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threeletterslife · 3 months ago

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37 | Legends of Darlaria

⨰ summary: You wake up in yet another unfamiliar place. This time, however, these strangers seem to recognize you. With your previous judgments and aspirations thrown out the window, you're now forced to face where your loyalties really lie. Who will you betray? And which General will you choose to stand by his side?

⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15

⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au

⨰ warnings: profanity

⨰ wordcount: 9.8k

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⧖⧗Many, Many Circas Ago⧗⧖

Your mind was empty.

You saw the world through the voids of your eyes, but none of it evoked a reaction.

You felt hollow.

Your feet were marching forward, but you couldn’t register the movement.

It still felt like fire was all around you, engulfing you, burning away at your skin.

Someone next to you was saying something, but you couldn’t hear them.

“-N. Y/N!”

There it was again. That was your name, wasn’t it?

Someone was shaking your arms.

When had you stopped marching?

You didn’t even know you were shivering uncontrollably until the mystery person steadied you. That someone also moved to block your vision. “Hey. Hey!”

That voice… It was usually so light and delicate, but today, it was filled with a deep urgency.

“Jung… kook,” you whispered.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he said, a little breathless. “You’re okay.” He gently pushed your hair out of your sweaty face. “Hajin went to get a few medics.”

“A few…?”

“Yes,” Jungkook answered, holding your hand tightly. “We both sustained minor injuries, that’s all.”

“Minor injuries…” You couldn’t help but parrot everything he said.

“You’re in shock,” Jungkook said gently. “It’s okay. Hajin healed most of our cuts before she left, so we should be fine. She’s a natural healer, that girl. Did you know that?” When he realized you were in no headspace to answer, he tried to reassure you. “Hey, you’ll be fine,” he promised. “If you’re feeling shitty, you’ll sleep it off by tomorrow,” he said. “It’s only your first battle. Usually, they’re the worst.”

But, indeed, not all first battles were the worst. For Hajin, her first battle was spectacular. She came back completely unscathed, glowing from the memories of the small victories she made on the battlefield today. The crown princess had been absolutely ruthless, slaughtering every Solarian who dared to step her way; she was the topic of conversation for the entire city and she knew it.

Hajin bounded into the infirmary with a gigantic smile on her face and immediately beelined straight towards the bed in the corner where you were lying and Jungkook was sitting on the edge of. A wooden basket swayed from the handle around her wrist.

“I hope you two are doing better!” Hajin said, setting the basket down by the foot of the bed. “Look! I brought some bread for your speedy recovery. I would’ve brought you guys deviled eggs, but they don’t have that sort of food here.”

“I was barely even hurt,” Jungkook said.

Hajin snorted. “Shut up. You were bleeding from four different places.”

“Minor injuries,” Jungkook muttered.

“Anyways,” Hajin said, rolling her eyes. “Y/N!” She grasped your hands. “You were amazing out there! I swear, you had those damned helluvians scrambling left and right!”

But you couldn’t remember doing all that. It felt like such a blur. Like it was something you dreamed about, not experienced. All you could recall was the heat, the sharp, searing pain of being engulfed in flames, and the red. So much red. Was it the blood? Or was it the Solarians themselves? Somehow, you could still smell the bodies burning.

“Thanks, Hajin… for the bread. But I-I… I don’t know if I can do it again.”

“Of course you can!” Hajin exclaimed. “Don’t let a couple of those helluvians kill your spirit, Y/N! You were ranked first in our squadron for over a year! And look, even Jungkook, who’s a whole private, came back with scratches and bruises. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Y/N! I’m sure whatever you did today, General Son’s proud about.”

But you were so terrified to walk into that field of fire and death again. And that terror felt shameful.

“You’re resilient,” Jungkook said. “Don’t feel shame for feeling fear.” It was like he was reading your mind again. “The bravest people are the ones who do the things that they are terrified of.”

He was right. He was so right.

“I’m sorry,” you said, burying your face in your hands. “I don’t know why I… I feel like I shut down as we marched back to base.”

“It happens,” Jungkook said. “It’s normal. What’s important is that you get used to it.” He placed a delicate hand on your shoulder. “It gets easier.” But you knew in his eyes, those big doe eyes of his that he never once found this difficult. Even with his injuries, that man never felt the same trepidation you felt. He enjoyed marching out onto that battlefield, and he somehow enjoyed the aftermath of it too—preparing for the next battle, that was. You wished you could be more like him.

“I heard you sustained a few minor injuries in your first battle today,” General Son told you as soon as you walked into his office.

You saluted him. “Yes, sir. I was ordered to abstain from difficult physical activity until tomorrow.”

“No matter,” he said. “Your next battle isn’t for another few weeks.”

You nodded, sliding into the armchair in front of General Son’s desk that he was gesturing you to sit on. But the thought of marching into another battlefield made you feel squeamish.

“Does that make you uncomfortable, soldier?”

Soldier. It felt so strange for him to call you that, after years of hearing him say cadet. It reminded you yet again that you weren’t just fighting wooden dummies and performing in silly little duels anymore—you were fighting in a real war with real losses and casualties.

“U-Uncomfortable, sir?”

“Yes,” he said. “Does the idea of going to battle give you discomfort?”

You didn’t know what to say. If you answered yes, would General Son finally realize that you aren’t fit to become a General? If you answered no, would he know you’re lying?

“I just…” Your words died in your throat. “I’m just… Well, it’s only my first battle, sir. I heard that they’re usually the worst. But I promise I won’t let this taint the battles I will fight in the future.”

“Don’t make promises you cannot keep, soldier,” General Son said.

Your eyes widened.

“Fear is normal,” he said. “It is what you do with the fear that will set you apart from the average soldier. Do you understand?”

“Set me apart, sir…?”

“I hope you haven’t forgotten what I told you a few days ago.”

Train like you’re already the General of the Darlaean Army. How could you ever forget?

“I just…” You hesitated. “I… Why not Jungkook, sir?” you blurted out. Why not the numerous other officials in the army who have years and years of more experience than you?

“Why not Jungkook?” General Son repeated slowly. He didn’t look or sound incredulous, but you knew him for long enough to know that’s what he was, anyway.

“I, um…” You couldn’t repeat it. It wasn’t your intention to question General Son’s decisions, of course, for what did you know about commanding an army? But Jungkook was Jungkook. He was a prodigy, unlike you. He was unafraid and brave and charismatic. He always knew what to say and when to say it. He rarely—if not ever—had moments of doubt. He wasn’t like you at all—self-doubting, nervous, second-guessing. So why was General Son choosing you over someone like him? You couldn’t understand.

“Because,” General Son’s voice was quiet and low as he stared into your eyes, “this nation needs a military leader who innately hates her own affiliation.”

You didn’t know how to react. Was he trying to say you despised the army? “S-Sir, I think there’s a misunderstanding. I don’t hate the army at all. I know I have the background of a scholar, but I swear—”

“No, soldier, that isn’t exactly what I mean.”

You stared at him curiously.

“This nation needs a General who will do everything in her power to deliver freedom to her people. Darlae has no use for a General who simply wants to win the war and become a section in a history book. We need a General who will demilitarize after victory, not bask in the glory and power.”

“B-But—” A protest left your lips before you could help it.

“But what, soldier?” General Son said. “Will you sit here and tell me that Jungkook does not want his name to be known?”

You were too flustered to answer.

“Many people fantasize about being a hero,” General Son said. “There is nothing wrong with that, of course. Some do it for self-betterment, and others do it for the good of others. There is no right answer, but I believe it’s time that Darlae has an altruistic leader.” He glanced at you and your stunned expression. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

No. Not at all.

“It’s just… W-With all due respect, sir, I have never quite dreamed of climbing the ranks in the army. It was… Well, it was Jungkook who dreamed of becoming the General one day.”

“Sometimes power is best to fall into the hands of someone who never coveted it, soldier,” General Son replied. “He will understand one day.”

“I’m only a soldier,” you said, growing desperate. There was something in you that didn’t want to accept this. You couldn’t possibly be a good General. You were only 19 years old. You were barely able to handle your first battle without breaking down afterward. You weren’t ready. You weren’t even sure if you were qualified!

“And you were only a student at Botswana when I first saw potential in you. Titles and ranks do not matter to me as they once did. Are you done with your excuses?”

You looked down at your shoes. “It’ll hurt him,” you whispered. You knew how pathetic it sounded, but you didn’t know what else to say.

“Will it?” General Son asked, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m sure he’s already aware. As you know, he’s quite talented in divination.”

General Son had an answer for everything—just like Jungkook did—and you no longer had any excuses left.

“Your only flaw is your fear,” General Son said. “And it is not much of a flaw as it is a natural reaction. You will get used to it. And sometimes, soldier, fear fuels you to do extraordinary things.”

Jungkook was right. First battles were the worst. But that didn’t mean the second battle was a miracle, either. You still felt that shitty drop in your stomach and the nauseating urge to vomit as you marched back from the battlefield, and though you were completely unscathed this time, you still shook in fear.

The horrors of the battlefield continued to plague your mind. They showed up in your dreams nearly every night, haunting you, forcing you to stay awake. As a result, you were even more productive in finishing the assignments General Son handed you, though you “woke up�� in the mornings with heavy bags under your eyes.

You used your involute assignments to distract you from your nightmares. And when you managed to finish them, you sought after more until General Son himself ordered you to take a few days off to rest. But that was the worst order he could’ve given you. Free time meant you had the liberty to drown in the depths of your mind, which was filled with death and scarlet blood and scorching hot fire. So, you began distracting yourself with your craft.

There wasn’t much room for fashion in the army, but you entertained the idea, anyway. You sketched new designs and tried experimenting by masking a few of your rough sketches on any cheap fabric you could get your hands on. By the time a rather worried Jungkook and Hajin stepped in, you’d created more than a hundred gowns for every occasion imaginable.

“You, my friend, need a drink,” Hajin said, wrapping her arm around you and hoisting you up from the floor.

Wordlessly, Jungkook held onto your other arm, supporting your weight on his shoulder.

“I-I don’t,” you tried to protest. “I’m fine,” you promised, and you doubted that Hajin even had alcohol in the first place.

But a few minutes later, it turned out that you were wrong about everything.

One, you absolutely needed a drink.

Two, you were not fine at all.

And three, Hajin most definitely had alcohol.

You lay splayed on the grass, drunk out of your fucking mind, rattling off words that you barely processed in your head. There was an empty metal cup next to you, which had been filled thrice to the brim with wine before you’d downed it all.

“It’s like… It’s like I’m still living through it,” you whispered, eyes glazed over as you stared blankly up at the night sky.

“Living through what?” Jungkook asked. He brushed a bit of your hair out of your face, and when you reached for your cup again, he held it away from you. “No more,” he said. “You’ll get yourself sick.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. You were aware of how childish you were being, but you couldn’t help it, and you simultaneously hated yourself for it too. “It’s like I’m still on the fucking battlefield,” you said, slurring your words. “I can still feel the scorching heat. I can see the bodies falling. I can fucking smell it too. The redness of it all… Their uniforms, their blood red uniforms…”

Hajin patted your shoulder sympathetically.

“How are you two not terrified?” you asked, suddenly sitting up. You pointed your finger at both of them but suddenly realized how rude of a gesture that was and immediately dropped it. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. You stared at the empty cup that was now out of your arm’s reach. “I’m tipsy.”

“You’re more than that,” Jungkook said. “You’re drunk, Y/N.”

“It’s okay,” Hajin said, her voice much softer than usual. “Just let it all out, okay?”

You shook your head. “I don’t get it,” you said. “Why am I the only one who is getting nightmares?”

You could see Jungkook and Hajin looking at each other, but you were much too drunk to discern what those looks meant. After a bit of silence, Jungkook spoke. “Everyone reacts to the battlefield differently,” he said.

“I hate to admit it, but he’s right,” Hajin said. “Come on, Y/N, you’ve been a soldier for less than two weeks. You’ve got so much more time to grow and adjust, don’t you think? Just because Jungkook and I aren’t getting nightmares regularly doesn’t mean the others aren’t.” She grasped your hands in hers. “You need to know how amazing you are! Soldiers come back from the battlefield absolutely dazzled by your hexes, Y/N. You’re the talk of the city!”

“Because my hexes don’t kill and people think it’s ineffective,” you countered, covering your face with your hands.

“Hey,” Jungkook said. He gave you a look, which you should’ve normally been able to read, but in your state, you couldn’t at all. He seemed to realize this and verbalized his thoughts. “You’re enough, okay? Don’t get in your head, Y/N. Not so early on.”

It was too late; you were already in your head.

And besides that, the world was spinning.

Nothing seemed to make sense at all.

General Son told you that fear fueled you to do extraordinary things, but you weren’t doing anything extraordinary at all. In fact, you were ordered to rest because you’d started to write gibberish on your assignments due to your lack of sleep. You drowned yourself in your work and your penchant for fashion as a distraction, not because you sought those activities out. And that showed in the final results.

Your head was throbbing now.

You tried to grasp onto something, anything—it felt like the whole goddamn world was tilting on an axis and you were desperately trying to hold on.

Then, you felt something warm and acerbic rising from your throat.

Soon, you were hunched over, vomiting. Someone was holding your hair back and another was frantically patting your back. Your eyes squeezed shut, though a few tears leaked out. You weren’t so sure why.

“Are you okay? Y/N! Are you all right?”

“Shhh… She’s going to need some space.”

“Should I bring water? I should bring water, right? Oh no, she looks so sick! Maybe I shouldn’t have smuggled that wine over.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Yes, she’ll need the water. I’ll stay and look after her.”

You heard some rustling, and the person who had been patting your back disappeared. You felt cold from the absence of their touch. But the other person was still there, and they were smoothing out your hair, tucking it gently behind your ears.

You could recognize his touch anywhere.

“Jungkook…” you tried to say, but it came out as more of a sad croak.

“Shhh…” he answered, then pulled out a white handkerchief and gently dabbed at your mouth. “Hajin’s gone to bring you some water.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your throat so dry that it felt like it was cracking from the inside.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he replied.

“The world isn’t spinning anymore.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?”

You shook your head. “I still feel so low,” you said. “Like absolute shit.”

He wrapped you in a tight hug, letting your head rest on his chest, your legs brushing against his. The scent of clean soap and sandalwood filled your nose. It was his scent, the one you were so familiar with, and it helped calm your senses. “Things are going to get better,” he said. “It’s a fact. I’m not speculating anything.”

“How are you so sure?” you asked.

“I’m a divinist,” he said, running his fingers through your hair. “I’m perfectly capable of seeing into the future.”

And so he was.

Circas began to pass. Time nearly became an immeasurable metric as the days you spent in the army went by, and the battles you marched into began to bleed into the other. There was the third battle, where you’d fought side by side with Seokjin. Then the fourth battle—or was it the third?—where you and Hajin teamed up to lead the left flank of the unit. The fifth battle—or possibly the sixth—was when you reunited with Taehyung and watched him fight alongside Hajin and Seokjin. You couldn’t really recall what happened in the sixth battle. It was all such a blur. But you did remember being promoted as soon as you marched back to the 1st city. Jungkook and Hajin congratulated you, and you were happy as well, though the twisting feeling in your stomach held its ground.

The fear never ended up dying down.

But you did learn to live with it.

Even when you were up late at night, laughing over drinks (though you abstained from drinking since your previous incident) with Hajin and Taehyung, you felt the empty pit in your gut. Even when you visited Jungkook in his barrack at night, when he knew his bunkmates would be out late, and laid by his side in his bed, you felt apprehension for the next battle you would go on. Even when you had your lessons with General Son, the fear was there, sitting low in your stomach.

You were so used to it that it never really bothered you anymore.

You lived your life as you did in the 12th city, pretending you were safe, pretending your loved ones were safe too. Life ticked on like a working clock, steady and well-paced.

Seokjin and Taehyung still saluted you whenever they saw you around, and a few other soldiers (that you didn’t know the name of) began picking up that habit from your friends. You still spent every night eating dinner with Jungkook and Hajin, and you often went to bed with your boyfriend by your side.

