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jeonsjiddies · 4 years

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Something Good | knj

summary- you’d known from the moment you’d laid eyes on him, Namjoon was good.

rating- e for everyone? lol

word count- 3395

pairing- namjoon x reader

genre- fluff

Warnings- lots of emotions, possibly kinda angsty?

a/n: possibility of a smutty part 2 if people want it?

Namjoon-

Namjoon was tired. He loved his life, he really did. He loved his career, he loved Army, he loved his bandmates. He could not have asked for anything better. But today, Namjoon was tired. He was worn out, and he just wanted to drift into the crowd unseen long enough to get his coffee and go back to his hotel room. He was dressed casually, jeans and a dark blue cotton t-shirt paired with a black baseball cap and a gray jacket, hood up. He wore a mask across his face, but with how smoggy it was in the city, that didn’t make him stand out.

He found a small coffee shop that looked fairly empty and ducked inside, quietly giving his order to the first employee, an older woman with a kind smile who nodded, writing “John” on his cup when he said Joon but he didn’t mind. His eyes flicked to the young woman who began mixing his drink, her pretty hair bouncing with her movements, languid and quick. She hummed quietly to herself, so quietly he couldn’t make out the song, but her sunny disposition made his mouth curve up into a smile.

“For John?” she smiled brightly at him, and he nodded, handing her the money and taking his change.

“Thank you.” he responded kindly, reaching out to take the drink.

Her eyes widened, mouth falling agape as she looked up to hand Namjoon his drink, their fingers brushing slightly as she handed it off. Namjoon felt a spark run clear down to his toes, and he met her gaze with similar surprise.

“Kim Namjoon?”

Y/N-

“Kim Namjoon?” you breathed, recognizing that voice anywhere.

Your skin was electrified where it touched his, and your gaze shot up and locked with his. Kim Namjoon, leader of BTS was standing right in front of you. The man who’d taken control of your every unconscious moment, drifting through your dreams like he owned them. The man you’d almost watched grow up on any screen you could get your hands on. You knew BTS had a concert in the city in a few days, but it never crossed your mind that he would appear in the small coffee shop you wasted your days in, barely making enough to cover your rent.

“Please don’t scream.” he begged, not in a conceited way, more desperate, exhausted.

“I won’t.” you promised.

“Thank you.” he whispered in a sigh of relief.

Namjoon flashed you a smile, which you only caught by the crinkle in his eyes. He turned to walk away and you stood there, frozen in place until your heart kicked into overdrive. This was your one chance. You hopped over the counter and dashed after him, skidding to a stop in front of the door just as he was about to open it.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re probably tired of fans approaching you, and I swear I’m not insane. I’ve been your fan for a while, but I’m not going to pretend I really know who you are. I would like to, though. I might not know everything about you but after watching you from the sidelines, I can tell there’s something different about you. You’re good. I could really use some good in my life.”

Namjoon’s eyes met yours but he didn’t speak, his gaze just searched yours. For what, you didn’t know.

“You don’t have to decide right now. Look, let me put my number in your phone, so you have it. You can decide if you want to text me or not. I won’t be offended if I don’t hear from you. But I think I could be something good for you too.” you offered, heart pounding with adrenaline.

Seconds passed before Namjoon nodded, something about the spark in your eye drawing him in and begging him to trust you. He dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone. You gently took it from his grasp and input your contact information, hitting save. You looked up at him as you handed it back. He looked at the screen momentarily.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Have a good day.” he said softly before exiting the shop and disappearing into the crowd.

When your shift ended two hours later, you were still in shock. Namjoon. Kim Namjoon had been in your coffee shop, had touched your skin. You shivered at the memory, a smile gracing your lips. You began walking home, ready to crash into your small twin bed inside your shared apartment. The sun began to set just as you crossed over to the shadier area of town, the only place you could afford to reside. You looked at your phone to check the time, and noticed a text from an unsaved number.

Namjoon [8:37PM] Hey, Y/N. It’s Namjoon.

Your heart thundered in your chest. He texted you. This had to be a joke.

You [8:39PM] Hey! I didn’t think you’d actually text me. How are you?

Namjoon [8:42PM] Honestly, I didn’t either. But you were so honest and open I figured it couldn’t hurt.

Namjoon [8:43PM] I’m okay, just tired. It’s been a long day.

You [8:44PM] I’m glad you did. I’m pretty great now. What made it a long day?

Namjoon stared at your message, unsure of if he should be truthful in his sour mood or pretend everything was fine. You’d only just met anyway. But something about you, it just made him feel like you’d get it. That you’d understand. He decided it would be okay, and he needed to let it out.

Namjoon [8:47PM] We had dance practice today for our upcoming show and I kept messing up and making everyone start over. I just couldn’t focus.

You [8:50PM] Are you working yourself too hard? Maybe you need to take a break.

Namjoon [8:53PM I don’t have time to take a break. Our show is in two days and we have to be ready.

Your heart ached for him. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders and he couldn’t spare a few minutes to prioritize his health?

You [8:55PM] Have you ever tried meditation or anything?

Namjoon [8:56PM] No…

You [8:59PM] Okay, hear me out. There’s this app I use when I’m stressed. It helps you meditate and has scenes with nature sounds to help you calm down. It’s even got a deep breathing feature to help you breathe. I listen to the sound of the rain when I just need to disconnect from the world and it always puts me at ease. You might try it.

Namjoon [9:00PM] What’s it called?

You [9:00PM] Calm. :)

You didn’t hear from Namjoon for a good twenty minutes, and you were starting to wonder if you’d said something wrong. You sighed, setting your phone down and curling into the blankets, disappointment crawling its way into your heart uninvited. That was, until your phone started ringing and Namjoon’s name flashed across your screen. Your heart lept into your throat and you slid the answer key across the screen.

“Hello?” you tried to make your voice even.

“Hey. Sorry. I hope it’s okay that I called. I didn’t feel like typing.” he chuckled, seeming in a much better mood.

“No that’s fine!” you assured him.

“I love this app. Thank you for recommending it.” he praised.

“Oh, Namjoon, haven’t you heard women are always right?” you giggled.

“So I’m learning. Twice now you’ve been right.” his deep voice held a smile you could imagine if you closed your eyes.

“So you feel better? More relaxed?” you verified, turning to lay on your back and close your eyes while you relished in the sound of his voice.

“Much better. Thank you.” he said sincerely.

“Next step is a bubble bath and a face mask.” you teased.

“Ah, I think I’m okay for now.” he laughed, letting the warm happy feeling settle in his chest at the sound of your voice. Namjoon thought you had a beautiful voice. It fit you. Soft, gentle, but with a little mystery and a hint of mischief.

“I’ll convince you one day. It’ll do wonders for your skin.” you explained.

“Are you saying I have bad skin?” he scoffed playfully.

“Stop fishing for compliments.” you chastised. “You know you look great.”

Namjoon’s deep laughter floated through your ears like your favorite song. You giggled to yourself, his laughter was contagious.

“It’s weird how comfortable I am with you already.” Namjoon admitted suddenly, “I feel like I’ve known you forever and we met today.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” you agreed easily, buds of hope blooming in your stomach.

