of pain) caught in a whirlwind of distress. He should have trusted his guts, after all, trusting his instinct came as a second nature to him, and not let you face one of Doflamingo’s pawns on your own. Yes, the victory was yours, but was squirming in pain really worth having the bragging rights of a success?

Isolated in an alley, away from the preying eye of the Donquixote family, but certainly not isolated from the sounds of agony echoing from certain areas of the kingdom, you were left bruised and out of breath on the ground. Your palm was delicately covering the wound in your arm, while being careful enough to not apply to much unwanted pressure on it, your mouth was set agape, a position needed to allow several unsteady breaths to fall free from your lips in cascade. And although Dressrosa was moving under the rhythm of the cries of pain, the alley you and Zoro was stuck in was eerily silent, a form of silence imposed against your will, but perhaps was it because none of you knew what to say.

The wound was deep and blood was flowing a bit too freely out of the cut— you considered is a medal, Zoro saw it as a mark of inattention. His facial expression reflected almost too perfectly the vivid emotions rushing through his mind : a dash of sadness, a pang of guilt and a generous dose of anger. His brows were furrowed, teeth clenched, his eye never left your figure, he was hoping his stare alone could make you feel his rush of emotions.

« What the hell were you thinking? What’s wrong with you? You could have died if I hadn’t shown up at the right time! » Zoro barked, anger lacing his every word, you winced at the harsh tone of his voice.

« What the fuck was I supposed to do? Let you do all the dirty work and stand back in silence? Hell no! » You responded, with the same amount of volume and acerbity coating your voice.

« You knew damn well you couldn’t have beaten him on your own, why the hell do you have to be so reckless? » It was a rhetorical question coming from him, there was no answer, just the will to sting you where it hurt the most.

« Because I’m sick of you seeing me as some kind of person in distress, because I’m not! I had him right where I wanted and you let your savior complex get the best of you. I could have handled it on my own, I didn’t need you! » Now, now, talk about letting your emotions dictate your speech.

His eye widened in surprise, mostly because he was not expecting that such rage could have ever possibly takeover your wording, but he regained his composure almost immediately. His jaw felt tight as your haunting words kept repeating themselves over and over again in his head like a broken record.

« You don’t need me, hah? Fine by me, next time I’ll let you suffer on your own, and remember that you asked for it. »

Maybe you were right, maybe you didn’t need him. For the first time, he laid his eye elsewhere, he couldn’t muster the strength to look at you, nor stay close to you. And with that, Zoro had already made the decision to leave you in this alley.

Willing to mimic his actions and indirectly compete in this silent war of prides, you tried to get on your feet to go back to the Sunny. Your plan, however, did not match with the reality— as soon as you stood up, a cry of pain left your lips without warning, your knees gave up under the pressure and eventually you found your original position : sat on the floor. Zoro stopped abruptly in his tracks once this sound of torment connected to his eardrums. His pride yelled at him to continue on his way out, to leave you alone because you ‘didn’t need him’, but he was only a mere man to try resisting his pride.

« Don’t move, you can’t help being so damn reckless all the time, can you? » the anger lacing his words had faded away and instead, a hint of comfort replaced the former vivid emotion.

Zoro was back kneeling in front of you, his stare was once more focusing on you and you only, as it always has been. You, on the other one hand, couldn’t seem to gather enough strength to look elsewhere but on your wound, and oddly enough, the more you looked at it, the more it hurt. Why did it hurt? You ignored the real answer to the question, nonetheless, pearls of tears running down your cheeks, a sweet mixture of salt and guilty.

« Oi, oi, oi, what are you crying for? » You knew he didn’t mean to sound this harsh, but ‘Zoro’ and ‘delicate’ were oxymorons.

Your thumb was still brushing invisible forms near your wound, in a desperate attempt to ease the pain and distract yourself from Zoro’s acerbic words which had finally sunk in, it was similar to being caught in a whirlwind of pain without any escape. You couldn’t help these tears from falling free on your face, it was the aftermath of said whirlwind, and the consequences of regretting your poor choice of wording.

Zoro’s calloused fingers came right beneath your chin, forcing you to look elsewhere but on one of the many causes of your suffering, and instead, engage a new discussion. His attempt to earning an answer felt short against the deafening silence on your end, a silence, however, often broke by the sounds of your whimpers.

« I-… I shouldn’t have said that earlier. What I said about not needing you, I didn’t mean any of it. » You released a sigh you ignored you were holding, a manifestation that you felt a burden come off of your shoulders.

« Save your saliva and your breath, I got it. And even if you didn’t want my help, you’re not in a position to refuse my help right now.» A hint of a smirk was plastered upon his face as a sign of a silent victory against you.

Zoro was right, you had no choice but to give in to his help. His arms snaked around your knees and shoulders (while making sure not to enter in contact with your injured arm and let the wound free from any touch) and cradled your head against his chest in a modified version of a bridal carry. Perhaps, just perhaps, you should have accepted his offer to help you earlier on.

« Zoro? » You asked, your breath coming to crash against the skin of his torso.

« Mhm? »

« You’ve always been the person I needed, I was just afraid that you would get injured too. » A confession emanating from your heart, after all, you deemed this moment as the most adequate given the circumstances.

Said confession only comforted Zoro in the nature of the feelings he was holding in your regard, and also demonstrated that the nature of your anger was actually coming from a place of care and attention for him.

« I told you not to mention it. Besides, I’m never letting someone lay a finger on you ever again. » A victorious grin still plastered upon his facial features, this time, it wasn’t because he had won the argument against you, it was because he realized everything he had always wanted, everything he had always needed, was here in his arms.

#one piece x reader #zoro roronoa #pirate hunter zoro #zoro x reader #zoro roronoa x reader #op x reader #zoro imagine #zoro one shot

59 notes · View notes

taeken-my-heart · 4 years

Text

Moirai Chapter 13

Summary: On your 18th birthday a name appears on your wrist. The name of your soulmate. It’s a momentous day that everyone looks forward to, but you’ve always brushed aside; refusing to believe in a fickle mistress called destiny. But what happens when on the morning of your 18th birthday you wake to find the name of your mortal enemy? Jeon Jungkook.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Soulmates au/ Enemies to lovers au. Angst, fluff, bickering, romance, eventual smut.

Word Count: 5651

Chapter notes: This has got some nice bits...but it’s also got some pretty good angst at the end. It will all be OK <3

+++++++++

“So, I was thinking,” Jimin began, leaning against the door frame as you finished your mascara, peering up at his reflection. “There’s this farmers market going on, on 5th and Waller, and I’ve heard really good things about this Greek gyro stand there. Let’s go try some.”

“You hate trying new food.” You frowned, peering over your shoulder at him and he huffed, coming to stand behind you, hands kneading into your shoulders.

“Not all the time,” he whined, “Come on. We both have the evening off, I thought it might be fun to go do this together. Tomorrow is the last night and you work so let’s go now.”

“Fine.” You replied, standing and dusting off your jeans. “But food is on you.”