Sometimes, when one of you sustained minor injuries, the others would visit them in the infirmary. You hated that place. It reeked of the war, and every time you went, the fear inside of you flared up, threatening to spill out and break you down once more. So you tried to avoid it the best you could.

There were a few slower days in the army, though it was rare. On those particular days, you liked to daydream, mostly about the people you missed in your past.

Sometimes, though rarely, you thought about Donghoon. It almost felt like you met him in a dream years and years ago. You were both so young then, and that fight you had between each other… Had it really been worth it? Did he ever regret it? You joined the Training Corps for your parents back then, but somewhere along the line of those five years of training, you’d shifted your motivation. Now, you wanted to be in the army—not because you were getting paid well enough to support your parents and certainly not solely because Jungkook and Hajin were a part of it, though that did help—but because you wanted to achieve great things for Darlae. So you supposed you burned down the bridges of that friendship. It felt shitty, but you couldn’t help but think it was for the better. He’d never want a soldier—much less someone expected to become the General one day—to be his friend.

More often, you thought about Joonhee, the boy whom you’ve accredited to convincing you to join the army. He had admittedly been arrogant and crass back when the two of you still attended Botswana, but he’d matured rather quickly after joining the training program. You wondered if he was well. The army was so large that you hadn’t gotten a glimpse of him in the several circas you’ve been in the 1st city, but you were waiting for the day to bump into him—to thank him. Only recently have you remembered the very words that changed everything for you: You can die and still be a hero. It helped mitigate just a little bit of that fear that sat nearly dormant in your gut.

Then, most often, you thought about Instructor Shin. She must’ve seen well over a hundred students since you’ve attended Botswana. You wondered if she even remembered you. You remembered her. Sometimes, late at night, you tried to recall the letter she wrote to you when you were only 16—the same letter that helped you put the fire back in your eyes and participate in the damn duels. May you one day change Darlae for the better, she’d written. After a long day on the battlefield, that was exactly what you needed to hear to want to wake up the next morning feeling re-energized. And may you one day still remember me, your strict, old, incompetent instructor, who nearly stopped you from achieving greatness in the Darlaean Army. You didn’t think you would ever forget someone like Instructor Shin.

It never really occurred to you to write to your old instructor again until you heard devastating news from Seokjin.

He’d jogged towards you, saluting you when he got close, though you were of the same rank. “Private Kwang,” he’d said.

“Private Kim,” you’d nodded, smiling. “You really don’t have to salute me, you know.” You told him for the umpteenth time.

“I know. But I choose to do it,” Seokjin answered, also for the umpteenth time. “Anyway, I just wanted to catch up.”

“Sure,” you said, your smile widening. It was rare for Seokjin to approach others for pleasant conversation, so you wondered if he was starting to warm up to you.

“It’s a Botswana Agate alumni reunion,” Seokjin clarified.

Your eyes widened. It had been circas since you heard that name. “There’s enough of us for that?”

“Maybe about 9 or 10 that I know of?” Seokjin estimated. “Either way, it’s not for a happy cause. One of them died recently. I think he was around the same age as you—a really talented one, too. Apparently, he ranked first or second in all of his classes at Botswana. Ranked pretty high in his squadron, too. Have you ever heard of a Joonhee? I think it was Lee Joonhee.”

The world began to spin.

And now here you were, under the candlelight, writing furiously, tears welled up in your eyes.

Dear Instructor Shin,

I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do but apologize. I’m sorry for writing to you now, after all of these years. And I’m even more sorry I never wrote back to you. Life got ahead of me, and I know, it’s a fruitless excuse; I should’ve continued to write to you. I still cherish the last letter you sent me, and words cannot explain how much it has helped my growth in the army.

But with that said, I’m writing to you bearing awful news. I thought you should know. Please, do not feel obligated to respond to this letter at all.

Sergeant Lee Joonhee is deceased. I found out today. They have already cremated him along with the others who have fallen in his unit. I’m sorry, Instructor Shin. They’ve given me the letters you sent him over the years—as well as an unfinished letter he wrote for you. If you were wondering why this parcel was so heavy, I have returned these letters for you, along with his copy of The Wisdom Tree. It was hidden in his trunk of possessions. The book’s been loved and worn, but I know you’ll take good care of it. He probably wanted you to have it, anyway.

It didn’t feel right of me to read the letters between the two of you, but I imagine how heartfelt they must’ve been for you to write to each other for years. I learned today of his disownment from his parents when he joined the army. I wasn’t aware at all, though I’m sure you knew. So thank you for being his parent figure. It must’ve been so hard for him to go against his parent’s wishes to join the army. Thank you for believing in him and supporting him and taking care of him when his parents no longer wanted to. He was so lucky to have you.

I wish I had gotten a chance to see him one more time. Joonhee was the one who ultimately convinced me to join the army, and I was never able to thank him for it. He was so wise for his age, though now I realize he must’ve learned it from you.

He told me years and years ago that one can die and still become a hero. He trusted that his comrades would carry on his legacy if he died, and he was willing to put his life on the line for a chance at a warless Darlae. He was so honorable. It’s all coming back to me now, what he told me that day I ran into him on campus, sobbing from a fight with a friend.

He told me when the blockade was over, he wanted to explore the world. He wanted to go back to learning eventually, but the real kind—by truly experiencing it. He even wanted to publish a book. It’s so, so horrible that he would never be able to do these things, but I promise, Instructor Shin, that I’ll carry on his legacy. I promise that I will work harder and fight harder for fallen soldiers like Joonhee. And I promise I won’t disappoint you.

I want to change Darlae for the better. And I will always remember you, my kind, wise instructor. You have only pushed me harder to one day achieve greatness in the Darlaean Army.

Sincerely,

Private Kwang Y/N

Joonhee’s death had left you numb for hours. But by the time you sent the letter to Instructor Shin, hoping she would be able to decipher your nonsensical spiel, your tears had already dried on your cheeks. Soon after, you weren’t given much time to mourn. You were immediately called upon to do your duties and lessons with General Son, which kept you so well-distracted that you didn’t have the time to dwell in melancholy.

Sergeant Lee Joonhee’s unit had been a rather small one, though when it was decimated in battle, it became everybody’s problem—and especially General Son’s. He was ordering promotions now, to replace the officials who were recently deceased, and he was working the surviving soldiers day and night, piling on training and menial duties on their schedules. At first, you thought it was cruel to have those who were mourning working overtime, but later, you realized General Son was only helping them keep distracted.

Death was a nasty thing, and though it was everywhere around you, no one really liked to talk about it. There were hundreds of cremations a day, and you always passed by at least one group of soldiers mourning over the fallen. Joonhee’s words echoed in your head every time. I trust my comrades to carry on my legacy if I die. And so you began living every day for those who had died fighting for their nation.

The fear was still there, of course. But you knew that your comrades—the people you ate, slept, drank and marched into battle with—would carry on your legacy if you ever died. You could still be a hero. Your contribution to the army would have brought Darlae one step closer to winning the war. You were a private now, so you must’ve done something right to be promoted. It gave you just the smallest sliver of hope. If you died now—though you would hate to—you would have still accomplished something.

Strangely, even with so much death lingering in the gloomy air of the 1st city, Darlae was still winning the war. It came to the point that there were talks of Solaria surrendering. General Son kept level-headed about it, but he really kept level-headed about everything.

“It is not so simple,” General Son said to his officials. He began inviting you and Jungkook to these important meetings packed with all sorts of high-ranking soldiers. “The war is not over until the enemy has completely surrendered. We must not lower our guards. Do we understand? The war has been going on for too long for the Solarians to surrender now. I suspect they have switched Generals, perhaps to a lesser-skilled one. But even if this new General is a runt, they will fight back, for they became the leader of their army for a reason. We must brace ourselves and bring in more healers to our infirmary. The next couple of weeks will be bloody.”

Like always, General Son was correct in his judgment. In the next few days, the Solarians attempted to change the tide of war. It was then that you had your seventh battle, which was only so memorable because Hajin saved Jungkook’s life.

“So you’re telling me that I saved the Private Jungkook from getting seared on the battlefield?” Hajin giggled excitedly. She took a large gulp of the wine in her metal cup and grinned. “You’re forever indebted to me, private.” She drunkenly bopped Jungkook’s nose. Normally, Jungkook would not be very happy about that, but he was drunk too and only smiled.

“You just pushed me out of the way,” he said, quietly, taking a sip of his wine.

“Yeah. Pushed you out of the way of fire!” Hajin snorted. “A ‘thank you, Princess Hajin’ would be nice.”

“Over my dead body.”

“You would’ve been had I not pushed you to safety!”

You were stone-cold sober, and perhaps that made witnessing your best friend’s and boyfriend’s bickering even funnier. You were laughing, leaning back on your arms on the thin blanket that covered the grass.

“But guys, it can only go up from here!” Hajin exclaimed. She fell back on the blanket so abruptly that you had to nearly dive to move her cup half filled with wine away from her. Hajin stared up at the night sky, her eyes twinkling like the stars, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol she’d somehow gotten her hands on again. “Seven battles in and… damn. I can’t even explain it! It’s like… It’s like I’m finally doing what I’ve always dreamed of doing! Every time I go out there, I’m raining hell on those stupid helluvians, knowing Mom’s watching me from somewhere, really fucking proud.” She suddenly gasped as if she had a marvelous epiphany. “Guys, guys, guys… I just realized something! I swear, if I died now, I would be perfectly content.”

“Hajin!” you said.

“Your father would have our heads if you died, so let’s not think like that,” Jungkook replied, setting down his empty cup of wine. It seemed as if the liquor loosened his lips.

Hajin only rolled her eyes. “I bet you’d be the first to cry about me when I’m dead. I can just imagine you hunched over my tombstone sobbing your guts out.”

“You wish,” Jungkook retorted. There was a long pause. “I’d be sad, though. Don’t know if I’d cry, but I’d be sad.”

“Why, thank you,” Hajin snorted. “Now that’s what I want to hear!” She rested her head on her palms as she sighed. “I think I’ve gotten everything I’ve wanted out of my life!” she declared proudly. Her booming voice seemed to echo throughout the night sky, flying away with the sweet breeze. “I’ve killed some tree huggers, I’ve finally made it to the 1st city, and I even have two amazing bodyguards!” She giggled as her head lolled to the side to make eye contact with you and Jungkook. Except her idea of eye contact was fairly lax; she couldn’t seem to focus her vision at all. “What about you guys?” she asked, drunkenly. “I need to know if you have everything you want out of life. I demand you to tell me as my subjects!”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, lifting his cup to his lips to down some more alcohol. When he realized his cup was empty, he let out a disgruntled sigh. “When I become the General, I’d make sure no royal figure can pass orders in my army.”

Hajin only laughed. “So you want to become the General?”

Jungkook shrugged, but you knew it meant more to him than he let on. “Just a thought,” he replied. “So I suppose there’s more to come in my life. I’m not satisfied yet. I know I can be better.”

“What about you?” he turned to you, reaching for your hand. You gave it to him, though you knew how much Hajin hated public displays of affection. But then again, today felt like an exception; she was much too drunk to notice.

You stared at your cup filled with lukewarm water. It tasted strangely bitter as if the metal from the cup had tainted it. But it was still better than wine. The loss of control over most of your mental and motor abilities wasn’t exactly too appealing, and someone had to take care of Jungkook and Hajin if they went a little overboard. Besides, you weren’t very keen on having a repeat of the last time you were inebriated.

“What about me?” you repeated.

“Yeah, you,” Jungkook said, grinning. He was so very drunk; he usually never smiled that wide. “What do you want out of your life?”

The question was deceptively simple; it elicited a myriad of thoughts inside your head.

You always knew you wanted to make a difference, and you promised Instructor Shin that you were going to change Darlae for the better. But technically, every battle you went on was a step in the right direction. Technically, you’d already made many small changes. As a private, you at least held some authority over unranked soldiers, and it was up to you to relay suggestions to your sergeant to improve the skills of the soldiers in your unit. But that surely wasn’t enough.

So what was going to be enough? Becoming the General? Ending the war?

What if you were never satisfied?

Plus, there was that cowardliness inside of you. You couldn’t be fully content until it was gone. But what if it never went away? What if every time you marched into battle, you felt like your stomach was going to drop out of your ass and your breakfast was going to lurch out of your mouth?

Perhaps it was your sobriety that made it so much harder to openly admit what you really wanted out of your life. Or perhaps, you weren’t even so sure anymore.

Jungkook squeezed your hand. He tapped a few words of monocode on your skin, though you couldn’t exactly translate properly because some of the words were made up. “Thanks,” you said anyway. “I just… Well, I’ve always wanted to make a difference…”

“But…?” Jungkook asked.

He knew you too well.

“But I feel like I’m lacking so much. Yet I also feel like I shouldn’t be feeling this way. And when I think about my future, I wonder if I’ll ever even be satisfied. I mean, how much change is enough? What if too much change is bad? What if I think I’m making a good difference, but it’s actually really harmful?”

To your surprise, Hajin snorted, sitting right up. “Bah!” she said, waving her hand as if to dismiss your worries. “You’re overthinking it!”

You turned to Jungkook, who was nodding in agreement.

“You’ll know when you’ve made the change you’ve always wanted to make,” Jungkook said, which was quite a wise thing for someone so intoxicated to say.

“Exactly!” Hajin agreed. “We believe in you, Y/N!” she giggled, grasping onto your hands.

You smiled. You wondered if they would remember any of this in the morning.

And just like that, with battles and private lessons and meetings and late-night dinners, your life in the army went on once again. Things were mostly a routine by now, one where you always knew where you had to be and what you had to do.

Sometimes, there was a break in the routine. Instructor Shin had sent a letter back to you, though it was more akin to a note. She’d written one line: It would fare better with you than me. Attached to the letter was Joonhee’s copy of The Wisdom Tree. She’d returned it to you. And so that night, you’d reread the book and the entire time, you replaced the protagonist with Joonhee’s face.

The tale made you face your doubts, but it also made you want to smother them for good. You were fighting for your comrades. You were carrying on their stories, their dreams, their legacies. There was no room for doubt.

The blood on the battlefield, the arms detached from the torsos, still warm and wet, the cries of pain, the cries of despair and the occasional cry of happiness that it was all over—you fought for the losses. You fought for the lost. Because if you didn’t, you didn’t know how else to justify their deaths.

You never quite knew how much you’d learned from General Son until he asked you to lead one of those high-profile official meetings one day.

You were so terrified that you weren’t able to eat several hours before. Even when you finished presenting a few new hexes you were experimenting with on your own, you were still shaking, terrified of the feedback you would receive. But your ideas were received with overwhelming praise, and right then and there, you were promoted to a sergeant. Now, you had two privates who reported directly to you and a captain who you directly reported to.

Everywhere you walked, you were met with eyes in awe of you, people who saluted you and respected you. You were beginning to realize that you knew more than you thought, to have people revere you as if you were of higher status.

By the time you were 20, you were a captain who directly reported to one of the 15 majors in the entire army. They began using your charms in battle, which were extraordinarily compatible with both light and dark magic. Now, entire units knew your name. It took a while to get used to everyone saluting you when you walked past. Still, even at this caliber, you felt like you weren’t making enough change.

Sometimes, General Son would give you a few battle plans to look over, and only recently did he begin to ask you to write your own. Occasionally, it was a conjoined assignment with Jungkook, who had also steadily climbed the ranks with you. But even when you were creating the formations and outlining the strategies that were implemented in battle, you felt like it wasn’t enough.

By the time you were 21, you were promoted to a major. General Son was much more attentive to you now, inviting you over for late-night cups of tea and strategy sessions. It was almost as if the two of you were acquaintances, which was hard to believe. Sometimes, he would invite Jungkook too, but it was usually just you and him.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

There were rumors that either you or Jungkook would be appointed as General Son’s Lieutenant General—after he served seven years without one. Then, there were also rumors that either you or Jungkook would take General Son’s place if anything were to happen to him.

It was horrible, knowing that Jungkook was secretly wishing for the same title that General Son handed to you two years back. But there was also nothing you could do about it.