In the long months that followed, Namjoon visited you every time he was near. He texted you or called you every day that you were apart. He couldn’t always talk for long, but a simple “good morning, have a good day” if that was all he could manage. There was something about the spark in your eye that drew Namjoon in, and he wanted to make sure you knew he was thinking of you. He wanted to keep you.

The sun had long gone to sleep by the time Namjoon and his friends finished their dance practice and headed back to their hotel for the night. The dark skies had opened up and began to let the rain trickle down, thudding against the window in a soothing rhythm. Namjoon immediately thought of you and your love of the rain. You’d told him on more than one occasion that the sound of the rain coming down was one of the most calming sounds you’d ever heard.

“You coming?” Tae asked, waiting by the door with one of the umbrellas as the group left the vehicle for the safety of the hotel.

“I’ll catch up with you guys.” Joon smiled.

Tae shrugged and jogged off.

Joon waited until Tae’s form disappeared into the large rotating door to turn his attention to his phone, pressing the facetime button on your name. When your face popped up on his screen, surrounded by a thick comforter, he worried he’d woken you up.

“Joonie!” your smile lit up like the sun and Namjoon felt something warm fill his chest.

“Y/N.” he greeted pleasantly.

“What’s up Joon?” you asked, the smile not leaving your lips.

“It’s raining here, and I thought maybe you’d like to listen?” he asked quietly, suddenly unsure of the gesture.

“Omg Joon! That’s so sweet! I love the rain, almost as much as I love you!” you giggled, and though Joon knew you didn’t mean it like that, his chest stirred.

Joon turned his camera around to show you the darkened night sky and the rain that fell rhythmically on the rooftop of the car, the windows, racing down.

“I want to see your face, Joon.” you whined a bit.

He turned the front camera back on and smiled at you. Your face lit up and you just watched him watch the rain, eyes flickering back to you every once in a while.

“Hmmm… this is so soothing.” you hummed quietly, making sure your voice didn’t overpower the rain.

“I think of you every time it rains.” he admits, barely above a whisper.

You were quiet for a moment, and Namjoon was almost afraid to look at the screen before he heard “I miss you, Joon.”

“I miss you too. We’ll be in town in the next month or two though.” he soothed you, noting the way your eyes filled with tears but they didn’t spill over.

“But I want my best friend here now.” you sighed. “It’s colder when you’re not here.”

“I know what you mean.” Namjoon agreed, an involuntary shiver washing through him as he turned the heat up in the car.

“Tell me what you did today.” you smiled, Namjoon could tell you were getting tired.

He spoke gently, voice low in an attempt to lull you to sleep. He knew you pushed yourself too hard, stayed up too late. You worked multiple jobs to keep yourself afloat and assist your family in any way you could, and Namjoon had offered on many occasions to help you out financially, but you had refused, stating that he was your friend, not your ATM.

Your stubborn personality was one of the most infuriating things about you, and also one of Namjoon’s favorites. When you’d set your mind to something, there was no going back. You never backed down when you were passionate about something, and you were passionate about Namjoon. Too many times you’d watched him get close to people who only wanted him for his fame or his money. He acted like it didn’t hurt but you knew. Each time he was betrayed it was like a piece of him chipped away. He smiled though. He never stopped smiling.

Sometimes Namjoon felt like BTS and you were the only people in the whole world he could trust, aside from his family.

“... then Jin tripped over Tae and busted his ass and we couldn’t stop laughing.” Namjoon recounted dance practice and watched your sleepy smile spread over your face. “We decided to call it quits for the day and here we are.” he finished.

“Mmm.. I’m glad you had a good day.” you mumbled from your half-conscious state.

“Thank you, Y/N. You should really get some sleep.” Namjoon told you.

“You’re right… I can’t keep my eyes open. Thank you for calling me, Joonie. I love you.” you spoke slowly, eyes threatening to drift shut.

“I love you too, Y/N. Sweet dreams.” Namjoon said, but his words fell on deaf ears as your eyes had already closed.

Namjoon knew he should’ve ended the call, but his eyes watched your peaceful expression, a hint of a smile lingering on your lips. He watched you take deep, even breaths. He studied the way your eyelashes fluttered when you stirred. Namjoon’s chest tightened as he gazed upon your features. That was the first night Namjoon came to the realization that he was in love with you.

Of course, you’d known you were in love with Namjoon much sooner than the dense man had realized his own feelings. You never showed it though. You didn’t want your feelings to make things weird, as Namjoon’s presence in your life was the only thing keeping you centered. Namjoon was where you went when you were angry, when you were scared, when you felt alone. He was your anchor in a world that tried to sweep you away into an empty abyss. He was your home.

Namjoon was the only person in the world who seemed to understand you completely. You’d never really felt like you belonged anywhere, constantly yearning for a place that felt safe. With Namjoon, you belonged. You were safe. Protected. You were valued and revered and you could let your walls down and melt into your best friend’s embrace, knowing he’d always catch you. You knew there were millions of girls who wanted his heart, who were in love with the idea of him. You knew who he really was though.

You were the one who stayed up talking him through his dark moments. You were the one who held him and stroked his hair when he fell apart. You were the one who listened without judgement, who understood him just as much as he understood you. You were the one who never used him, never left him, never let him feel abandoned. You were the one who waited up, pretending you couldn’t sleep just to hear his voice for a few fleeting moments as his day wound down into the quiet night. Everything Namjoon gave to you, you returned with vigor.

That’s why, when his plane landed in your city, you were the first thought on his mind. You were the one he wanted to run to. You were the one he wanted to wrap up in his arms. And that is exactly what he did as he arrived at your apartment, dressed to blend in, knuckles rapping at the door excitedly. You flung the door open, jumping into his embrace as he pulled you tight against him and shut the door behind your bodies. You breathed in his scent, your senses flooded with Namjoon. You could finally breathe again.

You felt your body go pliant in his grasp. His strong arms held you close, his breath tickled your ear. His heart beat just as fast as your pounding one. Your best friend was finally home. Well, he didn’t live with you but in your presence was the place Namjoon felt the most himself, so he might as well have been home. Namjoon was completely overwhelmed with emotion at finally being by your side again. He didn’t know what came over him. He didn’t have time to use rational judgement, didn’t have time to think. Everything in his being needed this. He needed you.

As soon as your feet had touched the ground, before you could release yourself from Namjoon’s grasp, his lips found yours. In that moment, time stopped. Your heart stopped beating for a moment, then immediately began hammering in your chest. You kissed him back after a moment of letting the situation sink it, everything inside of you seeming to reach for him. You wound your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and his arms tightened around you, pressing your body against his as his lips worked against yours.

Had it been minutes? Had it been hours? You weren’t sure. Time wasn’t real when you were in Namjoon’s arms. All you knew is it was far too soon for your liking when he pulled away to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. His chest rose and fell rapidly and his eyes met yours. You shivered at the intensity, the adoration in his gaze.

“I’m in love with you.” left his lips before he could even register what he was saying.