“Yes ma’am!” He saluted, kissing your cheek and grabbing your hand. “Don’t even bother getting your purse, I’ll take care of everything.”

The market was within walking distance of your apartment so the two of you made your way leisurely towards 5th and Waller, chatting absentmindedly as the early evening breeze swept through your hair.

The evening was pleasant, the sun drooping low on the horizon. The hair at the nape of your neck was warm with perspiration and you tugged at the bottom of your shirt to fan yourself. The market came into view, colorful tented booths lining the street. The first stand caught your eye and you navigated Jimin towards it, arm linked through his.

“Wow, look at this dress! It’s super cute. What do you think?” You held the sunflower yellow up against your body and Jimin looked you up and down, nodding.

“You look like spring vomited all over you.”

“That’s my favorite look.” You hummed, turning to the vender and inquiring after the price. After Jimin had paid (because he’d foolishly insisted that he’d take care of everything) you took the bag you were handed and linked your arm back through his.

“Y/N?” Someone inquired from behind you and both you and Jimin turned around. Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach, eyes landing on the dark mop of hair you’d never imagined you’d see outside of work. Now, of course, you realized that was foolish. You lived in the same city, naturally it was a possibility.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, sharper than you’d meant.

“I live in this neighborhood,” Jungkook said, eyebrow raised at you. He glanced at your arm, thread through the arm of your boyfriend, before turning his gaze toward him. “You must be Jimin.”

“Ah, yes, I see my reputation precedes me. You are?”

“I’m Dr.-”

“Kim!” You said loudly and both Jimin and Jungkook turned to blink owlishly at you. “This is Dr. Kim.”

Jungkook looked back at Jimin, smiling tightly before extending his hand. “Taehyung Kim. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, Taehyung!” Jimin grinned, “Y/N tells me you’re a really gifted pathologist.”

“Ah, she shouldn’t have.” Jungkook crooned, switching his gaze to you and you smiled, tense.

Laughing, you squeezed Jimin’s forearm nervously. “He really is great, but honey, we’ve really gotta get going or we’ll miss the gyros. I’m sure Taehyung has somewhere to be too.”

“Actually, I was heading to the gyro stand myself.” Jungkook smiled, “I’ve heard really good things about the quality of their meat.”

“Well then, please, join us. I would love to hear how Y/N behaves at work.”

You were dying, Jimin dragging you along by his side as the three of you resumed your walk further into the market. “So, remind me what you do for work,” Jungkook said, “I know Y/N has told me before, but I’m afraid I have forgotten.”

“I’m a divorce attorney at Swanson and Heath.”

“Ah, must be a difficult business.”

“No more difficult than being a doctor, I imagine. Though I’m not often faced with life or death.”

Jungkook nodded, dodging a lady yelling at her little boy off to the side of the stands, hair tousled and looking like he’d been rolling in the dirt. “They’re difficult in different ways, that’s for sure. Do you see many soulmates in your office?”

You tried not to squeeze Jimin’s bicep in your stress. You glanced over at Jungkook who looked the picture of curious innocence and tried not to glare.

“I can’t say we see a lot, but we have seen a couple in the five years that I’ve been there. It’s not unheard of, but it is pretty rare.”

“Guess there’s something to be said for the soulmate attachment.” Jungkook said; nonchalant.

Jimin shrugged, your arm raising with the motion. “I guess if you buy into that type of thing.”

Jungkook looked between the two of you, smile quirking at the corner of his lips. “I’m a big believer in soulmates; always have been. I think, like every relationship, it takes some work, but I’m willing to put in the work.”

You frowned, following Jimin around the corner and you could see the gyro stand come into view, line long, but likely worth it.

“Have you met your soulmate yet?” Jimin asked, just as the three of you stepped into the line and stopped. You looked at Jungkook, eyes wide as you tried to communicate to him how brutally you would strangle him if he outed you.

Jungkook smiled sadly, shaking his head. “Ah, life hasn’t given us the opportunity to really connect yet. I’m hopeful for the future.”

“Well I’m rooting for you.”

“I appreciate that.” Jungkook grinned and you just wanted to shrivel up and disappear. If only Jimin knew what he was rooting for.

“So, how’d you hear about this market?” Jimin asked.

“I actually only live about a block away so I’ve been seeing the posters around for the last week and it got me interested. I’m pretty new to the area,” at your sharp, panicked expression, he backtracked, “this neighborhood, I mean, and so I thought it would be a good idea.”

“Ah, did you move recently?”

Jungkook nodded, “into this neighborhood, yeah. It’s been a pretty positive move so far. Much nicer apartment than my last.”

You could see the line Jungkook was toeing, trying not to outright lie about everything and you felt a little bad. You were the one who’d called him by the name of another colleague, but you weren’t ready to tell Jimin yet. You just knew he wouldn’t be happy.

“So, have you been seeing anyone? While you wait for your soulmate?” Jimin asked, cheeks pinched at the thought. He really did hate the idea of soulmates and everything they represented, but he was too nice a guy to mock other people’s dreams and ambitions. At least not to their face.

“No,” Jungkook shook his head, “not really. I dated casually in college but nothing every really stuck and eventually I just realized that I already had someone special that I was willing to work for.” He tapped his wrist, looking up at you and your eyes locked, heart beating anxiously against your rib cage.

In a dark corner somewhere inside you, where you’d locked that same dream away, it leapt eagerly, beating against the doors of its prison. You had wanted that too…maybe you still did.

The line moved forward and you switched your gaze away from the heat of his intensity, watching as a couple walked past you with their recently purchased gyro. Your mouth watered a little.

“So, you’re a romantic?” Jimin asked and before you could stop yourself, you were scoffing.

“Yeah, when he was a kid, he used to think he’d hear a bell when he met his soulmate. It’s from an anime or something.”

Both Jimin and Jungkook looked at you in surprise. “Did you know Taehyung as a kid?” Jimin asked, “I thought you said you met at the hospital.”

Internally kicking yourself, you tried your best to smile. “That’s just something he’s told me before. These kinds of conversations come up sometimes.”

“I guess.” Jimin nodded and you could see Jungkook’s struggle not to laugh.

“Yeah, I was a bit of a nerd as a kid.” He chuckled, “Never really grew out of the romantic side, although I was kind of an idiot for a few years. You know how teenagers are.”

Jimin laughed, nodding. “Yeah, there was a week straight in elementary school where we learned about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table and I was convinced that, that was my calling, literally dressed up as a knight every day for a month.”

You burst out laughing, griping his arm tight. “No way! You never told me that.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “not exactly my proudest moment. Didn’t really think that was the story to try and woo you with.”

“Fair enough.” You grinned.

It was your turn in line so you and Jimin both stepped forward, glancing over the menu quickly before making your selections and paying. You stepped off to the side, laying your head against Jimin’s shoulder and waiting for your food to be ready.

Jungkook came to stand beside the two of you once again, striking up conversation with Jimin as you linked your fingers with the later, playing with the knuckles on his hand to distract yourself. This was a very weird situation; to be trapped in the center of a conversation between your boyfriend and you’re your soulmate. You were really grateful that so far Jungkook hadn’t said anything.