It was that one night, that one night you were particularly wide awake, though it was four in the morning when it finally hit you: one day, you would lead tens of thousands of soldiers in the Darlaean Army into battle. One day, everyone would know your name, either praise it as if you were Guseul herself or drag it through the dirt if they were a scholar. One day, you would make the tough decisions and the tough calls and would have to face the damn consequences if you were wrong. One day, you would be at the very top with everyone looking up at you, and it terrified you.

General Son sat across from you, carefully watching your face with his dark eyes. His hair, which had used to be black, now had flecks of gray. His naturally down-turned lips sagged, though he wasn’t exactly frowning. And there were bags under his eyes that never seemed to go away—even if he got enough hours of sleep. The job had aged him. But you knew General Son didn’t give two shits about that, anyway.

There was a running joke in the army that General Son didn’t have any other clothes other than his uniform, which you were starting to think wasn’t quite a joke anymore. Even now, at four in the morning, he donned his perfectly ironed uniform, complete with his unique silver shoulder epaulets, shining black boots, and the beautiful opal on his belt buckle. You were wearing your uniform too, of course, but from the day’s work, it was wrinkled and stained. When you looked down at your shoes, they were scuffed and muddied. If General Son found the state of your uniform disdainful, he didn’t say.

When he finally broke the silence and spoke, his deep voice echoed in his temporary office. “Do you wish I changed my mind, Major Kwang?”

You blinked. “Sir…?”

“Are you beginning to accept that you are next in line to become the General of the Darlaean Army?”

“Oh…” You began playing with your trinket, tugging on your birthstone pendant absentmindedly. “Well, I suppose I have accepted it, sir,” you said. “I have had my path cut out for me since I was 19.”

“14,” General Son corrected you.

“Sir, did you really see me becoming the General of the Darlaean Army when I was only 14 years old?” you said, eyebrows rising. “I was still in Botswana, then.”

“I’m no divinist,” General Son said, “so of course I wasn’t completely sure, but you were always a promising figure. I had an inkling, and my intuition is more often right than wrong.”

“I still have my reservations,” you admitted. “I may have accepted that the position will be handed off to me, but that doesn’t mean that I am not worried, sir.”

“Worry all you want,” General Son said. “It will help you prepare.”

“Jungkook still doesn’t know…”

“He will find out soon enough.”

“But—”

“If you cannot see your sheer talent, then you must either be blind or humble,” General Son said.

You were stunned into silence.

“I don’t think you quite understand, Major Kwang,” General Son continued. “Most people cannot draft up valid battle plans in five minutes. Most people cannot create new charms, especially not ones that work perfectly with both branches of magic. And most people do not become a major in less than two years of coming to the 1st city.”

“I…”

General Son shook his head. “You have so much, Y/N,” he said. “You were born with talent, which most people aren’t. From there, you have also been given countless opportunities to hone your talent, which, again, most people don’t get. And on top of all that?” He placed his hand on the shining opal that decorated his belt. “You’re a natural alchemist. You don’t have to work harder to understand alchemy—not like I had to.”

Your eyes widened. “Sir…”

“People like you come once in a millennium,” General Son said. “And another thing about people like you? You don’t know how lucky you are. Others had to fight and claw and scratch and kill to be in your position. For others, it’s every person for themself.” He paused momentarily to give you a solemn look. “You do not think solely for yourself because you never had to. As I’ve told you before, Darlae deserves an altruistic leader. Someone who leads with the Darlaeans in mind. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

So many thoughts whizzed through your head. General Son talked about you as if you were special, but you surely didn’t feel that way. But then again, he was right that you were lucky. How many others around you went to Botswana for a proper education, befriended the princess, resided in the castle and were given private lessons with the General? But you weren’t a saint. You were no damn Guseul. You wanted to be a hero, yes, but you were afraid of death, for fuck’s sake! You couldn’t even imagine sacrificing yourself for your nation, though you knew this was a condition of going into battle.

“I have faith in you, Y/N,” General Son said. “I do.”

“Faith in me for what exactly, sir?”

He smiled one of his rare smiles. “To be a better General than I ever was.” Then, he walked over and placed a calloused hand on your shoulder. “Or to end the war,” he said, so casually, as if it were actually possible. “Though I suppose I’ll be long gone by that time.”

It was only a few weeks after your late-night turned early-morning conversation with General Son when disaster struck.

“Stay with me!” Jungkook yelled, holding onto the stretcher that was being rushed to the General’s private quarters. “Sir, stay with me!”

You were numb from the shock. Your body was moving, and your feet were pounding on the dirt to catch up, but you couldn’t register the movement. Your ears were ringing. Your vision was blurring.

“They crushed his birthstone!” Jungkook barked at the team of healers who were scrambling to do something about the dying General. “He couldn’t heal himself!”

You’ve never seen Jungkook yell so frantically.

“Stay with me, sir!” he said, shaking General Son’s shoulders.

Why couldn’t you move? Why couldn’t you do anything?

“Where the hell is Hajin when you need her?” Jungkook cried. “What’s wrong with him? What the hell did they do to him?”

General Son was barely conscious. His eyes were open, but they stared off into the distance as if he was beginning to see otherworldly things. You walked a little closer to the bed on which he had been placed. “Sir,” you whispered. His breathing was slow, near sporadic. He was dying. He was going to die. He knew it too; you could tell. You’ve never seen him so relaxed.

“Jungkook!” you cried, tears finally falling down your face.

He was immediately by your side.

The General met your eyes.

Chills ran down your spine.

This single battle had aged him nearly ten years. His uniform was missing a single silver epaulet, the belt around his waist had been torn and the opal which usually sat in the middle was nowhere to be found. His face was caked with blood and mud, and his hair was singed off. And his eyes, his eyes looked so soft, so weak. He looked like a mere shell of himself, already reduced to a memory.

There was nobody else in that tent except for a few other majors and healers. It was dead silent, so silent that you could hear the whispering breeze outside.

Then, General Son spoke. “Y/N,” he croaked.

“Sir,” you said, regaining your voice. “There’s still time. Hajin should be on her way. She can heal you. You’ll be better in n—”

General Son cut you off with the limp wave of his hand. “Shhh…” he said. And with a shaking hand, he pressed two fingers on his bloody forehead, where his birthstone had been when he was born. He was saluting—an odd thing to do for someone of such high status. He strained to speak what would undoubtedly be his last words. “G-General…”

“Yes,” Jungkook said. “You’re the General. General Son.”

“G-General…” General Son spoke again. “General… K-Kwang…”

Silence.

Everybody turned to you.

You stepped back.

“He stopped breathing!” one of the healers shrieked.

Chaos ensued as you and Jungkook were torn away from the bed and replaced by the team of healers who tried everything to keep the General alive. But it was no use. Even magic couldn’t bring back the dead.

You were sobbing, though you couldn’t hear it. And the entire time you wept over the death of your mentor, your superior, you felt Jungkook’s intense stare on your back. Perhaps a stare of betrayal.

Your officials advised you to keep his death a secret until you had a grasp of what the hell you were doing. They did this when General Hwang died, too; you remembered now. Has it already been seven years?

It was important to have a smooth transition to power—to not warrant the development of panic in the army. But your officials weren’t too worried.

“They all foresaw it,” they told you. “Everyone knew you were going to take his place.”

But did they really?

You visited the king several days after General Son’s passing, and the two of you cried in each other’s arms. While you had lost the mentor who had built you up from the ground, Hoseok had lost his closest friend.

“He chose the right person,” Hoseok told you, wiping the tears away from your face. “You will do wonderful things for my nation, my dear.”

You wandered soullessly back into your chambers in the castle. It felt like you hadn’t been back in forever. You realized how much you missed it. So, you crawled underneath your covers, swaddling yourself in your soft blankets and cried.

You lost track of time after a while, and when there was a knock on your door, you didn’t know if it was the next day or not.

Hajin peeked her face in. She looked worried, her eyebrows furrowed as she saw your state in your bed. “Hey,” she said. “Jungkook’s in the south courtyard. They’re hosting the funeral there. Do you need help getting ready?”

You nodded.

Hajin helped bathe you. She did your hair, put on your makeup too, even though those things weren’t quite her forté. But she grew up with her lady-in-waiting doing it for her all the time, so she subconsciously learned how to do it too.

“There you go,” she said. “Pretty as ever.”

You wanted to smile, but tears fell down your face instead.

“Oh no!” Hajin said. “Don’t cry! Your makeup!” She put extra powder on your face, hoping it would help combat the waterworks. “Have you prepared your eulogy?”

You nodded. And it hadn’t just been you, your 15 other majors had helped you proofread it and rewrite the portions they deemed awkward. You weren’t even nervous anymore. The eulogy was so far removed from you that it didn’t feel like it came from the heart. It was so simple, so efficient. So short.

You stood before the crowd of thousands. They were wearing black; you were too. And despite the sadness in their eyes, most of them looked hopeful—as if you were their beacon of light.

“Good evening.” Your voice echoed throughout the courtyard. “Esteemed colleagues, friends, family, and citizens, we gather here today to remember and honor the life of a remarkable individual who dedicated his life to his nation and its people. Today, we bid farewell to a true leader, a strategist, and a visionary—a general whose legacy will forever resonate in the annals of history.

“General Son Taegi was nothing short of brilliant. He possessed great wisdom to make decisions that led his troops to many victories. His dedication to his craft was unwavering, and his innovative approaches often turned the tide of conflict.”

Your hands fidgeted with your notecards. You were supposed to announce your succession next, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You knew you might face shit from your officials for this, who were already frowning at your prolonged pause, but the people didn’t want to hear you read off of a paper. They wanted to hear what you really thought about General Son’s passing. You turned the cards upside down, adjusted the black shawl over your shoulders and faced the crowd.

“Today, we mourn the loss of a great leader, a mentor, a friend. General Son’s legacy lives on in the lives he touched, the battles he fought, and the ideals he upheld. It is him who I owe my military career to. When I first met him, he was the Lieutenant General, and I was only 14, a student preparing to become an alchemist scholar. But he saw my potential and had faith in me to build me up to where I am now. The gratitude that I have for him is ineffable. I wish I could have shown him how thankful I was… I wish… I wish that I could’ve embraced him, just once, and told him that he was my hero. That he was our nation’s hero. And he will never stop becoming our hero, even after his passing.

“On this cloudy day, let us wish General Son to rest in honor. Your memory will forever be etched in our hearts and minds. Your legacy will continue to guide us, as we march on, following the path you’ve illuminated for us all.”

You were crying again, but strangely, your voice was clear and calm.

“Today, I stand before you with a mixture of honor, humility, and determination as I accept the mantle of leadership that has been passed on to me. I step into this role with a profound respect for the challenges that lie ahead. I understand that this is not a position to be taken lightly; it is a privilege earned through steadfast devotion to the welfare of our troops and the security of our nation.

“Our strength lies not only in our magic but also in our unity. I am committed to fostering an environment that encourages collaboration, innovation and growth—an environment where each of you can thrive and contribute to our collective success.

“By no means am I here to replace General Son’s legacy. But I do wish to build upon it. Just as he led with wisdom, I will strive to lead with prudence. Just as he inspired with courage, I will strive to inspire with unfaltering resolve.

“Thank you for your trust, your camaraderie, and your dedication. To my soldiers, let us move forward as one, united by our purpose and guided by the spirit of service that defines us as our nation’s defenders. With your support, dedication, and the honor you bring to your uniforms, we will march forward, ensuring that the legacy of General Son lives on through our actions, our successes, and our faithful commitment to duty. To my people, let us protect you and allow you to live in peace and prosperity as my soldiers and I strive to bring our nation to victory in this damned war.

“I thank you again for coming here today. Let us continue to honor the past while embracing the future, as I promise to do my best as your new Darlaean General.”

There was a roar of applause.

It was so loud that it drowned out your thoughts.

When you were ushered off of the stage, you thought you would be scolded by your officials, but you weren’t. In fact, they looked at you with awe.

“You added a personal touch to it,” Jungkook told you. He held your hand as the two of you made your way to the orchard. It’d been so long since you had walked there. “It was beautiful. And it was improvised, which is the most impressive part.”

“Thank you,” you said. “I-I… I honestly can’t quite remember what I said. The words… they just came out.”

“And they were perfect,” Jungkook said. He squeezed your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“What for?” he asked, but you knew he knew what you were talking about. You gave him a look. He sighed. “I was expecting it,” he said quickly. “I think we all were. And besides, you deserve it,” he told you. “You were always better than me at everything.”

Was that a hint of bitterness in his voice?

“Doesn’t matter,” Jungkook said. “I’m here to serve you now as your lieutenant general.”

You nodded. “I trust you with my life,” you said. “And love you just the same.”

He smiled. Tap, tap, tap, tap, his fingers gently danced on your skin.

I trust you with my life, too, he answered. And I love you even more.

⨰ previous | series m.list | next

⨰ a/n: ahh only three more chapters left until this flashback ends!! as you can see, things are picking up. it will continue to get darker as we approach the flashback's end!!

please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!

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waywardrose · 1 year ago

Text

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 16

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

5.4k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, angst with a happy ending, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: Montaging our way to spring break! Wee! (Also, pardon the lack of updates. I’ve been sick.)

Angry faces obscured your view. A wordless cacophony of voices drowned out all other sounds. Hands like shackles clasped your arms. Broken blacktop and brick-dust riddled the ground under your bare feet. You fought to escape, but there were too many restraining you. Your heels scraped raw and skin bruised as you thrashed.

Like a shoal of fish distancing themselves from a predator, the mob parted for those dragging you. You tried to make eye-contact with anyone, yet no one really saw you. Their indistinct yells were neither protests nor cheers, only primal noise.

Dry heat and the sharp smell of electricity permeated the air the farther your captors pulled you. It made the hairs at your nape stand on end.

Your alarm clock beeped.

You batted around your nightstand until hitting the snooze button on the clock.

It was just before six AM. Tuesday. Still dark. School started in almost two hours.

School meant putting on a veneer of indifference. Truthfully, heading downstairs to breakfast meant putting on a veneer of indifference. Your parents didn’t know Eddie had only called once in the two and a half weeks since you’d given him your new number. No one at school knew what he meant to you.

You went through your morning routine without thought. Your parents chatted over scrambled eggs and toast. Mom was heading into work with your father today. There were calls to make, notes to take, and documents to file. They wouldn’t be home until after five. You could impersonate Mom and excuse yourself from school, but you’d done that last week.

You had a quiz in Spanish class today, anyway. You didn’t want to explain to Senora Richmond before the next class why you needed a make-up quiz — en Espanol, no less.

You didn’t know how to translate: Sorry, my kinda boyfriend ditched me because his music styling was changing and my poor lil heart couldn’t take it.

By the time you arrived at school, darkness had given way to a marigold sun. The honey-colored horizon faded to silvery blue in the flat sky. It looked warmer than it felt.

The morning went by as you expected. The Spanish quiz wasn’t as difficult as you’d prepared for. You kept yourself busy during lunch to fill the usual emptiness. Eddie didn’t attempt conversation before American Government, which sucked more than you’d anticipated.

Your bleeding feet left streaks of crimson on the cracked concrete. Despite your pleas, your captors dragged you closer to the scorching heat. Otherworldly electricity snapped and sizzled over the roar of the crowd—

And when they parted, you screamed.

You jolted across the bed, breathless and disoriented. Nothing hurt. It was dark. Your heartbeat banged in your ears. Harsh sunlight filtered around the window blinds. The neck of your nightshirt clung to your damp skin.

It was the same dream you’d had days ago. You could rationalize a bad dream once, but not a second time. Maybe this was a third time? Something about the details...

You shook your head and turned on the bedside lamp.

It was just after ten AM. Sunday. Mom would serve breakfast soon.

You took your diary from the nightstand to record what you’d seen. Halfway through, Mom knocked on your door, announcing food was ready. You launched from the bed and called back you’d be down in a minute. Your rumpled, sweat-ringed shirt spoke to the contrary, but whatever.

With a quick change, you scurried downstairs. Sunday Morning played on the small kitchen TV. The scent of coffee and browning sausage patties filled your nose. Maple syrup, butter, and a platter of steaming pancakes waited buffet-style on the counter.