Even though he’d only realized this fact a few months prior, Namjoon had been in love with you the better part of a year. It really hadn’t taken long for you to wrap yourself around his heart so completely that he couldn’t possibly want anyone else. He’d been waiting ever since that rainy night in the car to come home to you, to wrap you up in his arms, to risk it all and tell you exactly what you’d meant to him.

“I had a whole speech planned. It was going to be much more romantic. But I can’t think right now. All I know is I’m completely in love with you, and I really hope you feel the same way or this is going to get really awkward-” he began.

“I love you too. I’m in love with you, Joonie. I’ve been in love with you. You’re everything.” you sighed contentedly, leaning your head against his toned chest, listening to his heart beat like a hummingbird’s.

His fingers tenderly snaked their way under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His lips found yours once more. This kiss was slower, more intimate. This kiss held everything the two of you couldn’t express with words. All the heartache while you waited for him alone. All the longing you’d felt, thousands of miles apart. This kiss was a thank you for your continued friendship, a promise of so much more to come, a whisper of love drifting between your connected lips. It was everything you’d both been holding back for almost a year.

Your whole body trembled and tears forced their way down your cheeks against your will, and Namjoon moved his lips to your cheeks, kissing them away. He knew. He understood. He felt it too. He led you to the couch, consuming you in his embrace, letting you be at ease for the first time in months. Namjoon finally let out the breath he’d been holding since, well he wasn’t sure how long. It felt like he was breathing for the very first time.

“Please say you’ll be mine.” he whispered, almost inaudibly, as he trailed kisses along your ear.

“I’ve always been yours, Joon.” you whispered back.

And it felt like the beginning of something good.

taglist: @blkjmn

#bts #bts fluff #fluff #namjoon #rm #rap monster #joon #kim namjoon #bts imagines #namjoon x reader #rm x reader

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nikibogwater · 3 years

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A Shot in the Dark: Chapter 3 (Author’s Commentary)

(Read the fic here)

General Notes:

The final chapter! I don’t have too many general notes for this one (though the passage-specific notes below the cut stretch on for miles--there was just a lot going on in this chapter lol). But I will say that this is my favorite chapter of the three. It’s what the previous two have been building up to, and it really is the “heart” of the story, so to speak. That, and I finally got to make Glitter Wings Nari canon to The Immortal Bonds! (picture below the cut) I genuinely teared up a little bit while writing a couple of these scenes. I don’t know if that means they are very good, or that I was just absolutely exhausted after cranking out the first two chapters, but maybe you can be the judge. Friendly reminder to go listen to the song “Protector” by City Wolf if you are so inclined. It was a huge part of what inspired this story, and now that all three parts are published, I feel like it perfectly captures the theme and feel of A Shot in the Dark as a whole.

Passage-Specific Notes:

“...Please, Nari, I would not be doing my duty as Douxie’s...as your friend if I let you run thoughtlessly into this kind of danger.”

Another small line of dialogue that means a lot to me. I didn’t see Archie as making the instant connection with Nari that Douxie did. I think it took him a while to see her as anything more than “Douxie’s Ward.” He was always kind to her and took care of her, but I think it took him until now to realize that he had grown to really love her as part of the family. So the fact that he corrects himself here reflects that realization. I think under normal circumstances, the moment Archie finds out Douxie is in trouble/hurting, he would dive headfirst into hell without a second thought in order to help his boy. But because Nari is now also under his protection--and more importantly, now that she also has a special place in his heart--Archie has to force himself to slow down and come up with a plan that will keep BOTH of his kids safe.

The phone rang once--twice--six times. Then it went to voicemail.

Nari lowered it with a look of pure dejection as Claire’s pre-recorded voice cheerfully told them to leave their message after the beep.

I felt like calling Claire for backup was the most sensible thing they could do in this situation--but I also needed Nari and Archie to take on Project Rescue Douxie by themselves, in order to reinforce the family bond these three have. The moment when they all reunite at the end wouldn’t have had the emotional impact I was angling for if there had been others present. So I had to pull a tiny plot contrivance and make Claire unavailable. I didn’t feel the need to explain why she doesn’t answer her phone (people miss calls all the time) but my personal theory was that she was taking a nice relaxing shower and couldn’t pick up the phone. (look, I need SOMEBODY in this story to be having a nice time lol).

“By Ambrosia’s Gleam...” Archie breathed. A pair of dazzlingly beautiful wings reflected every light of the city back at him as Nari folded and unfolded them experimentally. They were unlike anything the cat had ever seen in his long life, vibrantly colored with rich shades of green and gold, glittering like morning dew, yet delicate as a newly budding flower.

Anybody remember last week, when I said the Most Self-Indulgent part was yet to come? This was it lol. I don’t remember when I started imagining Nari with sparkly butterfly wings, but back in early October, I drew this:

and I have been absolutely enamored with the idea ever since (but also it was a convenient way to get them to the warehouse without having to go through the ordeal of walking/taking a taxi/busting out the flying boat). So yeah. Nari’s Glitter Wings are canon to The Immortal Bonds series now. I have spoken.

He had no idea how long he had been enduring Rivan’s torture. It may have only been a few minutes, or it may have been a few years. Hell, he was getting to the point where it felt like this excruciating ache in his bones had been there his whole life. He tried not to sob as Rivan slowly pulled his magic back to himself, the agony abating for just a short moment of sweet relief. Douxie sucked in gulps of air, desperate to replenish the oxygen that had been ripped from his lungs by his own screaming.

First time really writing whump, so that was...something (I was exhausted after just the one paragraph lol). I tried to keep it as vague as I could because I don’t want anybody coming to my fic expressly for a graphic torture scene and nothing else (I don’t do the hurt-no-comfort thing, and I don’t want anybody to use my fics as such). But putting Douxie through a bit of hell does make the ending SO much sweeter. And if he hadn’t been experiencing pain, Archie and Nari probably would have taken longer to decide to come to his rescue. But there is still a part of me that detests every letter of that paragraph.

The small dragon let out a roar of fury and leapt at Rivan, his form twisting and expanding into that of an enormous black panther. The two crashed together in a flurry of red sparks and tearing claws.

Archie turning into a black panther and going to town on Rivan is also a bit of self-indulgence. I just really love big cats, and black panthers especially are beautiful, mysterious, and powerful creatures that just SCREAM Magic and Otherworldliness to me. (also I really want to draw Panther!Archie now).

He slammed against the concrete with a yowl of pain that tore Douxie’s heart into a thousand pieces, and dropped to the floor, where he lay quivering and heaving.

That line right up there 👆 is the most heart-wrenchingly painful thing I have ever forced myself to write. 😥

Nari grabbed Douxie by the shoulders and pulled him upright. One of her hands reached around him and pressed against his heart, and he felt her aura slam into his. Instinctively, his soul opened, and he let her magic pour into him, filling his veins with the warmth of a hundred suns, wrapping around and tangling with his own magic so tightly that he could barely tell whose was whose. Nari’s voice filled his head, drowning out every sound in his ears, every thought in his mind. My magic is yours. Use it. He threw both of his hands out and felt power unlike anything he had ever known surge into his palms and explode out of his fingertips.