After spending the next hour weaving your way through booths and chatting in your small group, Jimin expressed his interest in returning home. Tomorrow was officially the weekend and after a really early morning and long day at the office he was about ready to collapse.

“Well it was really nice to meet you, Jimin.” Jungkook smiled, extending his hand for a handshake.

“Likewise, Taehyung.”

As Jimin and you began to move away from him, you glanced over your shoulder at Jungkook who waved you a small goodbye. “Hold on.” You said softly to Jimin and he stopped with a nod.

You walked over to Jungkook pausing as you scanned his face carefully. “Thank you, Jungkook.” You whispered. “I’m sorry you had to lie; I just haven’t felt ready to tell him yet that…well that you’re back in my life. I promise I’ll tell him later. I just don’t want him to leave me. I love him.”

Jungkook nodded, his face a careful mask over his emotions and you waved softly, backing away. After walking back to Jimin and moving towards home again you glanced back one more time to find Jungkook still standing there, watching as you rounded the corner.

Saturdays were one of your least favorite shifts to work (aside from the full moon because that crap was real) for all the obvious reasons, but also you were typically working 12-hour shifts and today was no different. It was 6 hours in and you were already tired.

Jungkook’s welcome party had started an hour ago and even though you’d had opportunities, you hadn’t been brave enough to go in yet. You’d seen his parents through the doorway and had been tempted to go say hello…but then what? Stand there awkwardly while you all thought the same thing? Standing next to your soulmate but not doing anything about it. No thanks.

The intensity of the shame was too much to bear.

You were stood by the nursing desk, trying to kill some extra time by flipping through the charts of one of your patients when Lizzy caught you.

“There you are!” She called and you stood up straight, smiling over your shoulder at her. “What are you doing out there? There’s free food in the break room, you know. They have French fries, Y/N, French fries!”

You chuckled rolling your eyes and leaning your elbows against the counter as you turned to face her. “Careful now, you just might start a stampede with your volume.”

“Come on, let’s go eat.” Lizzy said, threading her arm through yours and you balked at the idea, attempting to pull your arm away but she clung tight.

“I can’t, I’m busy.” You lied and Lizzy’s face darkened.

“Really? Busy reading Mrs. Chapelman’s chart for the 6th time in an hour? I’ve been watching you, Y/N.”

You huffed a sigh, tugging at your arm again and this time Lizzy relinquished her hold. “Well that’s not creepy.” You muttered, “I’m just not really feeling hungry.”

“Then come socialize.”

“Or social.”

Lizzy crossed her arms over her chest. “Seriously, what is going on with you? You barely know Dr. Jeon, why are you acting like this? It’s kind of childish.”

You frowned over at your friend, fingers tapping at the desk behind you. “You don’t even know what happened between us or anything so that’s pretty rich.”

“Yeah, because you won’t tell me anything!” Lizzy fumed, “it hasn’t been from lack of trying on my part. He’s a really nice guy so I really don’t get this grudge you seem to have against him.”

“If I go in there, can we stop talking about Jungkook?” You sighed with a rolled of your eyes. Lizzy examined you carefully and you fought the urge to fidget under her gaze.

“First name basis, huh?”

“Oh my gosh, Lizzy!” You laughed. “Seriously. I’ll go in if we stop talking about him.”

“Fine,” she sniffed, grabbing your wrist, “but at some point, you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on. I’ve been pretty patient, but you know I’m a nosy s.o.b and you haven’t been sharing your gossip.”

Just as the two of you stepped into the room Lizzy’s pager beeped and she looked down at it, groaning. “I’ve gotta go, but you need to at least go say hi!” She insisted, pointing her finger at you.

She stomped her way out the door and you tried to carefully follow after before anyone else could see you, but it was too late. Jungkook’s eyes skimmed the room, landing on you and he grinned, calling your name and waving his hand over his head. His parents stood beside him, dressed in simple but classy dress clothes and you made your way towards them, Mrs. Jeon holding her arms open for you.

“Y/N!” She cooed, pulling you into her embrace, “how are you? It’s been so long since we’ve seen you!”

You hugged Mr. and Mrs. Jeon before taking the drink Jungkook handed you and smiling at his parents. “Wow, it really has been so long. Like 9 years, right? Can you believe it?”

“You should come visit your parents more often.” Mrs. Jeon scolded and you nodded, embarrassed.

“You’re right, I haven’t been out that way in too long. Just seems like there’s always an emergency that needs attending to here.”

You all chuckled and Mr. Jeon wrapped his arm around your shoulders again, squeezing. “How have you been? What have you been doing?”

“I’ve been good; just working mostly. Trying to find that work life balance.”

“Are you excited for your sister’s wedding? It’s coming up really soon, just over two months, right?”

“That’s right!” You smiled, one hand sliding into the pocket of your scrubs and you took a sip of your drink. It was fruity and light; maybe passionfruit. “Two months and one week officially. Ella called me this morning to threaten my life if I don’t wear the shoes she’s ordered for me.”

Jungkook laughed and you smiled up at him. “That sounds like something she’d say.”

“Well then you’d better wear the shoes.” Mrs. Jeon chuckled, taking a bite of her food. “You should get some, by the way,” she said, pointing down at her plate, “They did not skimp on taste.”

Jungkook motioned for you to walk passed him and you bowed your head in thanks, moving towards the table with him right behind you. “How was the rest of your night last night?” He asked, dropping a couple drumsticks on his plate and scanning the rest of the table for what he wanted next.

You grabbed a plate yourself, heading straight for the fried rice, allowing the grumbling in your stomach to make decisions for you. “It was good; very casual. We ordered in some dessert, binge watched a few episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine and then went to bed early.”

“On a Friday night?” He chuckled and you turned to him, smiling.

“Well Jimin stayed up a little later than me working on one of his cases, but I have a 12 hour shift today so I wanted to be well rested.”

“Fair enough. Glad I have today off.”

“Don’t rub it in.” You complained and he grinned. You stood by the table as you ate; time was limited so you wanted to shove as much in as you could while you could.

“Is Jimin coming as your plus one to the wedding?” Jungkook asked, chewing on one of the drumsticks on his plate and you looked up at him, nodding.

“Yeah, that’s the plan. Unless something crazy comes up at work, of course, but that’s doubtful.”

“I bet your family is really excited to see you. Has it really been 9 years since you’ve been back home?”

“Well, no,” you shook your head, “just 9 years since I’ve happened to see your parents. I’ve definitely been back home but it’s always been when they were out of town or schedules just didn’t match up.”

“Yeah, they’re out of town a lot,” he agreed, grabbing a roll from the pile on the table, “That’s my dream for retirement.”

“To travel?” You asked, looking up at him and he nodded.

“Yeah, everywhere I can get to. I wanna see the whole world. What about you? Are you interested in travel?”