After everyone settled at the table, your father announced he would be in Louisville next weekend for an investor conference. Mom nodded along, asking if she needed to have his car serviced. She sounded like his secretary, which she’d been before you were born. She’d been his “girl.” In most respects, she still was. Their dynamic made you never want to marry. You didn’t want to be some man’s assistant, you wanted a partner.

Your father replied he would rent a car instead. It was easier to deduct tax-wise. Mom agreed before taking a dainty sip of her coffee.

Conversation tapered off as Face the Nation recapped the past week’s events. Your father focused on the show while chopping a wedge from his pancake stack.

Mom turned to you and said, “How about we have a girls’ weekend?”

Her kind yet serious expression put you on high alert. She hadn’t offered an expression like that since she broke the news of the move. Syrup dripped from the bite of pancake on your fork.

“Uh, sure,” you said oh-so suavely.

Everything was under control. Situation normal. Everything was perfectly alright now. You were fine. You were all fine, here, now, thanks.

She smiled what you’d referred to as her beauty-pageant smile. It was the one she used as a genial mask.

“We’ll rent a few movies and eat pizza!” she said. “How about facials? Mani-pedis?” She set her mug on her placemat. “A salon visit? Maybe a stop by that boutique on Main? Oh, I know, I’ll make a list!”

She stood before you could answer.

Eddie knew he couldn’t afford to skip American Government like he had been. O’Donnell was such a hardass about homework, proper grammar and complete sentences on tests, class participation, and attendance.

She abhorred his long hair and ripped jeans. Hell, last year she’d sent him to the office before Homeroom for the patches on his battle vest. Her nose curled when she addressed him, as if he stank. Which he did not, thank you very much. He showered and wore deodorant every day.

However, he’d much prefer to lie on the couch while eating spray cheese from the can instead of facing the world. Which was pathetic, and he’d rather not have anyone know. Not even Wayne, but especially not you.

Jesus Christ, he’d fucked up so bad. As per usual.

You hadn’t glanced at him when the semester started. It was more than you ignoring him. You didn’t notice him anymore. Or like you’d seen the real him and didn’t find him worth the effort.

That hurt like a bitch.

That was karma, he guessed. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t agree with the adage that karma was a bitch. No, karma was a virgin. Karma teased and hinted and strung him along. Karma gave him metaphorical blue balls.

He could have this little good thing, but it would cost him a bigger, better thing that he wouldn’t know the existence of until it was ripped away. Like getting a mediocre handy, then finding out after he’d come he could’ve been balls deep in the slickest, hottest, tightest hole in the universe.

Except, this time he’d given himself the handy.

He made a face at the wording. Luckily, he was alone in the Auto Tech garage. He switched positions on the workbench stool and stared at the Music Theory worksheet he needed to finish by tomorrow morning.

He kept recalling how your gaze had met his during the previous class. Your expression went from neutrally attentive to goddamn miserable. He wanted to drag you from the classroom to apologize and explain better. Explain in a way you’d understand and was coherent. It all made sense in his head, where he was eloquent and astute, but his words came out all wrong. He sounded one evolutionary step away from a proto-neanderthal, a caveman, an idiot.

All he could think of was your misery. He’d done that. He hadn’t kept trying. He let you remain miserable.

So, yeah, he’d wanted to drag you from the classroom and kiss your misery away. He wanted to take you home, play his new compositions for you, prove to you the time apart was productive.

Maybe he should record a few on the boombox — if it had the right input jack. Then he could write a letter. He was better on paper, anyway. He was an experienced dungeon master and storyteller. He was eloquent and a fast-thinker during sessions. It stood to reason he could translate those skills to a fucking letter—

“Munson,” said Mr. Thompson, the Auto Tech teacher.

The main door clunked shut. He whirled around to face Mr. Thompson, who raised an eyebrow at him.

“Hail, car-lord and master!” he said with an innocent smile and raised hand.

The corner of Mr. Thompson’s lips curled before he shook his head.

“If I catch you in here again before the bell, I’m taking you to Higgins.”

Eddie saluted, while thinking of the next warm place he could hide during fifth period.

“Understood, sire.”

Mr. Thompson waved it off and headed for his locked office.

“This isn’t a study hall, son, get off your duff and help me wheel the tool chests out.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mom said, “—And this is my daughter,” as you stopped next to her at the front counter of Family Video.

On the other side, the clerk blushed deeper.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He gave you a startled smile. “Nice to meet you.”

You replied with a ‘hey’ and set the three VHS cases in front of him.

The clerk was cute. Actually, he was downright pretty with thick golden-brown hair, a perfectly symmetrical face, and big brown eyes. The preppy polo shirt worked with his broad shoulders and tapering torso. He looked like someone your father would approve of, despite working at a chain video rental store. Unlike certain unemployed musicians who sold drugs and drove a rusty van that screamed ‘stranger danger.’

You tried to keep the bitter thought from your face.

“I hope you found what you were looking for,” said the clerk, glancing between you and Mom.

In nearly a purr, Mom said, “And then some.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Was Mom flirting with this dude? You gave her a quick look. Her grin was on the seductive side. Her body had loosened, shoulder and opposite hip tilting.

The clerk’s expression turned coy as he checked the cases.

“I’m so glad to hear it.” He winked before logging the tapes into the system. “We’re running a special this weekend, so that’ll be six dollars.”

There was no sign advertising such a special.

You focused on the candy display to your left to distance yourself, because you didn’t know what the hell you felt. It was cool to get a discount. It was not cool to watch your mother flirt with someone half her age. And you knew the clerk would remember this interaction for weeks to come, too, so you’d have to return the tapes via the slot by the door. There was no way you’d show your face in here until summer.

Once the clerk slid the cases across the counter, you took them and nudged Mom with an elbow. She tittered at something the clerk said.

Under your breath, you said, “Oh my fucking god.”

Mom bid him a good night. He replied something along the lines of the two of you having a better one. It was an opening to continue to flirt, or invite him over, or return at closing. She touched his wrist as she thanked him and then sashayed to the front doors.

You followed her, hoping to block his view. He couldn’t afford the lifestyle she’d become accustomed to, anyway, and you certainly didn’t want a stepfather who was maybe four years your senior. With a peek over your shoulder, you found him watching regardless.

She held the door for you, all gracious and smiling. She glowed as if she’d just returned from the spa. You rolled your eyes when you passed her. She remained quiet until you both were in the car.

“Well, he was a nice young man,” she said as she started the engine.

You laughed, sounding a touch hysterical.

She asked, “What?”

“‘Nice’? Really?” You pulled the seatbelt across your body. “He was practically propositioning you.”

“Oh, pfft!” She flicked a hand out. “That meant nothing.”

“He probably thinks you’re a single mom looking for a good time.”

She giggled as she latched her seatbelt. “I doubt that.”

“I don’t.”

She made a face, though her amusement was palpable.

“I’m going to tell Dad,” you said to tease her.

She gasped while reversing from the parking spot.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Why not?” You smiled and bit your lip. “It meant nothing, right?”

Taking on a faux-haughty air, she said, “Fine, tell him. He’ll be proud of the discount.”

You laughed a drawn-out ‘oh-ho.’ “Three whole dollars!”

“Which I will be spending on you tomorrow.”

“Hush money. Nice.” You nodded. “I’ll keep your new boy-toy a secret, Mother-dearest.”

“Why, thank you, darling daughter.”

The crowd parted as the heat grew. You turned your face into your shoulder, squeezing your eyes closed. You couldn’t look. This couldn’t be happening. They were going to burn you at the stake. This couldn’t be happening. They’d discovered you were a witch. This couldn’t be happening. They feared you. They hated you.

Were there others? If you opened your eyes, would you see charred remains?

Skin burned away in blackened lumps. Eye sockets empty. Mouths open in eternal torment.

Someone yelled, “Throw the bitch!”

You opened your eyes. This was happening.

People from the crowd dragged ends of a barbed-wire barrier apart. Beyond lay a chasm glowing orange-red, like the mouth of a volcano. They weren’t burning you at the stake, they were hurling you into the center of the Earth.

You fought anew, twisting and kicking and pulling. New hands grasped at your arms. Someone fisted your hair and shook your head. You gritted your teeth, daring them to get closer.

Golden lightning arced from the chasm. You gasped, eyes going wide. Goosebumps swept over your body in one shivering wave.

The chasm didn’t lead to the center of the Earth. It was something different, something unnatural. The chasm became a gaping maw. It was going to swallow you, reduce and destroy you. There was nothing you could do to stop it. Your magic remained too mundane.

“You’re doomed, cursed, forsaken,” you whispered. “You shall never find peace. You’ll never know victory.” Your fingers strained claw-like towards the ground as you called energy to you. “You’re condemned with me, you pathetic motherfuckers.”

One of your captors smacked the back of your head.

“Shut up.”

“No, fuck you! Let me go!” You thrashed and growled. “No!”

A gentle hand shook your shoulder. You flinched from the touch. It didn’t belong. Soft words pulled at your attention. They didn’t belong, either.

“Wake up!”

Your eyes snapped open. It was night. Friday. You were in your dark living room, snuggled in the sofa’s corner under a throw blanket. A figure blocked the flickering TV in the corner. You blinked a few times before everything came into focus. The figure was Mom. You were safe.

The greasy pizza box lay on the coffee table. Your mouth vaguely tasted of spicy pepperoni.

Mom softly said, “Hey, you’re okay.”

You nodded and uncurled your legs to sit up.

She backed away to click on the nearest lamp. You closed your eyes at the light.

The TV went quiet.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked.

Scrubbing hands over your face, you said, “No, it was just a dream.”

A dream which you’d been keeping at bay with a bowl of new crystals and stones by your bed. Unfortunately, it seemed their reach was limited. You would need to purify and charge everything tomorrow. And perhaps order a necklace to wear at night. Onyx could work. Maybe obsidian? Jasper?

“Pretty bad one, I’d say.”

You shook your head to concentrate on the conversation. Your mind felt wrapped in cotton wool.

“No, it— I mean, I guess?”

“Well, it’s no wonder with the SATs in a few weeks.” She sighed. “Aren’t midterms soon?”

“Uh, kinda? In March?”

She hummed as though you’d confirmed some suspicion of hers. “I’ll keep your father off your back. I know he’s been a bit much.”

You made a face, because, oh yeah, he’d been a bit much all right. He’d been bugging you about school at breakfast and dinner. He asked after your SAT prep as well.

Mom chuckled, saying, “He really wants you to do well on your SATs.”

“I do, too.”

“I’ll tell you a little secret: you’re doing better in school than he ever did.”

“Really?”

“Yup! His grades were so-so, and he only got into Columbia because his guidance counselor was an alum.”

“No way.”

She nodded.

“His father was friends with people on the admissions board, too.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well...” She shrugged. “He likes to think of himself a self-made man, but...” She shook her head. “Between his father and his cronies, the frat brothers, he wouldn’t be where he is now.”

“How did you find out all this?” you asked.

She gave you a knowing look.

“People like to talk to me.”

Glacial wind outside had driven most students into the cafeteria for lunch. Warmth from the additional bodies and the kitchen steam-tables fogged the windows. The air smelled like a meatloaf TV dinner, making Eddie’s stomach rumble.

“So, what are you and your ladylove doing on Valentine’s?” Gareth asked before taking a swig of his milk.

Eddie frowned at his half-empty baggie of baked cheese bites and purloined Mountain Dew. Valentine’s Day was Friday. He hadn’t spoken to you in too long. Honestly, he’d lost his nerve when the boombox didn’t have the right input jack to record his new stuff properly. The boombox’s built-in mic sucked. Everything had sounded like crap.

He hadn’t thought there was a point in writing a letter without proof of creation. It would be a hollow gesture at best and, at worst, look like a desperate attempt for your attention. You were already pissed at him. He didn’t want you losing respect for him, too.

“Nothing,” he said.

“What? Why?” asked Gareth.

“We’re paused.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means we’re paused, man. I told her I needed space.”

“You what?” Jeff asked the same time Gareth exclaimed, “No!”

Dougie’s rounded eyes said everything as Dustin coughed around a mouthful of peas and carrots. Mike narrowed his eyes in irritation at Eddie while he thumped a hand on Dustin’s back.

“It’s for us!” Eddie said to Gareth. “We’re practicing more, right? Writing more. We’re getting better.”

“But you let that-that... That babe go?” Gareth asked.

“I mean, not exactly? I said it was only ‘til the Battle of the Bands.”

Pointedly, Jeff said, “In April.”

“Yeah, in April.”

“A lot of shit can happen between now and April.”

“Yeah, like someone else snatching her up,” Mike said.

“She’s not a shirt at the thrift store, dipshits.”

Gareth said, “Uh, no, she’s probably one of the coolest girls in this school,” and threw the last bite of his dinner roll at Eddie.

It hit him square on the forehead.

“King Dipshit.”

He sat by the bedside phone and couldn’t stop his knee from bouncing. His bedroom was too cold. He’d forgotten to remove the A/C unit from the window. He could wrestle it out now.

He stood.

It took him and Wayne to install it, though. There was no way in hell he’d be able to uninstall it by himself. He didn’t need to drop an A/C unit from his window on a Thursday evening.

God, this was such bullshit, he thought. Valentine’s Day was such bullshit.

You probably didn’t care about it. He’d never given it a lot of thought. Other than the discounted candy the day after, of course. Maybe he should rent My Bloody Valentine and get high tomorrow. Surely, there was time to pop by Family Video before practice.

He turned to the nightstand to retrieve his wallet and keys.

There was the phone. Sitting there. Waiting. Judging him.

Was it a dick move to call? He didn’t want to hurt you. He sat on the bed and lifted the receiver. He only wanted to hear your voice and catch up a little. With a sigh, he dialed your number.

He didn’t want you — or the relationship with you — to be a fond memory. He didn’t want to look back on this time and sigh wistfully. He wanted to keep making memories with you.

He couldn’t make memories if he stayed silent.

“Hello?”

“I don’t want you to be a memory.”

It was quiet for a beat.

“What?”

“I— Uh... Sorry. It’s me, Eddie.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Okay, yeah, good.” So eloquent, Dungeon Master. He rested his forehead on his hand. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Can you talk?”

“Yeah, I can talk.”

“What were you doing?”

“Reading.”

“Reading what?”

“The House on the Strand.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it about?”

You sighed. “Eddie, what do you want? What do you mean, you don’t want me to be a memory?”

“I was thinking about us. About you. I don’t want to be nostalgic about you.”

“Okay...?”

“I don’t want to lose you, is what I’m saying. I don’t want to look back at this year and think about how great you were. I want to know how great you are.” He gnawed on his lip. “You know what I mean?”

You sounded hoarse as you said, “Yeah, I think so.”

“And I...” He combed at his bangs. “Look, I know my actions aren’t matching up with that shit, but...” His finger snagged in a tangle. “I’m working and practicing every damn day. When I’m not at school, I’m practicing and writing. When I’m not doing that, I’m making money.”

“And sometimes you play D&D.”

He grinned for a second, rubbing at an eye. It was good to hear you tease.

“Look, I’m a total fuck-up, I know—”

You cut him off, voice thick, “No, you’re not.”

“I fucked us, though. I fucked us. I know I did.” He scoffed at himself. “It’s the Munson Doctrine: Everything that can fuck up will fuck up.” He shook his head and cleared the sudden strain in his throat. “But I’m gonna unfuck us. Me and the guys are going to win in April, and you’re going to be there, and we’ll graduate and leave this stupid town.”

You sniffled.

Shit, he made you cry.

His chest tightened as his eyes grew hot with empathetic tears. He couldn’t make his voice work. If he tried, it would break. Then he’d sound like he was going through puberty again. That shit was bad enough the first time.

After a minute, your creaky voice asked, “Have you heard Metallica’s new single?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Y-yeah, I preordered the album.”

You wetly sniffed.

“You’ll have to tell me if it’s any good.”

“If you want, you can come over after school.” He rested his forehead in his hand again, certain he’d chosen the wrong thing to say. “Only if you want, of course. No pressure.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He nodded as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Yeah, definitely the wrong thing.

“Yeah, of course, you’re right. I’ll make you a copy.”