So this ties into a headcanon of mine that, while Nari’s magic isn’t well-suited to direct combat, she is able to augment Douxie’s powers. But this scene is also probably the culmination of every relationship-building moment I have ever written for these two. I established in A Moment to Breathe that to let someone interact with your aura in this way--to basically channel their magic directly into you--requires a great deal of trust. Douxie let Nari heal him in that story, but that was after she had asked permission to pour her magic into him. Here, she doesn’t have time to ask--she just has to go for it, and Douxie’s trust and familiarity with her is so intense at this point, that his response is to immediately surrender completely to her power. Not only that, he is so familiar with her magic, that he is able to use it himself--he combines it with his own power and casts a spell that Nari is likely unable to use herself. I intended this moment to be a representation of the way family relationships can shape and empower you. You carry elements of the people you love with you wherever you go; their influence, their stories, their love for you--it all helps shape you into the person you are. And these things are often so deeply intertwined with your own personality, that it becomes impossible to fully separate them.

They had risked everything--the fate of the world, even--to save him. He should have scolded them. But instead, Douxie suddenly found himself overwhelmed with the ridiculous urge to cry.

This was the reason I wrote Douxie in Distress--and also one of the reasons I wrote A Shot in the Dark at all. I wanted him to experience being stripped of everything that made him powerful--useful-- and then witness his family risking literally everything for him. Not for his powers, not for what he can do for them, but because they love him. This poor, sweet boy gives and gives and gives, and the world has done nothing but take from him, and I have said “ENOUGH.” I wanted the serotonin of seeing him realize that he is valued and cherished for himself, and BY THUNDER I WAS GOING TO GET IT EVEN IF I HAD TO WRITE 9000+ WORDS FOR IT.

She pulled back a moment later, roughly drying her face on her sleeve, and untied the black hoodie around her waist. She draped it around Douxie’s shoulders with her magic, and he sighed contentedly as the warm fabric settled around him. He slipped his arms into the sleeves and closed the garment around himself gratefully, giving Nari a tired, heartfelt smile.

I didn’t realize it when I initially drafted the story, but Douxie’s hoodie is actually a really nice visual representation of how he and Nari pass the role of caretaker/protector back and forth. Douxie is wearing it for the first half of the story, when he is acting as Nari’s guardian/brother. Shortly after he lends it to her though, he’s captured by Rivan, and Nari takes on the role of protector in turn. But yeah, originally it was just “Them trading the hoodie back and forth is pointlessly cute and I wanna do it.” (Poor Archie has to be the Adult 100% of the time. He doesn’t get a break).

Most of Douxie’s mornings began with the harsh, clattering sound of his phone vibrating and whistling next to his ear. But that Sunday morning began with a deliciously warm silence. Douxie’s eyes blinked open slowly, finding sunlight lazily shining through the windows. He was lying on his side, with Archie’s soft, familiar body tucked against his chest. A gentle warmth against his back told Douxie that Nari was curled up beside him, wrapped in her own little cocoon of blankets, her back against his. The ache in his bones was gone. He was nestled safely in the warmth and love of his small family, the world outside and all that occurred within it nothing more than a distant echo.

Wrapping his arms around Archie and pressing his back more firmly against Nari’s, Douxie closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

This final scene wasn’t actually in my original outline--originally, the story ended with the three of them beginning the long trek home together. But I felt that the story needed just a little extra time to savor in the happy ending. And so, it came full circle--ending just like it began, with the dawning of a new morning. I noticed that I spend a lot of time in this story comparing the mornings of different characters/days. I think that might have been a subconscious expression of my belief that every morning is the beginning of a new opportunity--to strengthen bonds, to do good in the world, to just live for another day. Douxie’s Saturday morning started off a little rougher than he wanted--he woke up early and had to rush around to get ready for a long day out on the town. And wouldn’t you know it, his Saturday ended pretty badly too (though I think he’s probably just grateful he got to go home in one piece haha). This Sunday morning plays out in the exact opposite way. It’s quiet, peaceful, unhurried, and full of hope. Douxie’s been through hell and back, but he survived long enough to see another beginning. And I think that’s the beautiful cycle that all human life follows. There’s pain in life, darkness and hopelessness, but if you can hold on, strengthened by the love of the people you hold dear, you will always find a new beginning waiting for you on the other side of the valley.

...And that’s it. Thank you to everyone for reading my work. Seeing everyone who enjoyed it, hearing from you guys in the comments, knowing that I was able to give someone a good story--it really does mean the world to me. So again, thanks for joining me, and I hope our paths cross again soon. 🤗✨

#fanfiction #author's commentary #the magical siblings #and their therapy cat #a shot in the dark #thanks for reading <3

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vanilla107 · 5 years

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Muse

Hey everyone!

I know I'm two days late for @chlonathweek already but I sadly fell sick and it was difficult to write while getting bed rest and recovering. I will try my best to catch up but as I type, my sickness shows no signs of slowing down :(. Day 2's prompt was Hero/Akuma and I think you'll be able to see which one I chose! I hope you enjoy it!

Stay healthy! (unlike me right now lol) vanilla107 xoxo

***********************

Nathanaël was a simple young man.

He drew what he wanted and he drew what he liked.

He liked sketching more than painting and was proud of his 24 journals of sketches he had collected over the past few years, each one filled to the brim with his works.

He went from sketching still live, to buildings, to random people in the street and if something -or rather someone- really inspired him, his thoughts would be plagued for days until that drawing was put to paper.

And recently he had started sketching Queen Bee.

He was well aware he was also sketching Chloe Bourgeois, the mean girl of their school, but he kept making excuses.

Chloe and Queen Bee are like two different people!

Queen Bee saves lives and Chloe….she was responsible of more than half the akumas!

When super heroes transform…maybe their personalities change too?

He knew it wasn’t fair to try and separate Chloe from her super hero identity but he couldn’t help it. Chloe was just so…mean sometimes but he always felt guilty.

Despite the internal war he had been at with himself over the blonde girl, he still sketched Queen Bee whenever inspiration struck.

Which was all the time.

During class when he could see the back of her head, after school at some fancy restaurant and rarely, but his most favourite moments, when she was fighting alongside Ladybug and Chat Noir as Queen Bee.

It was like she eluded an air of grace when she was Queen Bee and he savoured every minute of it.

Over time it became bothersome, like when inspiration struck at 3 in the morning and he had to sketch because his brain would hate him if he didn’t.

This soon became a problem for him and he began to doze off in class, not caring of he got detention or yelled at because majority of the time, his 3 am sketches were always the best ones.

One afternoon, after a long day of school, he came home, screamed, and fell on the floor when he saw Queen Bee sitting on the couch in his living room. Nathanaël’s parents were thankfully away on a business trip because God only knows how they would’ve reacted if they saw her in their house.

He was tired.

So tired and wanted to sleep so badly but the one girl he couldn’t stop thinking of was in his house.

“Chloe! What are you doing here?” he shrieked and the blonde looked up, her expression annoyed.

“That’s Queen Bee to you! And I’m here because Ladybug told me to come here!”

“Ladybug? I…I don’t understand. I didn’t make anyone mad so there shouldn’t be an akuma after me…unless I did?” he mumbled, the fogginess in his mind refusing to lift.