Jungkook’s parents were talking to Dr. Kim a few feet away and you watched them for a moment in thought. You wondered what they thought about all of this. Jungkook’s job, how far he’s come, this hospital, the fact that you worked here…just you in general. You’d never felt like your relationship with them suffered, but you knew, even if they didn’t say it, that they wanted you and Jungkook to be together.

Sometimes…when you weren’t paying attention to how your thoughts strayed, you wished that it could be that simple. That old wounds would heal and maybe some how things would work out. Life never worked how you thought it would, though.

“I mean, yeah, definitely.” You nodded, turning back to look at Jungkook. His hair was pushed back and away from his face and you could see that he had a mild undercut. You wondered if that was new. “Who doesn’t want to see the world? If only money allowed.”

“I’m a big believer in the fact that it’s not money that holds us back, more like lack of time and the will to make the sacrifices needed to save. One time, in college, my parents told me that they were going to go visit family in Korea in the spring. I only had about 5 months to save so I literally stopped spending money on things that weren’t necessary and saved a ton. It just took a lot of dedication.”

“Doesn’t that take some fun out of life, though? What if I want to go to lunch?” You grinned and he smiled back.

“Depends where your priorities lie, I suppose. I was willing to put off a few every day activities for 2 weeks of adventure. It was pretty worth it in my books.”

You sighed, taking a large sip of your drink and Jungkook watched your throat bob as he waited to hear what was on your mind. “Do you ever take a break from being obnoxiously good at all things?” You teased and he grinned, shrugging.

“There’s no rest for the brilliant.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes and smacking his arm. “You’re so full of yourself.” Just then your pager beeped and you frowned, throwing away your empty plate. “Duty calls. I’m gonna go say goodbye to your parents.”

Jungkook nodded and you made you way over to bid your goodbyes before heading back out into the hallway and over to the labor ward. They were a little short tonight and needed someone to administer an epidural.

You had a cesarean section in an hour anyway so it was probably better to stay close to the area. Someone calling your name made you pause and you turned to find Jungkook jogging towards you. “Hey, sorry, I know you’re busy. My parents are leaving back home tomorrow night and they were wondering if you had any free time tomorrow, they want to take you out to eat.”

“Just me and your parents?” You asked, eyebrow raised and he chuckled, running his fingers through his hair and looking down at the ground.

“Well, no, I’d be there too.”

You scratched at your pant leg in thought, “Well, I’m working tomorrow night and into Monday morning so I could really only do something in the morning or early afternoon.”

“What about brunch? Would you be available for that?” He suggested, eyebrows raised.

“Sure, I think I can swing brunch,” You shrugged, “I’ve really gotta run, though.”

“Well how can I get a hold of you to tell you the details?” He asked as you began to move away and you stopped.

You looked around before grabbing a marker from the nurse’s desk next to you and reaching for his hand, scribbling your number down in his palm. “There,” you looked up at him, lips quirking up. “Problem solved.”

You placed the marker back in its place before nodding and turning around, walking around the corner and away from the man who had now made a habit of making your heart race.

When your shift was over you made your way wearily to your car, chucking your bag into the passenger seat and turning the key in the ignition; the car whirring to life noisily. It was only 7:15 but you’d been working for 12 hours straight and right now, you thought your feet might actually fall off.

The drive home was quiet. No music to disturb, rush hour long over. The quiet was nice; peaceful after a day of emotional turmoil and emergency surgeries. You enjoyed your drives home; like a reset of your emotional state, allowing you to breathe and feel human again. At least until the next shift.

Sometimes working in medicine, you did feel like a robot. It could become all too easy to switch off your emotions, especially in the cases when someone died in your care. Having to tell families that someone they’d trusted you with was gone…it was honestly the worst part of your job. All the monitoring and work in surgery was daunting, yes, but it usually paid off with a healthy person at the end.

But sometimes it didn’t.

Those moments made you bleed red, like somehow you’d died instead, lost a piece of your soul with the person you couldn’t protect. You’d seen many really good doctors just switch off; self-preservation, as it were. You understood it; that need to protect your own heart. It was tempting, sometimes, to want to switch off and just become robotic. Get the job done and don’t lose any of yourself in the process.

That’s not how it worked, though. In a choice like that, you always lost more of yourself when you chose to stop feeling. Choosing to embrace the emotion, you liked to believe it made you a more empathetic person. You wanted to grieve with those who were grieving; show them that they weren’t alone.

It was draining, though.

After parking your car and switching off the engine, you slid your bag back over your shoulder and made your way towards the elevator. You locked your car from over your shoulder.

The hallway was relatively quiet this evening, which was nice. Usually you could hear your neighbors trying to corral their two young children into their nighttime routine. Whatever it was, the kids hated it and you got to hear about it every night. You smiled at the thought, slipping your key into the lock of your front door and making your way into the apartment.

The house was quiet but the lights were on. “Jimin?” You called, making your way towards the living room.

He sat on the couch, eyes trained down on the floor and something about his silence was earie. Something felt…off.

“So, something really interesting happened today.” Jimin said, lips pursed as he picked at the fluff of one of your couch cushions. From the look on his face, it seemed like that something wasn’t a good thing.

“Oh?” You said, fingers griping tightly at the strap of your satchel “What happened?”

“I met a man today, at the store, we got chatting and we figured out that you both work together. His name was Taehyung Kim. You know what’s particularly interesting?” You heart plummeted as he looked up at you, face ridged from his emotion. “He looked nothing like the Taehyung Kim I met.”

There was silence for what felt like forever, a sharp stillness as Jimin watched you carefully, gauging your reaction.

“Who did I meet last night, Y/N?” He asked and you couldn’t help the tears as they welled in your eyes. “Who was that?”

He stood and your arm went limp, your bag sliding from your shoulder and onto the floor. “It was Jungkook.” You whispered.

“Who?” Jimin asked, voice sharp and you felt a tear slip over and onto your cheek.

“Jungkook.”

“How long has he been back?” The stone in his voice was terrifying.

“It’s been three weeks.” You mumbled, mouth wet with emotion.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jimin snapped, pacing across the room angrily, “for weeks you’ve been working with him and you never said a word!”

“I’m sorry!” You cried, “I really didn’t want to worry you. There’s nothing going on between us, I swear, we’re just coworkers. You know how the soulmates thing works, he and I are always going to have our lives revolve around each other.”

“Do you want to be with him?” He asked tersely.

“No!” You insisted, coming to stand in front of him, gripping his forearms.

“Does he want to be with you?” He asked softly.

You paused, not really sure of the answer. While he hadn’t exactly expressed his interest in words directly to you, his actions seemed to indicate that, that might be something on his mind. Your silence was all Jimin needed.

“Great.” Jimin replied sourly, “I guess this is it then, right? Gonna leave me for your soulmate?”

“No!” You balked, pulling him to you as he tried to turn away, “Jimin, you know I don’t believe in the soulmate thing. Just because his name is on my wrist doesn’t mean he suddenly adds value to my life; he never has. I don’t want to be with him, I want to be with you. I love you.”