“It’s not like I don’t want to, but...”

“No, I get it. I said a pause, and that means no home visits.”

“You know, our pause doesn’t mean you should skip O’Donnell’s.”

He played with a fray in his jeans.

“Eddie, I’m serious. She takes points off.”

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” He shrugged. “See if she’ll give me extra credit.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

“Yeah, I need her class to graduate.”

With a grin in your voice, you said, “Use those pretty eyes of yours.”

A flash of tingling warmth brought a smile to his face.

“Stop...”

“Be your charming self, honey. How could anyone resist you?”

His cheeks heated, and stomach swooped. He couldn’t find a decent retort. All he wanted to ask was if you were beginning to forgive him. However, he knew that would spoil the conversation. But oh, how he wanted to know.

“You got me blushing.”

“I know.”

He groaned and collapsed to the side. Your answering giggle killed him. Utter devastation with no survivors. He wished he could see your smile, how your eyes sparkled. It would make his death worth it.

“Are you doing anything tonight?”

“Well, no... I mean, I finished my homework.”

“I’m practicing with the guys—” He checked the bedside clock. “In about an hour.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready, then?”

“Probably.” He gnawed at his bottom lip. “You wanna hang out? Hear some of our new stuff? Gareth’s got a heated garage...”

You breathed deep.

“Eddie... I can’t. The last time...”

He vividly remembered the last time you saw him play. You’d been so sexy. He remembered your skirt and your pantyhose — which he’d ripped to get at you — your smeared lipstick and the way it tasted. He remembered the clutch of your sweet pussy and how it pulsed around his dick when you came. Your thighs had squeezed his waist. You’d pulled his hair and grabbed his ass.

He went hot, with his dick at half-mast, just recalling those disjointed details now.

“No repeat performance?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I love watching you and the guys play...”

“But...?”

“But I don’t trust myself.”

His pelvis flexed forward as the heaviness between his legs increased. The fine cotton of his boxers rubbed at his cockhead. He tempted you. You wanted him as much as he wanted you. If you were beside him with your dark-headshop scent and soft skin, confessing that in his ear, he’d nut.

He whispered, “Jesus,” voice sounding strained.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry about this shit.”

He wanted to end the pause, offer it up like a sacrifice. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said the band was practicing and writing more. They had a good chunk of five more original songs in the bag. They’d all agreed to buy Master of Puppets and attempt to cover one of the songs. The album wouldn’t be out until next month, though, and currently the album’s songbook had no release date.

Your smile was evident in your voice as you said, “You’re just sorry you won’t be fucking me behind, like, Gareth’s garage.”

“Well, yeah, I’ll fuck you anywhere you’ll let me.”

He realized too late his tone had been too sultry to be playful.

The smile was gone from your voice. “Eddie, don’t, please.”

He leaned into the sultriness, because he might as well.

“Hey, don’t forget my offer from New Year’s.”

“How could I forget?”

“You think about it?”

“Like I’m answering that.”

He rolled onto his back to palm his crotch.

“I do.”

After a breathless moment, you asked, “What do you think about?”

“Having to fuck you on the floor to keep your parents from hearing.” Yeah, he’d like you bouncing on his lap, reverse cowgirl. He’d play with your tits. “Covering your mouth with my hand because you’re too loud.” He squeezed the base of his dick. “I like the way you sound, by the way, like making you come. Like having your bite-marks and scratches on me the next day.” He grinned. “You know, after Halloween, I had little bruises on my ass.”

“No way.”

“Yep, little fingertip bruises. You grabbed me good.”

“Sorry?”

“I’m not.”

You hummed, amused.

The sound shot heat to his groin. He teetered on the edge of sweating. And unzipping his jeans. And asking you to talk about anything. Read the fucking phonebook, talk to him about your math homework, he didn’t care.

However, he didn’t want to prove you right by only calling when he couldn’t stand jacking off alone.

“Well, since you have practice tonight, I’ll let you go.”

“Yeah, I need to pack the van. Maybe change clothes.”

“Gonna wear those tight jeans again?”

“Only if you promise to come.”

“I can’t, honey.”

He nodded.

“I know, sweetheart. I get it.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”

“Absolutely.”

“Tell me how it goes tonight.”

“You got it.”

“Okay, I—” You breathed. “Okay, tomorrow.”

“Night, baby.”

“G’night. Have fun.”

Your end of the line clicked as you hung up. He dropped the phone’s handset in its cradle. He had around fifteen minutes before he had to leave. That was enough time. He undid his jeans, maneuvered his aching dick from his boxers, and spat into his palm.

The barbed-wire barrier parted like a grisly curtain. The mob on the other side of the barrier roared. Pebbles bit into the soles of your feet as you thrashed in your captors’ hold. Ahead, the chasm awaited. Its heat dried your eyes and baked your skin. A fist in your hair kept your face forward. Like you could look away.

Arcs of lightning crackled from the chasm, charging the air. The hair on your arms and head stood on end.

You cursed everyone. Let the universe feel your rage. Let it ripple out, like a stone thrown in a pond. The ground trembled. Your vengeance would ruin the world. If they threw you into that ravenous, scorching maw, your body might be destroyed, but not your spirit. They’d never know peace — just like you wouldn’t. They’d be condemned with you.

One of your captors hit the side of your head and ordered you to shut up.

You thrashed anew, growling insults.

Another captor kicked the back of your knees so the others could drag you easier. You lashed out and caught one of them in the ankle. That one stumbled, yet continued the relentless march forward. You were hit again before they wrenched your head back.

Would they slit your throat now?

You closed your eyes to the black clouds obscuring the morning sky. A helicopter’s blades beat in the distance. Those onboard weren’t coming for you, though. They were leaving you behind. You weren’t worth saving with your powers so reduced.

Useless witch, you heard. Pointless. Worthless. Broken. You deserved to be culled.

You’d let him in, let him take from you, let him drain you. He’d grown more powerful, near unstoppable, because of you. It was all your fault. Your good intentions had paved this road to Hell.

Hands took hold of your legs and hoisted you into the air. The bloody wounds on your feet burned in the dry heat. You writhed and screamed on instinct.

The mob returned your screams tenfold. You turned your head to see all their faces now expressionless save for their open mouths. Their eyes were seared like the clouds above.

It was too late to cast one last spell. Someone already had — and it had been him. He watched from every eye aimed at you. It was too late to save you, too late for salvation, and too late for revenge.

Your voice died in your throat. You choked on hot air. Any strength you had abandoned you. Tears rolled over your temples and into your hair. The ground trembled once more as if to knock your captors off-balance or close the chasm. It was a last, futile attempt to save you, which you silently thanked it for.

Your captors’ hands left your arms and legs as you soared into the air. Heat singed your back, then your feet, then your front. You hovered above the chasm for a silent second. Lightning extended out to welcome and change you. It danced over your skin to make you like itself: blazing, charged, and brilliant.

It drew you into the glowing orange rift and buffeted you between walls of molten rock. Electricity criss-crossed around your body. You fell and fell and fell, twisting and spinning, until it didn’t feel like falling at all. The lightning turned red as the walls, like lava fields, moved around you. Lava fields became dark, billowing clouds became tempests of ash.

Watery screeches came from behind you. Before you could question if something had followed you or spotted you between the swirls of ash, tiny knives bit into your legs, your back, your neck. With your vision obscured and sense of direction gone, you cried and flailed. Leathery wings beat at your face and arms. Hot, thick liquid trailed down your skin to soak your clothes.

Ours, they said.

No, you replied. Mine.

Ours.

You understood then: these creatures were yours. They were of you. They bit to drain you of weakness. They’d show you how to fill yourself with strength.

You stopped fighting them and surrendered—

And opened your eyes.

FYI: I've read kambaba jasper under your pillow helps with nightmares and/or night terrors. Evidently, you can also meditate with it before bed to protect your sleep.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

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enbyleighlines · 7 months ago

Note

Ike does something a bit reckless because he's 20 and he's beaten a goddess (not wantonly reckless, but a touch overconfident in what he is capable of doing, like some physical task he should be able to do, but has never done before). Said thing nearly kills him.

What is the thing? How do you think Soren/Ranulf would respond?

Ooof. I think it’s fair to assume that whatever he does is in the service of helping others. Perhaps he comes across someone in peril, like, getting swept down a rushing river. And Ike strips off his armor and jumps in to try to grab that person and pull them to safety.

Only… he underestimates the strength of the current, and nearly winds up having his skull cracked against the rocks.

As for how his boyfriends respond…

Well, obviously their first priority would be to rescue him from the edge of death. Soren would fuss over Ike while healing him, life flashing before his eyes, in a state of wide-eyed, breathless panic. Ranulf would be equally worried, but better at staying calm.

At first, Ranulf would wordlessly follow all of Soren’s shrieked instructions, like grabbing extra cloth to stem the bleeding, applying vulnerary to the smaller cuts and bruises while Soren uses a heal staff to take care of the deep gash at the back of his scalp, etc. But once Ike is no longer at risk of dying, Ranulf would have to step up and bully Soren into taking some calming breaths before he hyperventilates.

While Ike recovers and slowly claws his way back to consciousness, Ranulf would be talking Soren through the objective facts: Ike is out of danger, he’s not going to die, and clinging to him is not going to help him wake up faster.

As for the aftermath… I imagine Soren might be quietly upset at Ike for a while. Even though he doesn’t blame Ike, per se, he doesn’t know how else to process the sheer magnitude of emotions warring in his chest. Ranulf might try to lighten the mood with some bad jokes, but they would only serve to make Soren madder.

How can Ranulf joke around about the fact that Ike almost died? Soren is furious, and though he tries to keep his tongue still, eventually it all comes to a head and he lashes out at the both of them.

So they give Soren some space.

Despite his jokes, Ranulf is still shaken, though his reaction is a bit more delayed. One of his jokes gets a little too dark, a little too revealing about his fears of Ike’s eventual demise, and Ike holds him while his laughter turns teary and wobbly, until he’s sobbing silently in his lover’s arms. And Ike just strokes his back and peppers his head with kisses.

Perhaps Soren stumbles upon them as they’re having their moment. His anger has given away to grief, and he can’t bear spending another second not touching Ike. His fear-addled brain needs irrefutable proof that his lover is, in fact, still alive.

So Soren gets to join the cuddle pile.

Maybe it prompts a conversation between the three of them, about what happens after Ike’s death. Not in that moment, but a few days later, when the memory isn’t so tender.

Barring a horrific accident, Ike will most likely die before them. Soren and Ranulf age at a third of the rate of beorc and have longer lifespans. Although Ike is the youngest of the trio, he already looks like the oldest.

Ranulf will probably joke about how one day Ike will be a middle-aged man with two young looking beauties hanging off either arm. All the pervy grandfathers out there will envy him.

Soren does not want to have the conversation, not ever. But it has to happen.

Ranulf might say that he hopes that Soren and he can continue traveling together. Soren will get all flustered but tell him he has no objections, if that’s what Ran wants, all tsundere-style.

Ike loves that idea, and tells them so.

But too soon, Soren changes the subject. He can’t imagine a future without Ike in it, not now. And so Ike and Ranulf let the matter drop.

There comes a time where Ranulf can joke about the time Ike almost drowned without Soren flinching. And they do revisit that conversation about Ike’s death a few times, slowly chipping away at it a bit at a time.

But that is a long way off.

At that moment, they’re more concerned with living in the moment, and finding comfort in each other’s presence. And if they cling a little tighter to Ike at night for a few weeks after his near death experience, well, Ike sure isn’t complaining.

#ikesorenranulf #asks #ikesorran #tellius #anon #anonymous #thank you for the prompt!#this was a lot of fun #very bittersweet but #very fun nonetheless #tellius headcanons

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endeavvor · 2 months ago

Note

❛ i never said i was smart. ❜

🌙 * ― 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃

To this point, Jim's face had been tilted against the cool chrome accent of the hallway paneling. He knows he's marring it's surface with sweat and blood and god knew what else after their weekend out - having earned the passes in a friendly trivia match against another housing floor - but he was trying to sober up for the conversation that was to come with command.

His back is resting heavily against McCoy's side, who has tried, and failed, to dislodge him a few times before finally giving in and letting it happen. Considering it was the only thing keeping the younger man from falling face first onto the floor, Jim took it as the kindness it was, but counted the bruise blossoming on his spine as just another casualty.

The preceding events were a bit of a blur. He remembers starting at a bar right off campus, and his surety he could handle mixing liquors - the doctor had been right beside him, boasting and meeting him one for one. No one told the pair that they had sporadically started ordering alien distilled shots that would burn through their metabolisms faster than they could recite the first ten regulations in Starfleet's codex.

Everything else comes in flashes. The stark red hair and green skin of an Orion female and the way her mouth formed the nickname he had hated since he was a boy, Jimmy. Sneaking in to an admiral's office on a dark and hoisting personal items up one of the flag poles. A large fist rocketing towards his face that had likely broken his nose and McCoy's slurred curses as he fumbled to reset it and stem the bleeding.

It was arguably juvenile, and hard to deny the evidence when it was written across their skin and clothing.

Pike's door swings open then, and Jim's response is an audible groan as the man purposefully lets his perfectly shined boots squeak against the tile. "Please tell me," He begins, his tone stern, but blissfully softer than it should be. If they were to look close enough, they'd find the slightest bit of amusement behind the blue of the captain's eyes. He, too, disliked the admiral that had been the target of the prank. "Why when there is trouble, it always seems to come down to the two of you."

There's an exhale, a moment where Jim isn't entirely sure he can counter without spilling the contents of his stomach, but still parts his lips to try, that it is McCoy that retorts. His response shocking them both into silence before a fit of uncontrolled laughter loosens it. That James Kirk is so utterly surprised and genuinely delighted turns the head of everyone in their vicinity. His body shakes with it, eyes crinkled at the corners, doubled over, and clutching his aching sides.

The captain watches, wondering when, if ever, he'd seen this boy that at ease around someone else.

"To be fair," Jim finally speaks, somewhat breathless to the point of a slight wheeze. "You don't have evidence to prove it was us."

"That may be true, but the list of suspects with the skills to hack into the security system and erase the camera footage is also slim, Cadet Kirk. I suggest you take this conversation as a warning that should more evidence be presented that will allow us to properly discipline the culprit, they will be facing expulsion." A pause, and a pointed look. "As for now, all who were on leave this weekend will be denied passes for the next six months, and mandated a training course on ethics and respecting chain of command."

"Six months is a little harsh - "

"And," Pike barrels on. "You should know they are bringing in someone to rewrite security protocols so this will not happen again. Do I make myself clear?"

Jim didn't need to know that, and he didn't need to take it as a challenge, but a sidelong look at him would be telling enough to know he is. The Captain doesn't wait for acknowledgement before disappearing down the hall.

"Well, that could have been worse." He nudges McCoy beside him, earning a stern grumble. Still amused, he shakes his head. "You're the smartest idiot I know."

And he would know.

@hiippocrates

#hiippocrates #v. who caught and sang the sun in flight | main #little pot calling the kettle #q. you have the conn

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queerspacepunk · 3 years ago

Note

“I accidentally punched a Templar. A few times. At least ten.” for fenris/anders?

this was fun!! (thank you to everyone sending prompts through and I'm sorry if you sent yours ages ago and i haven't gotten to it yet. the muse is a sneaky little shit.

So, You Accidentally Punched a Templar, Now What? - Fenris/Anders for @dadrunkwriting

potatowitch Aug 21 - “I accidentally punched a Templar. A few times. At least ten.” for fenris/anders?

Hawke calls as Anders is unlocking the door. He should, probably, let it ring out and call Hawke back all of the few minutes later it’ll take him to get inside and get the door secured behind him, but he there’s been enough close calls in his past to make this a habit he’s not entirely ready breaking.

“Hey,” he says, voice probably muffled as he pins the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he attempts to wrestle the door shut without dropping his keys, bag or phone.

“Hi,” Hawke says and it’s almost sweet that he’s trying to sound casual, “have you seen Fenris?”

“Not since the other night at Varric’s,” finally getting the door shut, and frowning, “why, did something- Maker fuck!”