Queen Bee sighed and stood up, stretching her arms over her head and Nathanaël drank in how the sunlight hit the material of her suit.

So complex…I must draw-

“You didn’t make anyone mad. Ladybug sent me here because someone from our class is worried about your sleeping habits.”

“My sleeping habits? Oh…me falling asleep in class,” he yawned.

“Yeah, it’s kinda stupid because what teenager doesn’t fall asleep in class every once in a while but Ladybug told me that you’ve been sleeping through whole classes. So, are you gonna tell me what’s up or not?”

“Chlo- Queen Bee, I understand that you want to help me and that’s great it’s just I’ve been having a rough couple nights but I’m going to sleep now…so I’ll be all good tomorrow,” he lied.

I’m definitely not up at 3 in the morning sketching you because you won’t get out of my mind.

Queen Bee looked him up and down, her blue gaze sending a shiver down his spine.

“Nathanaël, you’re a terrible liar but I’ll let this slide. If there’s no improvement by tomorrow, there will be hell to pay.”

He nodded and she jumped out the window back to find Ladybug.

******************************************

It had been three days since Queen Bee had visited him and those three days had been utter nightmares.

It seemed that Queen Bee’s presence in his home made things infinitely worse for his art because his dreams of her were consistent and had him waking up at least twice in one night to draw.

Was it good for his portfolio for art school? Yes.

Was it good for his mental and physical well-being? No.

And he could feel Chloe’s gaze burning into him each time that he was sent to the principal’s office for falling asleep.

Once he got home, he wasn’t surprised to see a pissed off Queen Bee watching tv before laying her eyes on him, fury directed at him.

“Nathanaël…you are still falling asleep in class! I thought I would only have to visit you once but no!”

“Queen Bee I swear I’m-”

“Did you develop insomnia? Do you have sleeping tablets?”

“No I don’t-”

“Then try harder to sleep! Ladybug was not impressed with me because the person that updates her on you hasn’t seen any progress!”

Nathanaël wasn’t the type of person to yell at people. He was a relatively calm person but the sleepless nights and the girl standing in front of him made something snap in him.

He stared at the superhero, sleep deprivation getting the better of him.

“Try harder? Try harder! Chloe-”

“Um, Queen Bee-”

“-You really want to know the reason I can’t sleep at night? Why I’m sleeping in class? Because I am sketching drawings of you at 3 in the freaking morning!”

The echo that came afterwards was deafening and Nathanaël had never wanted to die of embarrassment until that moment.

“You…you’ve been drawing me?” Chloe asked softly, her feet rooted to the spot.

“No…no I was lying...obviously! Must be the sleep deprivation talking-”

Her eyes landed on his sketch book in his hands and he froze.

“Chloe…no-”

One moment, the book was in his hands, and the next it was in her hands.

She ignored his protests and began to flip through the pages, her eyes widening in wonder at the drawings of her. Nathanaël tried to grab it out of her hands but her reflexes were fast and she was on the other side of the room in an instant.

“Chloe, okay. I know this looks bad but I swear I just-”

“Nathanaël…these are gorgeous.”

“Thank you for the compliment but I…”

“You what?”

Now or never Nathanaël. Just be honest. Even if that means Chloe/Queen Bee never talks to you again.

He sat down in a heap on the couch and she joined him on the opposite end.

“Chloe…Queen Bee…whoever you are…you are the reason I can’t sleep. That book is one of seven, filled with drawings of you. I know that’s borderline creepy but it’s the truth. When I first started sketching you, I thought it was harmless. Hell, I even felt weird drawing a person I initially disliked for all the shit you put me through but I kept drawing. It became obvious to me that you were my subject of interest after I completed two journals full of sketches of you and…then I was waking up at 3 in the morning because you would not get out of my head. My best drawings usually are produced at night so I was willing to sacrifice sleep for it. Which brings us to where we are now and it’s all your damn fault that I’m sleep deprived OKAY.”

Chloe was dead silent and she processed all the information before getting up from the couch and walking towards him.

“So what you’re saying is…I’m your muse?”

“I…yeah…you’re my muse,” he said awkwardly, the term feeling unfamiliar to him.

“That…that’s really sweet of you Nathanaël…thank you. I…I’m honoured.”

Nathanaël’s heart stopped.

She sounds so sincere…is this really the same Chloe?

“The drawings are beautiful but…you do need to sleep. I don’t want the one guy who draws me to die of exhaustion,” she stated and he nodded sleepily.

“How about this, I’ll visit you whenever I can…and I’ll pose for you. In exchange, you sleep and ignore your urges to draw at 3 in the morning. I know your best works are done at night but Ladybug will have my ass if there isn’t any progress.”

Nathanaël nodded once more and felt his eyelids close. All the rapid emotions he had felt were collapsing on him and he knew he was going to crash any minute.

Her voice is so soothing when she says nice things.

He felt her pick him up and carry him to his room before tucking him under the covers. He didn't protest as he sunk into the warmth of his bed.

“Sleep well Nathanaël. I’ll be back tomorrow,” Queen Bee whispered before leaving, the door closing behind her softly.

Nathanaël Kurtzberg fell asleep with a smile on his face and with the scent of lilies in the air.

#chlonath #nathchlo #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfiction #my writing #nathanael kurtzberg #chloe bourgeois #chlonath week 2k19

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supernaturally-writing · 7 years

Text

The Love of an Angel

A/N: Lol what even is this title?? Idk man. But anyway. So this is that spontaneous fic I made a PSA about earlier. As I was writing it, I realized I wasn’t really doing my sad idea justice, because it just didn’t seem sad enough to me, but that might be because I was writing it idk. I hope it’s sufficiently angsty. Be warned: it kinda jumps around a little bit. There are sections of the story missing, or not given in a lot of detail. Italics are past memories.

P.S: It is 3:18 AM and I am very very sleepy so pardon my shitty writing and grammar inconsistencies/mistakes.

Word Count: 4856

Warnings: ANGST. So much angst. Brief mentions of smut; not very detailed. Character death. Depression, depressed Cas, Human!Cas. A little bit of fluff towards the end, but not much??? Cas-centric fic.

Summery: Their love has been years in the making, but [y/n]’s abrupt demise spells out a rough going for Castiel. Being newly human doesn’t help the situation as the (ex)angel strikes out on his own and suffers in his own self-imposed isolation as he tries to live with these mortal emotions, determined to avenge the only woman he’s ever loved.

Masterlist

When Castiel rushed to the bottom of the Bunker stairs to welcome the Winchester gang back from their extensive hunt (as he’d always done), he’d never expected to find one of their party mysteriously missing. He also hadn’t expected Dean’s eyes to be red-rimmed, or for Sam’s arm to be in a makeshift sling, or for both Winchesters to be covered in blood and mud and ripped clothes. Sam had only made it halfway down the creaking staircase before he collapsed in on himself, sinking to the metal steps as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Dean sank down with him, tears swimming in his own eyes, and gingerly pulled his baby brother into his arms. By then, Cas knew. He knew that [y/n] was dead. Some part of him had known since the moment the brothers had stepped foot in the Bunker-- but now the knowledge settled in his gut like a boulder.