Jimin frowned and your heart stuttered slightly in your chest; he almost looked…guilty. “I’ve gotta get some air.” He muttered, turning and storming from the apartment before you could stop him.

It had been three hours since Jimin had left, insisting he needed air. You were beginning to think he’d gone to a friend’s house when suddenly the keys in the lock roused your attention. You watched from your spot at the kitchen table as Jimin walked in, dropping his keys and his jacket on the console table and running his hands along his jeans before shoving them in fists into his pockets.

“Are you ok?” You asked softly, clutching tighter to your mug. Jimin took a deep breath, walking slowly into the kitchen but pausing in the doorway. Something wasn’t right.

“We need to talk.” He said, leaning against the door jam and your heart seized in your chest. You motioned for him to take the seat beside you and he moved slowly, sliding down onto the chair and folding his hands in front of him on the table. “I haven’t been 100% honest with you.” He said, gaze trained on the divots of the oak table you were both sitting at. Your stomach rolled uncomfortably but you waited for him to continue. “I tried to fight it for a while, tried to practice what I preach…but I’ve reached a point where I realize I just can’t anymore.”

“Tried to fight what?” You whispered. You were terrified. You’d heard this story before and it didn’t end well for you.

“I met Molly.” Jimin mumbled sadly, glancing up at you and you could feel your heart shatter. 8 years together, a lifetime of future plans already made suddenly evaporated.

“Ok.” You murmured hoarsely. You could feel the tears already pricking at your eyes. It wasn’t fair, what had you ever done to deserve this sort of heart break? Each guy you’d dated who’d insisted he didn’t believe in soulmates always seemed to change their tune once they’d met them. It was never ending disappointment.

“You remember that crazy couple that’s been going through my firm to get a divorce? Always screaming and asking for emergency meetings? Turns out the wife’s maiden name is Fisher.”

Molly Fisher. It was burned into your mind along with the skin of Jimin’s wrist, a constant reminder that he was never really yours to begin with…just like the name on your own wrist was a reminder that in the end, you weren’t really any bodies. It hurt so badly. You weren’t equipped to handle this sort of pain; how could you just pretend the last 8 years hadn’t happened? How could you watch the love of your life leave you for no other reason than the fact that the universe deemed it so?

"I thought you didn't believe in soulmates?" You mumbled. Your mouth felt heavy with emotion and tears were streaming down your cheeks.

"I didn't." Jimin sighed, "Until I met mine. I don't know how Jungkook did it, knowing you for so long and just giving you up. I've only known Molly three weeks and I can't imagine trying to breath without her."

You couldn't help the sob that escaped you and Jimin's bottom lip quivered at the sound. "I'm so sorry." He choked.

You nodded soundlessly, trying to regain your composure. “I know you are.”

“I never meant for this to happen!” Jimin cried, reaching out and taking your hand in his own. “I love you; you know I love you...but I can’t deny that it’s different. The way I feel about you and the way I feel about her are…” he paused at the trembling of your bottom lip and he looked down at your hands, sniffing, “it’s just something I can’t really ignore anymore.”

“I understand.” You said, standing and wiping at your tear stained cheeks, sniffing noisily as you tried to stop the wave of emotion that was overcoming you. “You should probably go, though, I don’t think your soulmate would like you being here with me.” You walked towards the living room, heart seizing as you heard Jimin cry louder.

“What do you want me to do?” He sobbed, standing and coming to hover at the kitchen door, “what am I supposed to do in this situation? Just tell me and I’ll do it!” He looked half out of his mind and in that moment, though your heart was still bleeding in the center of your chest, you felt immense pity for this man that you loved. He was torn between two horrifyingly difficult choices. Stay with the woman he was in love with and deny the pull to his soulmate, or give you up and follow his destiny with a woman he already loved so much more than he could express? You could already see that intense love on his face, the one they always talked about. No matter what he did, someone was going to get hurt.

And it looked like it was going to be you.

“You should go to her.” You mumbled, “I can’t keep you…I have to believe that I love you enough to let you go.”

“Don’t say that.” Jimin frowned, “I don’t want you to let me go.”

“But you want to be with Molly.” You said it as though it were a question, though you knew it was also fact. Jimin’s frown deepened because he couldn’t deny it. “You can’t have us both, Jimin, it’s greedy and not fair. I’m not willing to share you so you have to choose.”

Jimin stared at you in silence and you nodded, pursing your lips. “I’m going to stay with a friend tonight. You can get your stuff together and do whatever. We’ll sort out the lease on this apartment later. Right now, I just really need to go.”

“Y/N!” He called as you yanked open the door. You turned to look at him over your shoulder and he sighed, eyes bloodshot with tears. “What am I supposed to do without you?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” You whispered, “Goodbye, Jimin.”

The evening was surprisingly cool for the time of year; though the summer had come and gone, the days were still warm and sticky. You wished you’d brought your jacket but there was no way you were going back to the apartment now. You needed time to breathe and Jimin needed time to pack.

You felt like your heart was splintering all over again at the thought of him. You needed comfort. Food, you needed food. Your favorite diner was just around the corner and you picked up your steps, making your way through the door with a jingle of the bell and you smiled meekly at the hostess as she greeted you.

“Table for one?” She smiled and you nodded, following after her. She led you to your favorite table, pushed back against the wall and with a view out into the city. Leaving you with the menu and a promise to bring you a cup of hot chocolate pronto, you sighed, pushing your nose deep into the menu and scanning for something that would help you feel less miserable.

Maybe pancakes.

The sound of someone sliding into the vinyl seat across from you roused your attention and you looked up to find Jungkook, doe eyes wide and smiling as he surveyed you. He held in his hand a coffee mug and you eyed it wearily.

“Coffee at 10:30pm on a Saturday?” You asked and his smile deepened.

“Decaf.” When you said nothing he continued, “So what brings you here so late?”

“Jungkook,” you sighed, setting your menu down heavily, “do you need something?”

“I just thought you could use some company.” He replied and you frowned.

“Well, no offense, but I’ve had a pretty terrible night and you are kind of the last person I’d seek comfort from.”

You felt bad, Jungkook actually looked a little hurt and you closed your eyes, rubbing at them in frustration. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve just had a really bad night.”

“Is it anything I can help with?” He asked carefully and you sighed again, staring down at the menu.

“Not really.” You shrugged.

“Where’s Jimin tonight?” Jungkook asked. You knew he meant well, was trying to distract you from your thoughts…if only he’d known how poor that conversation starter was.

“At home packing, I presume.” You muttered weakly.

“Packing?” You could hear Jungkook’s discomfort.

“It would be weird to continue to live with one another after breaking up.” You said, feigning a casual air you most certainly did not feel.

“I’m so sorry.” Jungkook mumbled, and really, he did look very sorry, which was more comforting than it should have been.

“That’s what happens when you meet your soulmate, I guess…well, sometimes.” You tried not to look at him, but you could see him shifting uncomfortably in his seat, fingers tapping against his porcelain mug. It was silent for a while before the waitress came, delivering Jungkook’s food and your drink before promising to be back with your food soon.