Anders manages to drop his keys, bag, and phone, and in a sense, himself as he startles, tripping over his own feet. He grabs at the phone, Hawke’s indistinct but alarmed voice squeaking from it, and finds it mercifully unbroken.

“Found him,” Anders says, just a touch breathless.

“Is he okay?”

“Well enough to break into my bloody house,” Anders grumbles, buying himself a second for his eyes to adjust enough to the dim light to get a proper look at him. He’s not so much skulking in the shadows as he is propping himself up on the wall.

“How did you make it in here, anyway?” Anders asks, carefully, intentionally.

Hawke gets it, “I’ll come over.”

It takes Hawke all of ten minutes to get there, with his shortcuts, which gives Anders just enough time to establish that Fenris isn’t going to bleed all over the couch, move him to said couch, and fetch his cart of illegal and misappropriated medical supplies out from the closet.

He doesn’t need an ambulance, which is good, given that his presence here suggests that the local hospital isn’t really an option.

“Any insides on the outside?” he asks, sitting back on his heels.

“Blood,” Fenris says, gesturing half-heartedly at his face. His nose was clearly bleeding at some point and there’s a cut on one cheekbone, under a rapidly bruising eye.

He’s made it through a concussion screen (yes, probably) when he hears Hawke’s quiet rap on the door, and Anders gets up to let him in. He and Hawke have a brief, silent conversation in the hallway, composed mostly of facial expressions before leading him through.

None of them live a life where they can be entirely shocked by violence, and Hawke had obviously had some idea that Fenris was in trouble, but he still hisses when he sees him.

“So,” Hawke says, perching on a foot stool, “what happened?”

Fenris makes an attempt at staring Hawke down, but Hawke’s already settled into that casual ‘I could wait all day’ vibe that’s always made Anders think he’d be a surprisingly good teacher.

“I may have accidentally punched a templar.”

Anders chokes, “excuse me?”

“A few times.”

“Fenris!”

“At least ten times, I wasn’t counting.”

Anders turns, eyes wide to give Hawke A Look, and then back at Fenris, and then to Hawke again. Fenris has made a lot of progress the last few years, true, but there’s a lot of distance between ‘not turning Anders in the templars’ and punching one.

He doesn’t mean to laugh, but he’s had a fuck of a long day, and couldn’t even make it in the door without a brief stint of thinking he was in a blighted horror movie, and now Fenris is telling him he punched a templar. Repeatedly. There’s no stopping the snort coming out of his nose.

He wants to hire an artist to paint a giant mural of it on his wall.

“Did you uh, punch them, or punch them?” he asks.

Fenris raises an eyebrow at him only to end up wincing.

“I think what he’s asking,” Hawke clarifies, “is whether or not you fisted someone?”

Fenris’ ears twitch, and he gives Hawke an utterly scandalised look.

“Now, now,” Anders cuts in, “given it’s done safely and consensually, and with enough lube, there’s nothing wrong with a little sexual fisting.”

He gives Fenris a wink, just to wind him up, but the look Fenris turns on him is considering. Anders stores that away for later.

“Regular punching,” he admits finally, which isn’t as fun, but does make it less likely that a full on investigation is going to be launched.

“Wait,” Anders says, sobering, “you punched a templar, and then came here? You do realise they know who I am? The only reason they’re not on my doorstep as it is is luck, and all that bribery and corruption that Varric’s ‘not doing’.”

“I wasn’t followed,” Fenris says, halfway between petulance and apology.

“I’ll call Carver,” Hawke says, standing up and laying one steadying hand on Anders’ shoulder, “I didn’t see anyone on my way over but I’ll check with him in case.”

“Hawke, no,” Anders says, “you don’t need to-”

“No.” Hawke says, cutting him off, “if he’s going to insist on this ‘changing things from the inside’ bullshit, he’s going to have to walk the talk.”

He wanders off to the kitchen before Anders has a chance to argue any further. He’ll feel bad about it, sure, but he will feel better to know the templars aren’t about to break down his door. And if they are, well, a head start’s always nice.

“Next question,” he says, turning back to Fenris, “what exactly inspired you to punch a templar.”

Fenris looks like he’s not going to answer for a moment, but he sighs, and does, “I overhe-” he tries again, “They were behaving in an unacceptable manner. I tried to tell them they were out of line and things... escalated.”

Templars are always out of line, anyone can see that. Fenris has seen that, plenty of times, it must have been something serious, he must have heard something serious for it to elicit this.

He catches Fenris’ eye, and then looks toward where Hawke is in the kitchen, and drops his voice, “was it to do with Bethany?”

Fenris shakes his head.

“Seriously, Fenris,” Anders hisses, heart suddenly racing, “you have to tell us. If they were talking about Bethany and then you roughed them up- we need to let Hawke know, you don’t know what the Circle’s like, she’ll be in danger.”

“Mage,” Fenris says, and it’s only when his hand reaches out to catch Anders’ forearm that he realises he’s halfway to getting up, “it wasn’t about Bethany.”

“I-” Anders sinks back down, frowning. “wait, you- you punched a templar, upward of ten times-”

“It was two templars actually.”

“Two templars. Does that mean it was five each or?”

“Like I said, I lost count.”

“You punched two templars, many times, over...”

“Yes.” Fenris says, swallowing thickly, “they don’t know that that’s why, I think, I just said I took issue in general.”

Anders really, really doesn’t know how to process that, but he does know that he doesn’t hate it. Not really. Not at all.

“You know,” he says, because Fenris is starting to look distinctly uncomfortable, “I think that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Fenris splutters, “that’s not! It wasn’t- I don’t- not in that way.”

Anders grins, “I think you do though, I really think you do.”

#the question is:#will i ever stop writing fics in which fenris gets himself injured and reluctantly allows anders to fix him up?#and the answer is:#no. no i will not #fenders #dragonage #dragon age #fan fiction #fix it in post #dadwc

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Evidence

Fandom: Chicago PD / One Chicago

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Warning/s: shooting

Word Count: 1,615

Request: Hi ! Can you do a jay halstead × reader where jay and y/n are dating secretly but one night jay left a hickey on y/n necks and on the next day y/n try to cover it up before work but can't and the rest of the intelligence team spot it and jay blush but she makes up a story but the intelligence team know and y/n and jay come clean and tell the rest of the team they are together ❤ thank you

All in all, you thought you’d done pretty well, giving your neck one last look in your rearview mirror before turning on the ignition and heading to the 21st.

Jay had left your place early, neither of you arriving at work at the same time so as to not raise suspicions, so he’d been heading out the door when you’d finally gotten out of bed, already driving away by the time you spotted the hickey on your neck in your bedroom mirror.

You were not impressed to say the least, what part of a secret relationship had escaped his mind? With an annoyed groan you got to work covering it up the best you could, applying foundation more skillfully than you’d expected as you got ready for work.

There would be time for words later.

You were still driving in when the call came over the radio, shooting nearby your location with officers in need of backup, one down. Quickly throwing on your lights you expertly did a u-turn and headed back up the street you’d just passed, noticing people running for covering in the opposite direction to where you were going, frightened with their heads down.

It didn’t take long to stop the suspect, mask over his head and gun waving about in his hands as he shot behind him with reckless abandon at the uniformed officer in pursuit.

Slamming on your brakes you dove out of your vehicle, gun out and ready to engage. “Hey!” You called, diverting his attention from the other officers as his gun swung in your direction, diving behind a nearby car just as the bullets began to fly.

You poked your head up after a moment, getting off a shot before he realised the odds weren’t in his favour and took off into the garden of the car behind him. Cursing you slid over the bonnet of the car you were behind.

“I’ll get him, you get your partner!” You told the officer, who nodded gratefully and ran back to his fallen colleague, his led badly bleeding.

“This is 50 21 Foxtrot responding to the 10 1 on West 47th, I’m on the tail of an armed offender fleeing the scene of the shooting making his way South-” you paused, a little breathless as you hopped a fence and quickly dived to the side, narrowly avoiding another bullet as the offender kept running. You gave your most apologetic look to the women screaming in the garden you’d just entered but kept going, you couldn’t stop now - “through the neighbouring gardens, we should be coming out onto West 48th soon.”

The sound of cars was getting louder as you ran, a tall fence looking like it separated the two of you and the main road as the offender opened for a narrow side path out onto the street.

You were gaining on him fast as he tried to climb over it, grabbing his coat and pulling him down. His gun fell from his hand and you kicked it away as he scrambled after it, punching him hard in the jaw as he turned back to lash out at you.

“Stay down,” you ordered breathlessly, gun out and aimed square in his direction as the gate opened behind you, back up coming through. “You have the right to remain silent...” you relayed, getting out a pair of cuffs as you read him his rights and passed him off to the unis to bring back to the 21st in their squad car.

And then you were off to work.

“Hell of a morning,” Trudy commented as soon as you eventually stepped into the district, pushing her glasses up onto her head as you approached, an eyebrow going up as you reached the desk, “in more than one way I see.”

Your brow creased, “pardon?” You asked, unsure of what she was suggesting with her tone.

“My mistake, you must have got that bruise during the chase,” Trudy said sarcastically, gesturing to her own neck. Your eyes went a little wide, your hand going to where you’d spent way too much of your morning covering up the hickey Jay had given you.

“Of course,” you hummed unconvincingly, rushing to the bathroom as Trudy laughed. All that effort to cover it up and your sweat had washed it away, hopefully you could cover it up again before anyone wondered why you weren’t upstairs yet.

Barging into the bathroom you riffled through your bag for the foundation you’d brought, just in case you’d needed to touch it up throughout the day, but in all the excitement of the morning you’d forgotten all about it. Oops.

You were putting the finishing touches on covering it up when the door swung open again, too late to hide what you were doing as you found yourself face to face with Burgess.

“Voight’s looking for you upstairs,” she relayed, clearly amused as you hurriedly shoved your things back into your bag, embarrassed at being caught red-handed.

You were going to kill Jay.

She didn’t say anything on the walk up the stairs, but you avoid her eye guiltily as she buzzed you both up and you made your way to the bull pen.

“Took you long enough,” Adam commented when you both emerged, a coffee in his hand as he leaned against the breakroom door.

“Yeah, sorry, Y/N was busy covering up a hickey in the bathroom,” Burgess replied non-chalantly, much to your emence embarrassment. Kev snorted out a laugh and Jay choked on his drink as you tried not to meet his eye.

“Was she now?” Hailey laughed, the others clearly enjoying how flustered you were getting.

“I er- no- it was during the call this morning-” you tried and failed to sound believable as the others laughed more, Adam being the first to notice how red Jay had gotten since the converation began.

“No one’s buying that Y/N,” Kim informed you as Adam clapped Jay on the shoulder.

“Well that’s interesting,” he commented, watching the way Jay awkwardly cleared his throat, not daring to look at you. The others picked up on it too, the both of you looking very guilty in a room full of trained detectives.

“Got something to share there Halstead?” Kev asked, Jay finally looking at you with apology in his eyes as he finally saw the pourly applied foundation covering the very visible hickey he’d left.

You both hesitated before answering - was there really any use hiding it anymore? A room full of your closest friends who also happened to be detectives weren’t exactly going to drop the subject, or believe whateve bs you gave them in the moment.

Sharing a mutual resigned nod Jay rubbed the back of his neck, sitting up straighter in his chair. “Okay, well, we’ve kind of...”

“...being seeing each other,” you finished for him, realising he was unsure how to put into words exactly what you’d both been doing. If you were honest, you didn’t know exactly what this was either, you hadn’t discussed labels, but you both had feelings for each other, that much you knew for sure.

“For how long?” Hailey asked, looking at her partner with slightly narrowed eyes, wondering how long he’d been keeping this from her more than anything.

“A couple months,” Jay said, glancing back up at you with a little smile.

“Months?” Adam was shocked you’d both managed to keep this a secret from them for so long, “and this is the first we’re hearing about it?”

“Well, we didn’t want to get our wires crossed,” you shrugged, gesturing to try and get your point across, “we work together.” That had been one of the first things you’d talked about the first time you’d spent the night together, keeping your personal and professional lives as separate as you could.

“Yes, you do,” you heard your Sergeant say, jumping as Voight emerged from his office, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded. Uh-oh. “Is this going to get in the way of doing your job?”

You swallowed and shook your head, “no, sir.”

“We’re good Sarge,” Jay said at the same time.

All the teasing and joking smiles from the unit had vanished, waiting for Voight’s reaction with bated breath as he mulled it over in his head.

“Good,” he nodded, much to your relief, though you knew the conversation was far from over, “because we’ve got a case to get back to.”

He was right, this was work, there’d be time to think and talk about this more later - right now you had a dead city official and a cop in the hospital.

Burgess winked at you as you made your way to your desk, picking up a scrunched up piece of paper you had lying around and throwing at her once Voight’s back is turned. He paused, shaking his head, but didn’t turn back around as he went back to his desk.

You rolled your eyes at her and settled into your chair, knowing you had a report to write up about this morning’s incident, your perp down in holding at that very moment.

Still, you couldn’t help but look over at Jay, who was looking right back at you, offering you a small smile which you returned in kind. Voight wasn’t the only one who’d want to finish this conversation later, you and Jay had a lot to talk about now too, given that everything was out in the open.

Still, as you turned back to your desk and tried to focus on the task at hand, you couldn’t help but feel like everything was going to turn out okay.

#jay halstead #chicago pd #one chicago #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagine #chicago pd imagine #one chicago imagine #jay halstead imagines #chicago pd imagines #one chicago imagines #jay halstead one shot #chicago pd one shot #one chicago one shot #one shot

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omg-imagine · 4 years ago

Text

All We Are

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand x female!V

Summary: V is jealous after Johnny’s date with Rogue, which leads to an honest discussion about where they both stand.

Words: 1.7k

Warning: spoilers for Blistering Love side job, a little angst

A/N: Requested by an anon. This may be a bit different than what you were expecting, but I was in the feels™. Hope you still enjoy :)

Also, can we please talk about how adorable he looks in the gif??

The long drive back to the apartment was silent; the utter stillness in the car weighs heavily on V’s mind. Hands gripping tight on the steering wheel, she tries to ignore this unsettling ache she has, not allowing even an ounce of thought to pass. Though she chalks it off as a side effect of the pseudoendotrizine, this strange, hollow feeling of hers continues to stir deep inside, burning, burning and burning.

And so, she switches on the radio and focuses ahead on the stretch of road winding down the North Oak hills, the approaching lights of Night City glowing brighter against the inky skies. A fresh breeze flows into the open windows, dulling the tension for a moment.

A moment of tranquility that ends far too soon, yet it was a moment V’s at least grateful to have.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Johnny points out, the gruff baritone of his voice piercing the air. “An enny for your thoughts?”

Kicking his feet up on the dashboard, his aviators glint in the silver moonlight, making him appear impossibly more obnoxious than he usually is. He acts as if he’s not aware of the recent thoughts plaguing V’s head, but perhaps that truly was the case. If it were, then she would be surprised— Johnny often invades her mind, poking and prodding at things he shouldn’t be. For a while, she assumes he knows.

“Just tired,” V replies monotonously. Her answer was far from a lie; she really was tired. Exhausted, even. All she wants is to collapse into bed, pass out, and hope that for a few short hours, she can forget about today, about everything.

“Huh,” he breathes out, and V spares him not a single glance. “Pretty sure somethin’ was up. You’ve been actin’ weird since we left the drive-in.”

A chuckle rumbles through her chest. V still finds it unusual for Johnny to act so… concerned. Almost caring, if she had to be honest. She’s noticed a change in him recently, which became apparent after their conversation in the oil fields. He’s a lot softer now, sometimes sweet, both in his own unique way, of course. As if his rough edges were slightly smoothed out with sandpaper, enough that they no longer cut and make her bleed.

V would often catch him staring when he thinks she’s not looking. She also doesn’t fail to miss the small smile that creeps across his face as she talks. And in those passing seconds that lasts an eternity when the relic malfunctions, Johnny was there to offer her comfort. He’d kneel down to the ground while she coils in agony, whispering promises that this will all be over soon. That one way or another, they would get rid of that goddamn chip slotted in V’s head and ultimately save her life.