He’d only been human for a month and a half-- it hadn’t been nearly enough time for [y/n] to teach him how to cope with all of his new emotions. Especially heartbreak.

When he finally sucked in a breath, the pain hit him full-force, like a bunch to the belly and a kick to the sternum all in one. His throat burned as it constricted, cutting his airway until he was gaping like a fish, his legs trembling under the monumental weight of his own leaden frame. He only made it to the nearest chair just in time for his knees to give out; he didn’t even sit on the cushion properly. Just nestled his face into the cushion of the arm as his hipbone throbbed with the awkward positioning of his crumpled stature.

His eyes burned, the cool tracks of his tears doing nothing to soothe the pain of his heated skin. He was sure he was going to throw up; the sensation was foreign, but this new instinct told him to wrench himself out of the chair just in time to throw up on the floor. [Y/n] was dead. His [y/n] was dead and the Winchesters hadn’t been able to bring her back. . . And if they couldn’t bring her back, then she was really, truly gone. The brothers had mastered the art of giving Death a raincheck.

Cas wiped his mouth and pushed himself onto wobbling feet, balancing himself against the nearest object-- which happened to be Dean. Cas pulled away from the hunter, shame coloring his cheeks, before he looked into his face a saw a reflection of his own sorrow there. Before he knew what he was doing, Castiel crashed into Dean and buried his head in his shoulder, great sobs wracking him, replacing the previously silent tears.

When the three of them finally composed themselves enough to mop up Castiel’s mess and officially address the scattering of wounds on the brothers, each of them sat in thick silence in the library. Sam stared into nothing, unblinking; sometimes, Cas would see the muscle in his jaw feather to the surface, but other than that minute movement, Sam had gone deathly still. Dean scratched at the mahogany surface of the table, his eyes rolling behind his eyelids as he relived whatever had happened. . .

Cas’ heart wrenched for the millionth time that afternoon as he suddenly realized that he didn’t know how she died. He didn’t know anything about her last moments-- and he hadn’t been there to see it, to save her. It was ten quick heartbeats before he could breath again and peal his hands off the armrests of the chair, where he’d squeezed the blood out of his fingers and broken his shorts nails down to the bloody beds.

“How did she--” Castiel began, his voice rough and gravely, the sound screeching in his own ears and scratching his own throat.

“Demon. Simple salt ‘n burn turned into a chase when a local black eyes caught wind of us in town. We uh-- we weren’t. . . We didn’t see it comin’.” There was a long pause as Dean finally tipped his head back and opened his eyes-- admitting the flood of fresh tears. He scrubbed his hand down his face, sniffing loudly. “Damn thing brought a whole party. She fought. . . She fought so damn hard, Cas. Even after-- even after she went down. . .” He couldn’t finish the thought; Cas didn’t press him for details. He didn’t want to imagine it. Didn’t want to picture his human covered in her own gore-- didn’t want to picture the life leaving her eyes.

He closed his own to fight off the image. It didn’t work.

“Did you kill it?” The words raked at Castiel’s raw throat, no more than a whisper in the air, hard to hear even in the stifling, pressing silence of their melancholy. He was afraid that if he spoke too loudly, he would break. Really, truly shatter; the only thing holding him together was the grip he resumed on the cold, unforgiving wood of the armrests below. Silence ensued, and rage suddenly filled him, bubbling up from his toes and swirling in his guts like lava, until he sprang to his feet so abruptly the chair clashed against the concrete floor. “Did you kill it?” He was yelling now, his arms trembling as he slammed his palms down onto the table. Dean just stared at him, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Something had died in his eyes, but right then, Cas could only think about all the things dying within himself.

“No,” Sam finally whispered. “No, it smoked out before we could get to it.”

That rage rippled into Cas’ arms, fueling him with a violent energy; he swung blindly, fist colliding with the nearest lamp. Sam flinched with surprise with it shattered against the opposite wall.

Before his brain caught up to his legs, Castiel was stomping down the corridors of the bunker, his footsteps harsh booms of sound all the way into his room.

Cas sat on the edge of the motel bed, fingering the hole in his jeans. He rolled the information Dean had given him around in his mind, his teeth dragging along his tongue as he chewed on the muscle. Hunger gnawed at him but he ignored the growling of his belly for favor of flicking through the television news feeds.

He hadn’t been able to stay in the Bunker. He hadn’t been able to pass [y/n]’s room every time he walked down the hall. Hadn’t been able to look at her little idiosyncrasies that she’s left scattered about-- little quirks that would go untouched for some time as the boys adjusted to a life without the woman they’d practically grown up with. Some things were small, nearly unnoticeable: an arrangement of cups in the cupboard, assorted by color and height, the towels hung neatly, folded three times each, the books scattered around her room in perfectly arranged chaos. He hadn’t been able to deal with the stutters of his heart every time he caught a whiff of the automatic air freshener she’d plugged into the wall outlet of her room. It smelled of vanilla and honey-- a gentle smell, not so overpowering that it burned the nose, just sweet enough to make him breath deep and slow and savor the scent of it floating through the halls.

So he left. He packed his things the following evening, hastily shoving the few belongings he’d accumulated into the borrowed duffle bag he’d taken from Dean: his angel blade, a few pairs of thin, ripped jeans, and the flannels he’d been given. The bag was depressingly light when he hefted it onto his shoulder.

Dean had asked him to be safe, had told him that he couldn’t stand to lose another friend-- not so soon after losing [y/n]. But Castiel could only look at him and clench his jaw. Whatever promises he made Dean would have been a lie, save for one thing: “I will find that demon, Dean. And I will kill it, even if it means the end of my own meager mortal life.” There was a long silence, and some small part of Cas had thought that Dean might try to make him stay. But he hadn’t. He’d only shaken his head and scrubbed his drawn face with shaking hands before he finally told Cas everything he knew-- which wasn’t much. The majority of this hunt would rely solely on Cas’ ingenuity and familiarity with the demonic ranks. It had been so long since he’d accessed certain memories, and trying to do so while a human had given him a migraine that lasted for the entirety of the drive from the Bunker to the grimy motel in southern Tennessee.

That night had been the first night he dreamed of nothing; he was too exhausted to think, even while unconscious.

As the days wore on, Cas drew closer to finding answers, though through no small amount of effort. Most nights he only caught an hour or two of sleep, the rest of his waking moments spent bent over a table, or maps, or flicking through the news or scrolling through the internet. He tracked demonic movement; hunted them, killed them, even has his strength and stamina dwindled. Over the weeks, he’d hardly eaten; he’d fallen back into the angelic routine of never needing to eat, even though his mortality demanded sustenance. It was a rare occurrence when he finally pulled himself away from his work to order takeout.

When he looked in the mirror, Cas couldn’t see the man-- or angel-- he had been. His cheeks were hollowed, and there was a constant shadow over his eyes, bruises lining the puffy skin beneath the dull blue orbs. His hair was shaggy, curling around his ears and at his temples; he’d accumulated a number of new scars. Some of them were purely accidental-- others. . . Well, sometimes he’d flirted with Death just a little too blatantly, and those lingering considerations had nearly cost him his life and his mission on a few close-call hunts. Most nights he was glad Jimmy had been evicted; he was sure the original owner of this vessel would have been outraged to find Castiel abusing it so thoroughly. . . Other nights he wished he could still talk to the man. Perhaps Jimmy would know what to do, how to help. And even if he didn’t, having him around would have at least been some sort of company to break the monotony of hunting solo.