“Want a fry?” Jungkook asked, pushing his plate towards you and you smiled.

“Sure.” You took a fry from his plate, chewing on the end of it and watching as he took a bite of his burger.

“Look,” he said after he’d swallowed his mouthful and chased it down with a sip of his coffee, “I know we’re not exactly…close, or what not, but if you need a place to stay, I’ve got a spare room, you’re more than welcome to stay the night.”

“That’s very generous of you,” you smiled, “but I’m OK. I’ll just call a friend and ask to spend the night. Beside aren’t your parents with you?”

“No, they wanted to stay in a hotel.” He said, “Are you sure, though? I really won’t bother you. My place isn’t too far away and the guest room has its own bathroom.”

“Thank you, Jungkook, really. I just think, considering our history, it’s probably not the best idea.”

“Can we put history aside for one night?” He asked softly, “I just want to help you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll get through this.”

“I know you will.” He replied confidently, “you’re strong, stronger than anyone I know. You’re passionate, intelligent, and kind. It’s not a question of whether you’ll get through it but whether you’ll let people who genuinely care about you help you.”

“And you would consider yourself one of those people?” You questioned, thanking the waitress as she dropped off your pancakes.

“Look, Y/N, I was 18 years old when I made that choice. I was scared and made a rash decision but it doesn’t mean that I never cared. I’ve done a poor job of showing it, but I’ve cared about you my entire life. Please let me help you.”

You chewed on your pancakes slowly as you considered him. Maybe you were being unfair, still holding this grudge against him. The both of you had been just barely 18 and there had been a lot of sudden changes. You weren’t ready to think of him in the context of falling in love, and you probably never would be…but perhaps you could be friends.

Sighing you nodded, “OK. Just for tonight. Tomorrow I’ll be back in my apartment, though.”

“Yes, of course!” He beamed and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Here it is.” Jungkook said softly, flicking on the lights at the front entrance and ushering you through. It was simply furnished, with clean lines and warm tones. It was similar in size to your own apartment, but with a more open plan style. “Let me show you the guest room.”

He led you down a separate hallway, pushing open the door on your right. “It’s nothing, fancy,” he mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck, “but there’s blankets and pillows, an en suite, and the mattress is pretty comfortable.”

Simple grey’s and browns showcased the room perfectly and you smiled. “It’s great,” you said softly, “thank you.”

“I suppose you don’t have a tooth brush or pajamas, huh?” At the shake of your head he raised one finger, walking quickly back out of the room and you listened to the shuffling sounds at the end of the hallway. “Here,” he said, returning with a towel, a new tooth brush, and a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. “The clothes are washed and clean; I hope they fit. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You smiled, taking the small pile from him and nodding, “thanks, Jungkook.”

After he’d left the room you closed the door, changing into the pajamas provided and going to brush your teeth and wash your face. The shirt was a little too baggy and the shorts sagged on your hips, but you were happy to have clothes to sleep in; you didn’t really fancy sleeping in your jeans or even worse, your underwear. Not with Jungkook around, anyway.

After you’d finished preparing for bed you decided you wanted a glass of water to help you settle down. Stepping back into the hallway you padded slowly towards the kitchen in search of a cup. You hoped Jungkook had retreated to his room but those hopes were quickly dashed as you found him sitting at the kitchen Island, medical book opened across the countertop and laptop attached at the fingers.

He looked up at you in surprise before sitting up straight. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you need me to turn off the lights? I didn’t realize they reached all the way to the bedroom.” He made a move to stand but you motioned for him to sit and he slowly complied.

“No, you’re fine, I actually just wanted a glass of water before bed.”

“Oh, of course. Here, let me get that for you.” He said, pushing off the stool he’d been sat on.

“It’s really not necessary,” you insisted as he rounded the counter, “you’ve already been very kind to me, you can just point me to the cups.”

“Nonsense.” He smiled, pulling a glass from a cupboard above your head and moving to the fridge to get some water. “You’re my guest, let me take care of you. Go ahead and sit down.”

You moved reluctantly to the bar stool next to his, taking a seat and waiting for him to return with your drink. “Thank you.” You said, softly, as he slid the cup into your hands. “So, what are you working on?” You asked, setting your cup down on the counter after a careful sip.

“Just brushing up.” He smiled. “There’s a lot to remember and it’s all kind of overwhelming sometimes.”

You nodded, staring down into your mug. “Yeah, I remember being really intimidated when I first started. Sometimes I still feel a little overwhelmed if it’s a complicated case or something. We walk a fine line between life and death and it’s hard not knowing if you’re being delicate enough.”

“That’s exactly it! That’s why I wanted to be a surgeon, though. Knowing that I can do something to make people’s lives better. Some of the people who end up on that table are going to be having the worst moment of their life and I have the power to make a positive impact. It makes my heart race just thinking about it.”

“Sounds like you chose the right profession.” You smiled, looking over at him and he blushed, bowing his head down into his chest.

“I hope I can make a good doctor.”

“Jungkook…you’re already a good doctor. The fact that you care so much, means something. It’s not easy to look into the faces of the families whose loved ones have died on our tables. There’s going to be times when you just want to give up, but as long as you keep trying and caring the way you do right now, you’ll be successful.”

He smiled, bashful, staring down at the keys on his laptop, fingers tapping gently in thought. “Thanks Y/N, that’s mean a lot…especially coming from you.” He looked up at you and you felt like your heart might seize right in your chest. “You know, since you’re such a good doctor.” He stuttered and you nodded, taking a gulp of water from your cup and standing.

“Thank you, I appreciate that. I should probably get to bed now, it’s…” You sighed, “It’s been a long day.”

Jungkook nodded and you lifted your glass at him in a salute before turning around and walking back into the guest bedroom.

++++

Wow, thank you so much for reading! I'm sorry this one was sad, but it was necessary. After all, this is a Jungkook story, is it not? ;)

Let me know what you think <3

Chapter 12

Chapter 14

#btsbookclub #jungkook scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff

295 notes · View notes

fgodestinyawakenings · 3 years

Text

FGO Destiny Awakenings: Fujimaru Ritsuka and Fujimaru Ritsuko bio

My procrastination on life, writing my story, anything I needed to do is bad enough I’m surfing web day by day so.... Might as well get my ass to work on this

This is pretty long since it’s two people bio, so everything is under the cut!

Note: In regards to their Magic Circuit quantity, neither FGO wiki or material gives any information about them. I’ve estimated them to be around Emiya Shirou’s level of circuit, but can be lower or higher... But more likely lower as they are only receiving magecraft training in the story

Note 2: Foreign languages in here are courtesy of google translate, if you’re able to improvise its grammar, please drop me an ask so I can edit

Note 3: Some of the info are quite spoilerly but not that much spoiler since it’s a base information for me on their personality, background, magecraft

Note 4: After reading the bio, I know some will be enrage with me at the sensitive topics I’m about to touch for this story. Some are imagination, some are based on what I experience, and I won’t revealed which of what is imagination or experiences in reality. The bio will contain sensitive potential topics such as Depression & Family abuse, you’re entering this at your own risk to read.