Life. Life has a funny way of unraveling itself. Fuck, this all seems like a cruel joke the universe is playing on V. Fate is rarely kind to her, a sad fact she’s accepted over the years. Never would she have imagined that after experiencing the pain of heartbreak and loss, she’d find herself falling for someone at the worst possible time.

And that someone is the imprisoned digital ghost of a rockerboy-turned-terrorist studying her from the passenger seat.

But V’s adamant in denying it. Her life was too fucking complicated for this right now.

“Are you capable of shutting the fuck up for two seconds?” V bitterly snaps, the hands on the wheel clenching stiffly as her jaw. “You got what you wanted tonight. Finally got your dick wet after fifty years, so leave me the hell alone, would’ya?!”

She doesn’t mean to act on her muted anger, but it manages to get the best of her. V knows why, and because of it, she crumbles. She crumbles like the walls she’s built around herself. Like the facade she’s been hiding behind for the past couple of months. Because underneath the dirt and grime, V was just a poor, tragic soul, more worried about losing the man she couldn’t have than her awaiting death.

“Really think that’s what happened?” Johnny asks, pushing his shades up to his head as he shifts to sit up straight in his seat.

V grits her teeth, eyes remaining locked on the road. She had woken up an hour or two after Johnny took over, finding her lips still warm, still swollen. Her hair was tousled, and she had been stripped off of most of her clothes; the scent of Rogue’s perfume lingering on her skin. She didn’t need him to recount; it was all clear to her what had transpired. It was what she agreed on to make him happy, a date with the Afterlife fixer and whatever it could lead up to.

In the end, V regretted it, not because Johnny used her body to sleep with someone. But because even after the rollercoaster ride, the dog tags, the private concerts, and the heart-to-heart they had at his gravesite, she still wasn’t his. He was too hung up over Rogue, and she couldn’t blame him. Having shared a lengthy history, there was no doubt Johnny wouldn’t snatch up the opportunity to win her back.

But then where does that leave V?

“The fuck is wrong, V? Don’t make me figure it out by myself.”

Biting the edge of her lip, she ignores Johnny’s latest question and contemplates swallowing an omega blocker. She doesn’t even care that he’s threatening to search for the truth without her permission. Choosing not to do so, he keeps pressing on regardless, and V was getting pissed off. When he doesn’t stop, she loses her temper and slams on the brakes, the Porsche coming to a screeching halt on a dead street.

Huffing, V pulls over to the side, shutting the car’s engine as Johnny is left bewildered by her actions. Peace and quiet. She yearns for peace and quiet, and the pills would do the trick in an instant. Her hand reaches for the bottle in her jacket pocket, the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears. Popping the cap open, she turns her head to the side, unable to help herself. She sees the tenderness etched in his features, a wordless plea shining in his dark eyes.

“V… Tell me.”

V’s gaze slowly falters, her consciousness at war with itself. The storm of anger in her calms, yet she needs to know what her next move is. She’s always been terrible at this sort of thing, dealing with her feelings and shit. Growing up in the streets of Heywood, she’s learned how to shut people out and keep them out. Biggest rule she had imposed on herself was to never, ever fall for a choom, but this time was different. Despite him being a mere figment of her imagination, she feels safe around Johnny, appreciated and content. The two understand each other on a level nobody else has done. They’ve been through literal hell and would only sink further into it to find a way to survive.

A chrome palm comes to rest on V’s cheek, the sensation oddly warm, oddly familiar. Her attention flickers back to Johnny as he strokes her weary face. His touch was delicate, movements careful and controlled. He treats her as if she were porcelain, afraid that his metal hand would cause her to crack. V exhales deeply, relishing the feeling she’s longed from the moment she had broken that dumb rule of hers.

“Go ahead,” she mumbles, giving Johnny consent for him to read her mind. It only takes a second, maybe even less. V half expects his shit-eating grin to make its appearance. She couldn’t forget how cocky he was, and she thought this would certainly rub his ego.

It never comes. Instead, Johnny’s lips turn up into a genuine smile, one softer than the way his black hair falls to frame his face. V swears she was floating; this doesn’t feel all that real to her. It couldn’t be real. But as the first faint slivers of sunlight appear on the horizon, she starts to believe that she isn’t dreaming nor hallucinating. She was still very much wide awake.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Johnny quips as he leans closer. “You had no reason to be jealous, princess.”

“Why not?”

“Nothin’ happen between Rogue and me,” he clarifies, his fingers pushing back her locks. “Yeah, we made out a little, but I couldn’t go through with it. Wanna know why?”

V nods.

“’Cause I realized that ship sailed a long time ago. We’re too different people now; she’s got her own life, while I got mine sittin’ right here.”

“Johnny…” she murmurs his name as he brings up his other hand to cradle her face. “I wanted to have what you and Rogue had, minus the shitty things you did. But I could feel how much you loved her, how you basically worshipped the ground she walked on. Then I thought, can’t compete with her. She’s a livin’ legend, a badass. Meanwhile, I could be dead the next minute or two, either by this fuckin’ relic or a bullet.”

“Trust me, V, you wouldn’t want that,” Johnny returns, resting his forehead against hers. How could he feel so real? “What you and I have is special. Ain’t felt this way before, not even with Rogue or Alt. Like I said, you’re the fuckin’ closest to me. These feelings you’re afraid of? Shit, I have them too, and I’m fuckin’ terrified. But knowing that you’re here and we both share them, it makes things a lot less scary.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Johnny laughs softly. “Gotta spell it out for ya, huh? Well then, here it goes; V, I love you. I don’t throw that word around randomly, but know that it’s what I feel whenever I think of you.”

V doesn’t waste a second longer. Her lips meet his for a kiss that is gentle and bruising, all at once. They hold one another close, their grasps taut so that the other wouldn’t slip away, not wanting to lose what they’ve gained. Time goes by, ticking in the background as they kiss again and again, but to them, it’s slow, nearly everlasting.

And when it was over, when they finally had to part, they were breathless, panting.

“Love you too, Johnny,” she murmurs into his skin, tone dripping with affection as he hums in response.

Night melds into day, and the city comes back to its fullest life. V kisses Johnny a final time before driving back to the place she calls home, even though she’s found her true one in his heart.

—

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jae-daddy · 4 years ago

Text

Play (6) (finale)

jaebum au series

one / two / three / four / five / six (finale) masterlist

pairing: jaebum x reader x jinyoung genre: friends, angst, jealousy plot: you and jaebum have been really great friends. things have been going smoothly because neither of you were in a real relationship, flings? sure, but girlfriends/boyfriends? no. so when Jaebum starts going out with Emma (a bitch), you can’t help but act out <3 a/n: we’ve made it to the end! i had to stop it here or else this would continue for five other parts, and I don't know, maybe they’ll be a part two to it. hope y’all like it.truly not edited <3

“Fuck yes!” You moaned, your head stinging as he pulled you back by your hair. His hips pounding into you, his dick hitting deep inside you with every thrust.

“Oh fuck! Oh, fuck!” You moaned as he placed a hand on your hip, pushing it down as his dick started drilling into you faster.

“Just like that,” you breathed, reaching for his hand and bringing it to your neck. You placed it there, your hands holding his wrist. He leaned forward, his front pressing you into the mattress as his hips kept thrusting into you relentlessly.

“Is that good?”

You closed your eyes, imagining a familiar dark-haired boy behind you. You thought of his dark hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. His large hands chocking your neck, the other reaching up to squeeze your tits. HIs hot breath falling over your ear.

“You like that slut?” His grunts into your ear, before biting it.

“Fuck,” you moaned, reaching back to the guy behind you. He responds zealously. Pushing your head into the pillow in front of you. Your hair wrapping around his hands as he pushes you into the bed. “Fuck. Fuck.”

You hear him moan somewhere in the distance, and you’re close. You’re so fucking close.

“Fuck,” he groans. His strokes getting sloppy, and with a grunt, he finishes. “Fuck.”

You flipped onto your back, staring at the ceiling as he took the condom off.

He was about to hop back into bed when you spoke, “I’m actually tired and I have an early morning tomorrow.”

“It’s only five in the afternoon right now,” he replied. You got up on your elbows to look at your latest Tinder match stand there at the edge of your bed.

“Yeah, early night,” you nodded, not even trying hard to hide the fact that you were lying.

He snorted with disbelief, before nodding. His pride was hurt and bruised as he collected his pants and slipped back into it, “I heard about you, you know?”

You didn’t reply. Instead, you lay back on your bed and stared at the empty ceiling.

“They said you were a bitch,” he chuckled as he grabbed his shirt. He pulled it over him and reached for his socks, “But they said the sex would be worth it.”

You closed your eyes, waiting for him to stop talking and leave you alone.

“They were right though,” he laughed. You felt him stand at the edge of the bed and look at you once again.

You didn’t move or open your eyes.

You remained there, unmoving. Your eyes sealed tightly as you tried to stop your chin from trembling.

After a long second, he finally left. The door quietly clicked shut behind him.

The tears slipped from your eyes and rolled down the side of your face. You felt each one, warm and blue; they gathered around your ears.

Your heart hurt.

Jaebum and you hadn’t talked since that night at dinner. He didn’t say anything to you, and you couldn't bring yourself to message him.

He never said it out loud.

You both never said it out loud, but you knew.

You knew it was over.

The friendship that Jaebum and you shared, the love, it was all over. He was no longer going to be in your corner anymore.

You were no longer going to have deep conversations in the middle of the night about your dreams with him. You wouldn’t be able to walk into a cafe and look for his face lighting up as he spotted you.

He wasn't going to be there to hug you anymore. He won’t be there to stroke your hair as you cried about things he couldn’t understand. He won’t come and hide in your bed from whatever was going on in his life anymore.

He won’t ever walk into your room again and look at the bed. He won’t look at you with a knowing smile as he shook his head. He won’t tease you about missing a bed frame anymore.

He won’t tease you anymore.

He won’t be there existing next to you anymore.

He was gone from your life.

He was gone.

And you missed him.

You rolled onto your side and pulled the duvet over you.

Your body shook as you cried harder. Your heart felt bruised; it felt purple and blue, with opens cuts bleeding red and magenta. It hurt.

You hurt.

And you missed him.

You missed him like your heart was no longer there. You missed him like your heart remained at the table you left him. You missed him like your heart stayed in that dirty bathroom of the club he kissed you in. You missed him like your heart still belonged with Jaebum.

You missed him like you loved him.

Terribly. Hauntingly. Desperately.

You missed him.

You loved Jaebum.

Three years later

You didn’t realise time could pass by so quickly and tortuously slow at once.

It was truly amazing how every second you lived through stretched into a millennium. But when you turned around to look back at your life, the time had rushed past you and you couldn’t hold on to a single moment.

A lot had changed in the past years.

You had moved out of the house you used to flat in. You found yourself a decent studio apartment in a safe location near to your work. It was a new form of freedom living by yourself, but some nights it got so lonely you're certain you were losing your sanity.

The walls of your apartment closed in around you. The air of the room thickened as it choked around your throat. It grew sharp teeth in the form of loneliness and it sunk it’s sharp fangs into your skin every second you remained in that apartment trying to pretend away the gaping hole in your life.

Your life was going great.

Anyone could see that. Anyone looking at your life would say you had it all.

You had changed jobs after a company scouted you seeing your research. You finally went ahead and finished your passion project. And now you did lectures at universities and schools. You even had an interview with a magazine a few months ago.

You had friends too.

You had made new friends at work and during the final stages of your research.

Not to mention, Park Jinyoung had taken it upon himself to not let you rot in your sadness and die alone in your apartment. He would show up randomly at irregular intervals and listen to you cry.

From the outside, the past years had treated you well. You were killing it.

But once again, you found yourself at your stool at the bar near your apartment.

The bartender didn’t even ask for your order as he slid you a glass of coke with lots of ice, “How are you doing today?”

“I am still alive,” you murmured, disappointment in your voice as you peered up at him. “How has your day been, Youngjae?”

“It went good,” he nodded, a grin blooming on his lips as looked at you. “I got a call back from one of my auditions this morning.”

You gasped, beaming at him, “Youngjae! Oh my god! That’s amazing! Finally!”

He chuckled softly, before he added, the anxiousness evident in his voice, “Let’s not jump the gun.”

You smiled at him, but knocked on the wooden counter, “Touchwood.”

“Touchwood,” he knocked back.

A customer called, taking his attention away from you.

You sat at the bar, alone, as you watched the couple who had just entered the bar. They looked happy; they were laughing. You can’t remember the last time you had truly laughed.

You turned back to watch the television playing a rugby game. You brought the ice-cold coke to your lips, chugging it to drown the sob bubbling in your throat.

God, your period was well on its way.

You were so emotional for no reason at all. It wasn’t like you missed him.

You didn’t. You really didn’t.

No, you did miss him.

But it wasn’t like Jaebum was the only thing that could ever make you happy in life. No person can do that to you, no person should have that much power over someone else... right?

You got up from your seat suddenly feeling overwhelmed in the room full of people. You took out the five-dollar note and left it at the counter before calling out to Youngjae, “I’m heading out.”

“So early?”

“Yeah,” you stammered, breathless. You felt as if the whole bar was staring at you. You needed to get out. “I got an early morning tomorrow.”

“Okay, y/n,” Youngjae smiled at you brightly. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” you breathed as you pushed the door open. You weren’t sure if Youngjae heard you as you rushed out the door.

You let the frosty winter wind bite your skin. You welcomed it’s bitterness, praying it took your mind off the uneasiness of your mind.

You thought back to the other day at Target when you ran into Kevin and his wife.

“We’re looking for a gift for Emma’s wedding,” Kevin told you before his wife cut in.

“As a joke,” she clarified, but you didn’t care. “Her real gift is actually from...”

Her voice had blurred into nothingness as your mind went numb.

Emma was getting married.

Emma and Jaebum were getting married.

You took off your coat and held it loosely as you continued strutting down the street. The wind was merciless and harsh as it seeped its icy fingers through the threads of your flimsy shirt tracing goosebumps over your skin.

Your cheeks felt cold, the tip of your nose wet and your lips parched.

You welcomed the cruel winter and let it blanket you.

You will always remain as lonely as you are right now.

That son of a bitch.

After you stopped fucking people. After you stopped replacing the moments where you felt overwhelmed with emotions by bodies. After you stopped fucking your way out of your feelings, you realised he was right.

You were lonely.

You are lonely, and it seemed as if you would remain that way forever.

You wiped the tear that escaped and cursed as you walked into the shop you would normally walk past.

You hadn’t gotten drunk in two years.

You had a few occasional glasses here and there, socially, but never by yourself. You had decided to stop. You had decided to treat yourself better.

But tonight, everything about tonight was too much.

It was too overwhelming, you needed an escape. You needed something to help you stop thinking about Emma in a white dress and Jaebum waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

You needed something to stop Yugyeom’s face sneering at you. You needed something to make him stop saying that you would be alone.

He smirked at you, “Jaebum is getting married, and look at you. You’re just going to drink away your problems. Typical.”

You grabbed the cheapest wine with the highest alcohol percentage not even caring about the taste. You placed it on the counter and watched the guy ring it up. Your eyes fell to the liquor behind him.

Shame filled you as spoke, “Actually, can I just have the vodka?”

The man replied with a gruff, picking up the vodka and ringing it up instead. He placed it in a bag as you swiped your card. You didn’t look at him, embarrassed, as if he knew how much of a failure you were, “Thanks.”

You gripped the bottle tight in your hands as your feet rushed to your apartment. You needed to get there quickly.

You were huffing by the time you reached the gate outside your apartment. You watched the person swipe his card and jiggle the gate with frustration, trying to get it to open.

You took a step closer to them as you cleared your throat, the person turned around, his hoodie and mask covering his face. You scratched your neck anxiously as you motioned to the gate, “May I?”

The person stepped back, and you took his card, “Are you new here?”

He nodded.

You saw the light go green accepting his card, and continued. You lifted the gate off the ground and pushed it with your shoulder, and just like magic, the gate slid open, “You gotta do this cause it gets caught when it’s been raining. They’ve been saying that they’ll fix it for the past year but... here we are, still unfixed.”