As the months wore on, Cas found himself thinking more and more about [y/n]. The first few weeks, he hadn’t known how to handle the crushing weight of her death, so he’d blocked her from his mind. Even in his dreams, he’d continued to have the regular nightmares that originally drove him into [y/n]’s sleepy arms: fighting through Hell with a struggling Dean Winchester trapped securely against his chest; fighting past the influence of Michael and Lucifer as he broke into the Cage to drag out a soulless Sam Winchester; fighting for the control of his own body as Leviathans ripped the power out of his hands. There were so many things that haunted him still; perhaps his brain had not yet processed his lover’s death to the capacity that his heart had.

Now, though, he allowed memories to trickle into the forefront of his consciousness: the first time he’d met a spunky young huntress that had punched Lucifer in the face and lived to tell about it; helping the Winchesters break her out of a county jail for car theft; sitting across the booth from her as she nursed a cup of coffee and a horrid hangover. Sometimes he would wake up with the whispers of her voice ringing in his ears, even as the dreams of her evaded his sleepy memory. Other times he would lay awake late into the night, even after a long day of fighting and tracking, and struggle to remember the details of her face, or how her skin felt under his hands, or the smell of her shampoo when he snuggled up behind her after she’d taken a shower. Those were the nights that the tears rolled quietly and wetted the pillow on either sides of his head; those were the nights that he wouldn’t dream, and he would awaken feeling twice as tired as he had the day previous.

Dean called often, but Cas rarely answered. It was only when Dean’s calls became persistent that he finally picked up the phone; Dean would always curse him for scaring him like that, then tentatively ask how he was doing. He tried to answer the hunter truthfully, but it was usually easier just to give him a short, gruff answer and hang up the phone. He would immediately return to his work, slowly but surely digging up the secrets of the Underworld as he looked for a cockroach among the colony.

Castiel had never expected to feel the power of his grace returning to his veins. Well, not his grace, per se, but grace nevertheless. When he’d been captured by vengeful fallen angels, he’d fully expected to be killed-- hell, he’d practically submitted, ready to embrace Death with open arms. But the lingering thought of his mission had spurred him on, and before he’d comprehended the result of his actions, he’d killed an angel and stolen their grace. The power was startling; it coursed through him, searing hot as it healed him and restored him to his former immortal vitality. It had taken him another day to adjust to being an angel again-- he stopped eating, resisting the habit of consumption. But he also stopped feeling. At least in the capacity that humans felt. He still felt that pain, that emptiness. He wasn’t sure if there was anything in the universe short of a miracle straight from his Father himself that would totally erase the ache that resounded within him. But at least it wasn’t crushing. . .

Being an angel again allowed him to truly marvel at the resilience of humanity for the first time. It was human instinct to trudge on, to make the best of the worst situation, to always keep fighting no matter the odds. Where the angel in him would have given up on this farfetched quest, his human heart had whispered to him with every heavy thump: revenge, revenge, revenge.

With this newfound-- and dwindling-- strength, Castiel made it a point to work all the harder towards his goal. Within a fortnight, the angel had tracked down one of the demons that had assisted in the killing of his human. The following night, Castiel knelt above the lifeless corpse of that black-eyed bitch with the answers he had sought after for so long.

[Y/n] sat up as her bedroom door creaked open. Castiel stood in the doorway, looking disheveled and out of place as the hall light outlined him in a halo of dim golden illumination. He’d been human for a week or so now, and every night she’d been able to hear him struggling in his sleep from the room over. He’d cried, groaned, whimpered and thrashed his way through the night. Oftentimes, it kept her awake, too; she’d finally pulled him aside and told him to join her the next time a nightmare roused him from his sleep. He’d given her a sheepish smile and tipped his head to the floor, color lining the arches of his cheekbones. She’d laughed off his embarrassment with a peck to the scruffy surface of his cheek.

Now, though, her heart thundered behind her sternum as he quietly padded further into the room. The door swung most of the way closed, though it didn’t latch, leaving a sliver of golden light slanting across the wall. It was just enough light to see by, and soon enough Castiel was crawling into bed with her, though he’d insisted he lay atop the coverlets as to keep her comfortable. After a hushed argument and a soft huff, Cas finally submitted to her persistence and slid under the comforter. His bare legs brushed hers, and he quickly apologize before she shushed him and pulled him close.

He’d fallen asleep with his head resting above her heart, her fingers combing through the short dark tresses atop his cranium. With her by his side, he’d rested peacefully for the first time in his mortal life; after that night, their sleeping habits had become routine.

Until. . . Until she’d stumbled into the bunker, battered and bruised but smiling her shit-eating grin nevertheless, boasting of a good hunt and searching for a good drink. That night, when she eased her aching body into bed, Cas had been the one to pull her close, and when she turned her head to give him their nightly peck on the cheek, his lips had slanted against her own. It was hard and demanding, and his lips trembled against her’s. He cupped her tender face with his hands, his thumbs brushing her jawline, tracing over the black and blue bruise that feathered out there. When he finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead against hers; they breathed each other in, sharing the air between them one gulp at a time.

“My [y/n]. . . My [y/n]. . .” He repeated her name over and over, a gentle, whispered supplication. She relaxed into his hold, her hands wandering down his sides as she tried to soothe the anxiety out of him. “I am alien to this world of human emotion, but--” he’d taken her hand in his and placed it over his racing heart, shivering with her touch-- “if this is love, then I am plunging further and further into this sea of affection; drowning in it, really.” He released a breathy laugh at that, and [y/n] twisted her hand until their fingers were clasped, locked together as Castiel clung to her. “Please, please. . . Don’t scare me like that anymore. I don’t think I could live if. . . If--”

“I’m here,” she murmured, cutting him off with a gentle kiss. With her free hand, she cupped his cheek and brushed her thumb over his cheekbone; she’d blown out a breath of surprise to discover the wet trail of tears there. “I’m here, Cas. I’m okay. I’ll always be okay; I’ve got an angel by my side.” He’d started to protest at that, making it a point to inform her he wasn’t an angel anymore-- but she already knew that. Still, she kissed away his words, and that was the first night they made love.

It was long and slow; wandering hands and searching eyes and wet trails of saliva as they both marked each other with lover’s bruises and gentle kisses of adoration. Not once had [y/n] been able to tell him she loved him, too afraid that those three words would somehow shatter this perfect existence. Cas, on the other hand, had growled it against her throat, against her bare breasts, had chanted it as they reached their ends and fell into each other’s weight. They kissed each other to sleep; when Cas jerked awake later that night, [y/n] rolled over and rode him until they were exhausted again, her head falling against his chest as he buried his face in the silky tresses of her hair.