Reminder: Yes this is fiction, but you need to separate in from reality. I’m not your babysitter to cater your needs, I have put up 4 notes to remind you of the content you’re entering. And yes, I’ve pacing back and forth on their backstory knowing the backlash I received since this is Fate lore we’re going in out of consideration.

Fujimaru Ritsuka

Character Type: Human, Master, Magus

Affliliation: Chaldea Security Organization

Gender: Male

*Lineage: TBA

Birthday: December 6th

Height: 1.72m

Place of Origin: Japan

Alignment: Lawful Good

Likes: Meeting and getting to know historical figures, Magi*Mari, Reading and Researching about history

Dislikes: Needles

Talents: Stage Magic

Circuit Quality: D

Circuit Quantity: D

Magic: Projection (Illusion), Hypnosis

Elemental Affinity: Air, particularly closest to Mist

Profile

Background

Ritsuka’s father divorced with his birth mother for unspoken circumstances and remarried to Ritsuko’s mother at the age of 11. At their first meeting, Ritsuka’s body was completely frail with his bones visible in plain view, wearing a dead emotionless face that shocked Ritsuko completely. His family situation was only described to young Ritsuko that Ritsuka’s father is doing everything it takes to ensure his mother will never come near him again.

But after spending more time with his new sister, Ritsuka gained back not only his weight, but his ability to speak, where first happened to yell at her for being reckless in fighting against their bullies. Though, he immediately regretted doing so and apologized afterwards when he knew all she did was to protect him.

Whenever someone brought up about his mom, Ritsuka immediately pushed the subject away to another topic. However when prodded further a little, he’s often described to be showing his real self by a broken look with a heartbreaking smile whenever he mentions about her

Personality

Intelligent, compassionate, self-conscious and rational with a reserved personality holding a snarky mouth, Ritsuka is considered the “brains” and leader to his sister and contracted Servants in their goal to restore humanity

By many Servants and Chaldea Staff who are Mages, he’s often described as someone “born with a heart that’s unfitting to be a magus”. Ritsuka would often bring his tablet along in each Singularity to inquire and take photos of the historical in each singularity. His scrupulous attention to detail comes in handy when he is off creating strategies to win against the enemies in the Singularity. And his ability to learn magic quickly helps in fasten his pace to be a better Master, but sometimes his answers in avoiding his friends to find out his meeting with Merlin within his dreams leaves others questioning his credibility for his talent.

Because of his strategic mindset, Ritsuka is highly perceptive to the others' feelings, and can figure out the source of most people's inner turmoil in a matter of a few important conversations.

“The last time someone falls in love with somebody, they had either--created a stepping stone to an illegitimate son to bring his father’s kingdom fall into ruins, trapped themselves forever in a land of utopia or even knocked up with his Master’s sister because why the hell not. No offense to you, Caster.”

-- Ritsuka to his sister while mentioning about Arthur’s, Merlin’s and Cu Chulainn’s love life

However his lack of experience in love and holding low regards about it from reading tons of historical and mythology books, had made him completely oblivious to his own and other people who had fallen in love with him. Though this is mainly of his own low self-esteem of his own worth as a person may have stemmed from his childhood, despite being considered an ace in everything he does by his sister. Ritsuka usually hide this but immediately quickly putting back up the façade of “a reliable and dependable but also ridiculously goofy person” when someone notice.

Understanding how critical their situation is, Ritsuka often refuse to sit still when there’s a given chance to do anything to help Chaldea. He also seems to get a little annoyed sometimes when people think he's cute or adorable, as he wants to be taken seriously like a grown-up from people around him as at most times Ritsuka is more mature and wiser than others.

When Ritsuka and Ritsuko are on their adventures in the Singularity, Ritsuka is the one to act as the leader because he is shown to be very brave and smart. He can be very protective of his sister, whenever she is in danger he is always there to help and will do anything to get her free.

It is also well mentioned that unlike his sister whom is open about her problems and sociable, Ritsuka is much more reserved and emotionally distant often avoiding talking about his past and himself. Even though he admired Heroic Spirits greatly and wished to understand them more, some would notice he often forced himself to draw a line from getting too close for some reason. But as the journey goes, Ritsuka has become greatly attached to everyone in Chaldea amd considered them strongly as his secondary family.

With his strong knowledge in history and novels, Ritsuka thinks much like an actual detective.

Despite his serious personality, living with Ritsuko his whole life (who is famous for her silly attitude) has caused him to indulge in childish activities with her. As such often either jokingly teased he’s forced to join with the shenanigans with the Child Servants, or mostly being the butt monkey teasing by them.

He also holds a huge soft spot towards children in particular to Jack and Mordred. When asked why in particular, Ritsuka easily gives his true smile that children like them deserve the love and acknowledgement they needed. But, he does a huge comedic soft spot to Alexandar and Ko-Gil, making his heart thumping when both used their charm while calling him “Onii-chan”.

He also seems to not mind breaking the rules in order to have some fun, which often having him to be scolded by Emiya when he does so. In particular habit is often staying up late or staying over at Romani’s room to watch Magi*Mari.

Abilities

“Merlin: After all, you and I are very similar, Ritsuka-kun. There shouldn’t be a problem for you to learn my tricks. Ritsuka: By similar, if you’re talking about having the same sexual reproductive organs... That’s captain obvious, Merlin.”

-- Ritsuka to Merlin on his first lesson with him

Illusion Magecraft

With his experience in entertainment magic, Merlin had taught him in magecraft of deception and proficiency in Projection. A magecraft that relies on fooling a being’s psyche to win, a magic which Ritsuka concluded only a mage like Merlin befits this magic for his notorious mischievous behavior.

Misdirection

Under the incantation chant “maintenant tu me vois maintenant tu ne”, Ritsuka will fool his enemy thinking that he had disappeared by their five senses. Rather than concealing his presence, Merlin described this spell as “Putting one’s attention focused strongly onto another. Like falling in love at first sight, where your world focus on that person alone!”

This spell Ritsuka commonly mostly to hide himself from enemy, and also additionally do a surprise attack from the back

However due to his quantity and quality of his magic circuits, Servants and enemies with strong sense and Clairvoyance are able to notice his whereabouts.

Projection (Illusion)

Unlike Emiya’s projection, Ritsuka’s projection creates objects based on his memories and imagination. A skill he’s able to do easily as though it’s strangely natural from his muscle memories, he currently lacks the learning to reinforce his projected works to a reality

Under Merlin’s teachings, Ritsuka is able to create an illusion of manipulating to fool his enemies five senses during battle. But, it may not work if one is able to see through eventually

To perform this magecraft, he need to act/pretend of an action in order to project the desired item from his mind into reality. However because it’s like an illusion, not only it lasted for seconds to minutes, that item may not even appeared in his enemy vision if the latter noticed the truth.

Combat

Even if magic circuits is weak, Ritsuka makes it up by physical combat via kendo. In combat, Ritsuka will give commands to his Servants while fighting against the lower mobs summoned by enemy Servants. Lacking any fear towards death, Ritsuka won’t hesitate to step forward to deal against enemy Servants if needed to buy some time for his allies Servant to summon their Noble Phantasm

As such even facing against a professional magus, Ritsuka treats it as an experiment test nearly at the cost of his own life to find a weakness within them.

Role

Ritsuka acts both support and fights with their Servants in Chaldea. He has no specific Servant in mind as being dragged into the World of Magus. Ritsuka admired all Heroic Spirits, often near instantly switched into his fanboy mode when meeting those he admired.

While he enjoys their company and wishes to personally know each of them better, he does get exasperated by some of the extremely colorful and chaotic Servants summoned in Chaldea.

But, Ritsuka instantly draws a line between him and the Servants from getting to close by often avoiding talking about himself and his own true feelings. Despite making himself distant from them, he cares a great deal about them and strongly hated the idea of treating them and anyone as tools or weapons to use.

Unlike his sister, he’s the one who supplies mana generally to most of the Servants via a technique Merlin taught him when he requested earnestly for his help.

Fujimaru Ritsuko

Character Type: Human, Master, Magus

Affliliation: Chaldea Security Organization

Gender: Female

Lineage: TBA

Birthday: May 29th

Height: 1.58m

Alignment: Lawful Good

Likes: Sports (mainly excel in softball and basketball), Morning workout as early as 4am, Sweets

Dislikes: Studying through reading of books, Anyone who hurts her brother and even attempting to bring up his family problems, House chores

Talents: Accuracy in throwing and quick learning speed taught via hands-on

Circuit Quality: D+

Circuit Quantity: D+

Magic: Nine Hand Seal Magecraft

Elemental Affinity: Fire

Profile

Background

Ritsuko mentions to Mash in Fuyuki Singulary Section 9 Part 1 that her real father disappeared on both her mother and her when she was a baby for reasons unknown. As such, it’s noted her mother has been raising her single-handedly by herself before remarrying Ritsuka’s father when she was 10.

At their first meeting, Ritsuko was completely horrified at Ritsuka’s body was completely frail with his bones visible in plain view, wearing a dead emotionless face that barely even respond to her when she first greeting him warmly. His family situation was only described to young Ritsuko when she asked was that Ritsuka’s father is doing everything it takes to ensure his mother will never come near him again, and will only explain to her when she grew older.

She mentioned though he was quiet, he was still receptive if not hesitant in answering to her. But after spending more time with his new sister, Ritsuka gained back not only his weight, but his ability to speak mainly to yell at her for being reckless in fighting against her bullies. Though at that time, Ritsuko chuckled she was unsure why she was crying while he apologized; whether it was the bullies, her brother scolded her, or the happiness she felt when she saw life in her brother’s eyes after months of wondering if the effort was futile to get closer to her new older brother.

Personality

On the surface, Ritsuko is fierce, independent, and pugnacious, but beneath her tough exterior, she possesses a strong loyalty toward her friends and duty as the Humanity’s last Master with her brother. She also has an admirable compassion and devotion, demonstrated when she expresses love toward things such as her family and friends. Unlike the calmer and reserved Ritsuka, Ritsuko is similarly quick witted and impulsive, especially in heated situations. And, she lacked perception towards her rash decisions often resulted in her accidentally insulting others.

Ritsuko is tough, impatient, headstrong, sarcastic, and assertive. Due to her crush on Mash, she tends to pull her away and shield her from others who showed interest in her. Like her brother, Ritsuko fully embraced her position as the Humanity’s Last Master, but lamenting her weakness how she isn’t calm and level-headed as her brother. A trait of Ritsuka she admires greatly when they were kids, as she’ll always be grateful during the times she was in near trouble. Mainly Ritsuka’s willingness and accepting of her secret towards her interest in woman, as she didn’t want her mother to know out of fear of disappointing her.

Because of this, Ritsuko also tends to be protective and even more so than her brother when it comes to his own well-being. Her mother never told anything about Ritsuka’s parents, except as she quoted:

“Mom said I was too young understand. Telling me Ritsuka’s mom did something really bad to him so Dad ensured his mom will never come close to meet Ritsuka again.”

As such, Ritsuko often keeps an eye on Ritsuka’s reaction whenever someone asks about his mom; ready to deflect or even pull him away at the uncomfortable situation.

Initially frightened and frozen with fear at Fuyuki Singularity, Ritsuko lamented with regret greatly how if her strength to save Mash from Artoria Alter’s Noble Phantasm could do the same for Olga Marie. But, she knew better she can’t wallow in grief, vowing to grow stronger and requested Emiya’s and Sadakuni’s aid to train her in combat and magecraft respectively.

Abilities

"Boomer-Dagger”

A pair of dagger crafted specially by Emiya after considering her skillset. It can be used for both physical combat and her magecraft. When thrown to her enemies, it returns to her via an invisible string connecting to her magic circuit. Also, it’s used as a placeholder on her talisman before conjuring her Nine Hand Seal Mudra Magecraft

Talisman

Her catalyst to invoke with her magecraft. Taught by Sadakuni, she needs to place it on her target before doing her Mudras to attack her opponent. Ritsuko often brings her mat of magic circle drawn by her blood to imbued powers into the talisman daily through meditation.

Onmyoudo Kuji-in aka Nine Hand Seals Magecraft

Taught by Section Chief Agano Sadakuni, Ritsuko mainly uses this magecraft for combat. This magecraft relies specifically on specific hand gesture and pattern to conjure her spells. From reinforcing her weapon and physical strength, to summoning fire magic for combat

Rin-Pyo-Toh, ready for battle: Enhancing her physical strength

Kai-Jin-Retsu, release: Conjure an explosion burst of flames

Jin-Pyo-Zai, bind: With ranged of 10 talisman connected by a burning magical rope to bind the target

Zai-Sha-Kai, heal: Transfer her mana for healing or empowering her Servant

Combat

Like her brother despite having slighter better circuits than him, Ritsuko sides along with her brother via physical combat. She often pairs with her brother, acting as a bait to go against the enemy, while Ritsuka pulls off a surprise ambush via his illusion magecraft.

In the face of an enemy Servant, Ritsuko steps back to give orders to the Servant she contracted with.

Role

While she treats Servants who are Kings or Queen with respect by their title, Ritsuko treats everyone equally with respect and as a friend. She’s shown to be more than willing to teach them about the modern technology and slang, also joining them in their crazy plans often resulted in chaotic humor, much to Ritsuka’s chagrin.

Like her brother, Ritsuko detested the idea of anyone treating Servants as tools or weapons as she view those who contracted her as their friend. This feeling also extend to her enemy Servant, believing they are living beings with their own free will and emotions.

While her brother generally supplies mana to their Servants, Ritsuko acts second-in-charge right after he finish mana transferring to their Servant which resulted him immobile and carried around by Emiya or Caster Cu Chulainn.

#fgo destiny awakenings #fujimaru ritsuka #fujimaru ritsuko

15 notes · View notes