For the following weeks, they fell into bed and into each other’s arms. There’d hardly been a room in the Bunker that they hadn’t christened: the kitchen, the library, the shower room, the garage, the war room, a few of the dusty storerooms in the uninhabited wings of the bunker. Sometimes their couplings were slow and sweet-- usually after a hunt, when [y/n] would come home to a worried Castiel, even though she was usually right as rain. Other times they were fast and rough; demanding mouths and groping hands and pounding hips as lips laid claim(s) to miles of scarred skin.

It was the night before she was to leave with the Winchester brothers to accompany them on a simple salt and burn when she finally told Castiel she loved him. He’d just finished his journey kissing the scars from her ankles all the way up to her fingertips. When she finally blew out the breath that carried those three soft words, he’d paused and lifted his weight off of her, staring at her long and hard with parted lips and watering eyes. She’d said it again, with a little more volume this time, conviction making her heart swell. By the fourth time she’d said it, her fingers carding through his hair, he’d cut her off with a clash of his lips. The kiss was so hard and so abrupt that their teeth clacked together, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about the dull tooth ache that ensued. They sank into each other, worshiping each other with their tongues and fingers, until they began to fall into the easy trance of sleep. [Y/n] laid behind him, her arms twined around his waist, and she pressed a final goodnight kiss to the nape of his neck.

Before she settled into her last blissful sleep, she’d whispered one last “I love you, Castiel” against his skin.

Cas stood on the outskirts of the playground, his hands stuffed into the deep pockets of his trench. It had been a few months since he’d killed the demon-- Cerebur-- that had been responsible for [y/n]’s death. The eight month anniversary of his leaving the Bunker was rapidly approaching, yet he ignored the calls of Sam and Dean Winchester. It was hard to hear the pain in their voices, to know that they still mourned as he did, though it was to be expected. Humans mourned their whole lives, oftentimes; there were some wounds that even Time could not heal. This wound. . . This wound had been one of the deepest any of them had sustained. [Y/n] had spent her younger years growing up with the Winchesters when John would pair off with her mother for extensive hunts. The situation had left the Winchesters and the girl ofttimes fending for each other and themselves in the same motel room for days on end. In some ways, the Winchesters had bonded with [y/n] more closely than they had even bonded with each other. For a short time, she’d had a shot at a normal life, quite like Sam had; a boyfriend swept her off her feet, carrying her off to some lofty apartment in the northern sectors of Seattle. Dean visited as often as possible, and Sam made his yearly trips north during spring break to spend his vacation with her and her soon-to-be husband.

Castiel idly wondered what he would find in her Heaven. The thought that she might be happy in her Heaven with that man nearly deterred him from visiting her.

She would want to see you, Cas. Dean’s words rang through his mind; he took a deep breath of the cool, damp air. He eyed the guardian angel apprehensively, knowing full well what he had to do. Where the thought of murdering one of his brothers or sisters would have been offensive and even horrifying some years beforehand, he now smothered the instinctive resistance to the motions of his hand as he swung his angel blade into the small of the angel’s back. Light flickered and grace crackled, smothering out as if a heavy hand had pressed down on the power, snuffing it out like a candle flame. He hid the body quickly; when he returned, the playground was desolate, silence hanging in the winter air.

He toed the sandbox quietly, palms sweating against the metal of his blade.

With a sudden conviction, Castiel jumped through the portal and disappeared into the lofty halls of Heaven.

It didn’t take long to find [y/n]’s door. He stood before it for a long time, listening to the steady thumps of his heart. He’d dreamt of this moment for so long; now that he stood on the threshold of action, pain flickered behind his sternum again. It wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been when he was human, but he still felt it. This place was a constant reminder that [y/n] was dead.

He gripped the handle of her door with shaking fingers before he gave it a twist and swung it open.

After the initial light of his entrance had faded, he blinked away the glare of a bright summer sun. The heat of it kissed his skin. That pain in his chest roared to life again as he realized where he was. In Sioux Falls, just down the road from Bobby’s house, was a pond fed by a lazy, gurgling stream. A grove of Poplars surrounded the water, tall grasses of the richest green swaying around every bank. Lilypads floated along the surface of the water, hugging the banks, creating a shadowed refuge for the fish hatchlings that darted below the surface of the water like tiny flashes of silver.

This had been the place [y/n] came to as a child, when she stayed with Bobby and the Winchester boys. It had also been the spot she’d brought him too during the early years of his time on Earth. She sat with him for hours, talking of humanity, plucking at the summer grasses as the birds sang above and the bugs chirped from below.

It had been there that Castiel had fallen in love with humanity; it had been there that Castiel had fallen in love with [y/n]. That love had been dulled by his angelic detachment, but he’d been able to express his affections in the form of undying loyalty. As the years went on, he became more accustomed to the concept of feelings; as the years went on, [y/n] and Castiel frequented this grove as often as possible.

But no visit had ever stood out to him as starkly as this. He had never been so in awe of his Father’s creations as he had been there, surrounded by a lazy summer evening, with [y/n]’s shoulder pressed against his own.

Now, sitting at the edge of the pond where they had sat that day, sat [y/n]. She had her back to him, but he knew it was her. He knew it in the way his heart soared and sank all at once, in the way that her hair glinted in the sun with the different shades of color in her tresses, in the way she rocked to an unheard tune amongst the chorus of nature. He crept towards her quietly, apprehension suddenly hammering at his heart, and he had to stop himself. It had been months since he’d felt the hot prick of tears, but there it was, a stinging behind his eyes. He scrubbed at his face and gulped down a breath of the summer breeze before he came to [y/n]’s side.

Sitting on the cross section of [y/n]’s folded legs was a toddler, no more than four, with the hair of Castiel’s vessel and with the stunning eyes of [y/n]. When she turned that gaze onto the angel, he nearly crumpled. A wide, toothy grin split her sun-kissed skin; oh, she had her mother’s smile.

“Daddy!” The toddler reached for him, and Castiel sucked in a shuddering breath, sinking onto his haunches. He pressed the heels of his hands into the sockets of his eyes, the heat behind his blue orbs swelling until the tears spilled over and tracked down his face. He’d never considered the possibility that [y/n] might. . . That he might. . . But, there she was-- the baby that was very obviously his daughter. He saw Jimmy in the girl, almost more so than he saw [y/n]. “Daddy, Daddy!”

Small arms wrapped around his neck and he was abruptly pulled down a little lower; soft giggles filled his ears, and he slowly unwound his arms from about himself to sweep up the girl that had pulled him down into a hug. He kept his eyes closed, unable to look at [y/n], feeling her quiet stare as she watched with a soft smile. It wasn’t until he felt her lips ghost across his own that he finally opened his eyes. [Y/n] knelt before him, looking beautiful and so deceptively alive. . . He freed one hand and reached forward, brushing his thumb across her cheek to ensure she wasn’t another dream.

Her head tipped to the side, her cheek pressing into the callused surface of his palm. Her eyes fluttered closed, her smaller hands coming to rest against the back of his as it cradled her skull. She finally sighed, long and low, and a grin stretched across the gentle curve of her mouth. She met his eyes for the first time in eight long months; love and adoration twinkled there, spurring on the cascade of tears down Castiel’s rugged face.

“You’ve kept us waiting long enough, my love,” she finally hummed.

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