You handed him his card back and walked into the building. You felt him follow you, trying not to get too close to not creep you out. You appreciated the gesture.

You impatiently tapped your shoe against the polished tiles as you waited for the elevator. Finally, it arrived and you hoped in. The guy followed you and pressed the button to his floor.

You looked at it, it was yours too.

Should you be frightened? Could this be a stalker?

Oh god.

You had enough problems tonight, the last thing you needed was to get murdered, or worse, trafficked.

The doors dinged open and you stayed behind him. You watched him turn towards the direction of your apartment.

You trailed behind walking slower. You watched as he took out his keys and stopped in front of the apartment opposite yours.

The door clicked open smoothly, and he walked in closing the door behind him.

You let out a breath of relief, and chuckled as you walked to your door, “I really thought I was going to die.”

You were about to open your door when the door behind you swang opened.

You froze, locking your door, as you remained outside your apartment.

“Hi,” he said. Your heart tugged at how familiar the voice sounded. He spoke again, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

You stared at your wooden door for a moment, shocked. You felt tears prickle your eyes and you stared at the ceiling as you let out a long puff of air.

You turned around, trying to hold back the tears as you smiled, “You really had to choose the most creepiest thing to say, didn’t you?”

He laughed, and you watched him.

The delicate melody found its way to your ears, slowly travelling somewhere deep inside your heart. It felt a trail of hazy pink as it ran through your body.

It sounded like honey, it glowed golden like the bright stars, warming a part of you that had been cold for so long as it settled in a corner deep within your heart.

As you heard him laugh, you breathed, and finally, you were alive.

Jaebum’s eyes rested on you, a smile lingering on his lips as he watched you back. He leaned against the frame of his door and took you in carefully.

“You look good, y/n,” he spoke, quiet.

“You too, Jaebum,” you replied, savouring his name on your tongue once again.

It felt as if time had stopped for him three years ago. He looked exactly how you remembered him, but so much more handsome. He looked perfected now, his face sharp and strong. His eyes dark and glistening with all the things he’s learnt over the years.

His black hair falling over his pale forehead, as he took in his lower lip between his teeth.

“Are you going to drink that alone?” he gestured to the brown paper bag in your hand, hiding the vodka. You peered back up at him, and let out a snort at how ridiculous this was.

Almost three years of being so good and the one day you were about to slip, Im Jaebum finds you.

“I don’t know if I was actually going to drink,” you shrugged with all honesty. Your mind kept going back and forth between finishing this whole bottle tonight and draining it all down the drain as you ran home.

“Are you at least going to offer?” Jaebum quirked an eyebrow at you, a mocking smile tugging his lips.

You smirked at him, teasing back, “My mommy said not to invite strangers into my house.”

“I can always invite you to mine.”

“You can kill me just, if not more easily there,” you replied, a smile on your lips at how easy this was.

How all it took was one look, one word and you both had slipped back to how you were.

“I guess it’s your choice where you want to be killed then,” he shrugged, a corner of his lip quirking up as he noticed you roll your eyes.

“I would prefer dying in my own apartment. You would probably feed me to your cats,” you snorted as you turned to unlock your door. You pushed it open as you walked in, “You still have cats right?”

“Yes, I have a problem,” he answered, his voice close to you. You turned to find him standing close to you. He stared down at you, and you immediately looked away as you felt your cheeks blush.

“Hey,” Jaebum exclaimed, surprised. You turned to find him pointing to the closet where you had placed your bed, creating a mini-bedroom, “You have a bed frame!”

You laughed, “I’m a proper adult now!”

Jaebum turned towards you.

You felt his eyes watch you intently. You tried to ignore it as you took out two glasses, but your eyes would always end up falling back on him.

You poured vodka, coke and ice in one glass, and coke and ice in the other.

Jaebum rose an eyebrow as you slid the former towards him. You shrugged, “Not drinking tonight.”

Drinking tonight would be a dangerous game. It would make this night more troublesome than it already was, even as you remained sober. The last thing you wanted was you drunk sobbing as you hugged Jaebum telling him how much you’ve missed him.

No way in hell, you would let that happen. Not tonight.

“I read your article in the magazine,” Jaebum said as he settled onto the sofa and reached for the remote. You settled on the other end, before groaning and taking the remote of him.

“Can you watch horror movies now?”

“I always could!” He protested as you rolled your eyes smiling as you scanned through Netflix.

“How come you were reading a review magazine?” You asked, stopping at a good old animation movie. Jaebum nodded, telling you to play it.

“Because it had your interview,” he replied as if it was that simple.

But it wasn’t that simple. The magazine was targeted to academics and professionals in that field. A writer like Im Jaebum would not just find it randomly at a grocery store or at a dentist’s waiting room.

You bit your lip as you stared at the screen, “I liked the second book more, but the second half of the third book really pulled through.”

“Really? People liked the third book the best,” he answered. If you could see him smiling like an idiot from the corner of your eyes, as the tips of his ears got red.

“Maybe it’s because you killed Hera,” you remarked, making Jaebum laugh.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “It was probably that.”

“We’re going to neighbours now,” you jeered, as you both stared at the tv screen displaying the ending credits.

“Seems like we are,” Jaebum replied. The glass you had given him at the beginning of the movie barely touched. “How do you feel about that?”

How do you feel about that?

Hmm, let’s think about that.

How do you feel about Jaebum and Emma living across the hallway from you? How do you feel about them fucking, cooking and cleaning together like a sweet happily married couple as you tried to escape your loneliness between your apartment and the local bar?

Yeah, you weren’t too hyped about it.

“How do you feel?” You asked instead.

“I asked first,” Jaebum protested.

You ignored him, “How is Emma going to feel?”

“Emma?”

“Your soon to be wife,” you urged, as you took a sip of your coke that tasted warm and watery now, “Congrats, by the way. I heard the news from Kevin, thanks for the invites.”

Jaebum stared at you as he pursed his lips, as he held back a grin.

You could feel him judging you, staring at you like you were a pathetic little lonely girl living in an apartment all alone with no one, not even a pet.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you growled at him, as you pouted. Jaebum’s lips lifted into a smile as he closed his eyes, letting out a huff. You whined, “I said stop.”

“Y/n, Emma and I aren’t together,” he said each word slowly and carefully. His soft lips grew into a shit-eating smile as he continued, “We broke that night at dinner.”

“Oh.”

Oh my god.

Holy shit.

Your heart was racing. It was beating too fast for this to be healthy.

You tried to hold back the smile blooming on your lips, but you failed and pursed your lips instead.

Okay, so... AH!

“Wow,” your mouth was moving, but you didn’t know what you were doing. You lifted your arm to look at your left wrist. There was no watch there, but you still went on and said, “It is getting late. We should go to bed.”

Jaebum laughed, at your absurdity, “Are you trying to kick me out?”

Yes.

“No.”

“Why?” He narrowed his eyes, but the smile on his lips told you he knew how fucking nervous you were right now.

You literally had no control over what you are doing, and how to process the information Jaebum had just provided you.

“I have a meeting tomorrow,” you stammered.

You cursed yourself. You shouldn’t be kicking him out, you should be talking to him.

What is he doing now? Is he single?

What’s going to happen now?

Oh my fucking god.

All it took was three hours with Im Jaebum and your world was swirling into a tornado of emotions, excitement and liveness once again.

“It’s a public holiday,” he told you, grinning.

“I work for assholes,” you stuttered through your lie.

No, you don’t. They were the nicest people and even gave paid mental health days too.

Jaebum got up, letting you breathe. But he was still laughing as he held up his hands in surrender, “All right. All right, I’ll leave.”

You walked him to your door and opened it for him. He shook his head, smiling at you as he walked out.

You watched him about to disappear and had a fight within yourself. A part of you, the bigger larger part of you wanted you to stop him. It wanted you to ask him to stay. It wanted you to brush the hair on his forehead away, and then kiss him.

But the other part of you, the sensible, the reasonable one, told you to let him leave. You needed time to think about it. You needed time and space to process this.

What did this mean? What were you going to do now?

Your lips pouted, the tip of your tongue lifting as you were about to stop him when a hand landed on the edge of the door and prayed it open.

Im Jaebum appeared from behind the door. He leaned down, bringing his towards your face.

God, he was beautiful.

You saw the golden flecks in his eyes, and your heart swirled like a flower petal flowing the spring breeze. The golden stroked were just as how you remembered them. Each stroke still carried the same warmth as it did those years ago. The deep brown of his eyes still drew you in closer.

It still made your heart flutter the same as before.

You could still close your eyes and paint every stroke of his beautiful eyes.

His eyes travelled down to your lips before meeting your eyes. Your chest heaved as he leaned closer.

You felt his minty breath kiss your lips, and you breathed him in.

“I saw the posts,” he whispered, as you gripped the door to support your weakening knees, “with you and Jinyoung.”

You held his gaze, your cheeks tainting pink, “Did you see the posts with him and his girlfriend?”

Jaebum stared at you, smiling before he bit his lip, “No. I guess I missed them.”

He leaned back, straightening, but his eyes remained on you.

“I thought so,” you whispered, biting your lip.

You wanted to kiss him.

“Goodnight Jaebum,” you breathed instead.

Jaebum’s gaze lowered to your lips once again and you noticed the way his knuckles tightened on the door. His eyes met yours again, as he swallowed heavily. He smiled, his lips tight, his voice pained, “Goodnight, y/n.”

You smiled back, closing the door-

“No, stop.”

You froze, as you peered up at Jaebum.

He looked down at you. His eyes wild, as he let out a hushed sigh.

“No more playing around,” he told you, his voice grave and serious. “I like you.”

Your heart stopped, but you snorted, “We haven’t seen each other in years, Jaebum.”

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning then,” Jaebum nodded, talking to himself more than he was to you. He nodded, determined as he looked into your eyes once again. “Let’s do it how we should have from the start.”

You chuckled, the smile on your lips not going anywhere no matter how hard you tried to stop.

“Y/n,” Jaebum spoke, his voice soft and nervous. He took your hands in his gently, as he stared into your eyes with the feeling of sunshine on a winter morning, “You are beautiful, funny and smart. You are everything I have ever wanted, and I know I am not much, but if you give me the chance, I promise to become the man you want me to be. I promise to make you laugh, to comfort you, to watch your favourite shows over and over again. I promise I to love you.

“Just take a chance on me. Do me the honour of going on a date with me?”

“Really, Jae,” you rolled your eyes trying to blink away the tears, as you snorted. But a few slipped down as you looked up to meet his melting brown eyes, “As a best-selling novelist, that’s the best you could do?”

“You hate poetry,” Jaebum laughed before he sobered and leaned in closer to you. You held your breath as his nose nudged yours, “A date? You and me?”

“Everything right from scratch,” You asked, as you took a step towards him. “No more playing?”

Jaebum smiled, placing his hands on your waist as he pulled you in closer. He nodded, “No more play, baby.”

You giggled, as you grabbed his collar and crashed your lips onto his.

He kissed you back, with a longing, a need, that you understood well.

Jaebum had missed you just as much as you missed him.

He chuckled against your lips, as he walked you backwards and closed the door behind him, “Maybe start from scratch tomorrow?”

You nodded, your hands already fidgeting with the edge of his shirt underneath his hoodie, “From tomorrow.”

Jaebum broke the kiss as he lifted you up, and spun you around. A surprised giggle fell your lips as you held on to him tightly.

You felt the cool marble beneath you as he placed you on the counter.

“This was meant to happen you know?”

“What was?”

“Us,” he gestured between the two of you. You smirked up at him as you pulled off his hoodie and shirt in one go. Jaebum placed his hands on your cheeks, as he kissed you softly, “Us, this. It was meant to happen.”

Jaebum looked at you and whispered, “I love you.”

thank you of all of y’all for reading. i hope you enjoyed the story! i know the book is a bit messy but it is what it is. i just wanted to let y’all know that often we are shamed or made to feel uncomfortable with what we do with our bodies sexually. i just want yall to know that fuck what others think, it’s your body, your choice. you decide what you want to do, who you want to do. just be safe and take care. love y’all, thanks again for reading. you are worth a million stars. <3

lol (lots of love), B. <3

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kyber-crystal · 4 years ago

Text

➳ catch me || s.r

summary: in which you struggle to tell the difference between liking him as a friend or something more. until one fateful moment forces you to decide where you ultimately stand.

words: ~3.9k

warnings: mentions of death, blood, overused friends to lovers, slight enemies to lovers LOL

a/n: i suffered through this WIP for like, 3 mf MONTHS before i was finally able to finish it off. i feel so relieved. but i will warn you, it’s terrible

"Rogers."

"Y/N."

You exchanged curt nods with him as you went to grab yourself some water after attending a meeting with Fury. Ever since Sharon started showing up more often, you began to distance yourself from him because you know that lingering by will only make you feel worse.He doesn't know why you're acting so cold all of a sudden, but decides not to question it as it won't help the situation in any way whatsoever.

He was quick to break the awkward silence that had fallen. "Where are you being sent off?"

"We," you replied coldly. "Northern Europe. Got word of an arms trade happening tomorrow morning."

"Okay."

Footsteps were suddenly heard from down the hall and without warning, he tugged you forward by the wrist and pressed his lips to yours.

You didn't protest because you're still too shocked to fully register what's going on and 2) you actually liked the way he made you feel.

Though you really weren't supposed to be.

"What was that for?" you breathed out as you both pulled away, breathless.

"Sharon," he replied simply, looking around for a moment. "She's been bothering me for the past few weeks and I had to do something."

"You just noticed?" you said, sarcasm lacing your tone as you looked out of the corner of your eye to see the blonde woman walking away. "She's been all over you since her recruitment."

His brows furrow together in confusion as he notices the darkened look in your eyes, but doesn't say anything. You toss him the black manila folder containing information on your mission for him to read, sitting down at the kitchen counter together.

"Infamous dealer carrying nuclear weapons overseas. Headquartered somewhere in the Arctic Circle, I think," you explained as he pulled out the wanted man's file. "Can be taken either dead or alive. We have to stop them from going through with the attack."

"When are we leaving?"

"Wheels up at 8:30 p.m. Should take about 6 hours...we're being flown in via helicarrier."

Great.

You just realized you'd be stuck in a plane alone together for 6 hours straight, when the very thing you were trying to do was avoid him.

You're mostly silent as you board the jet, securing your bags and weapons before taking your seat. Fatigue is tugging at your body and your eyelids grow heavy, although it isn't even that late. Without thinking about what you were doing, you rest your head against Steve's shoulder and close your eyes. He wraps an arm around your waist in response.

Before you knew it, the aircraft was hovering over the drop zone. The two of you got up and went towards the back, fastening parachutes to your backs as the gates dropped open.

"Stay safe out there," you blurted out as you glanced down at the base below you, then over at Steve. "Circle the perimeter and meet me inside. Don't die or I'll kill you."

"Yes ma'am."

Inhaling sharply, you gripped the straps of your jacket and squeezed your eyes shut, the dry wind whipping your hair in your face as you descended downwards.

With his icy blue eyes still imprinted in the back of your mind.

...

It was quite ironic seeing that you, an Avenger and a former SHIELD pilot that flew everywhere all the time, had a crippling fear of heights. The mere idea of being jumping out of planes and having to go on missions involving multi-story buildings shook you to your core, and it always took you at least a week to recover once you got back.

"Steve!" Your voice heightened to a shriek as you felt the plane's velocity increase suddenly. The crates next to you toppled over and you went crashing to the floor alongside them, barely managing to grip the armrest of something and pressing your back against the wall, feeling your head spin. The sticky warmth and stinging, white-hot pain in your side tells you that you were shot. You didn't need to look at the wound to know it wasn't pretty. "Where the hell are you?"

"Fifty yards away from the northeast entrance," he replied breathlessly. "I got nothing. You?"

"The weapons," you panted, "are on the plane!"

"Okay. Where are you?"

"On the damn plane! They're gonna detonate at any moment, I have to get this thing away from the city—I'm not gonna make it so I just wanted to tell you that—"

"Fuck, don't say that," he hissed. You know things were bad when Steve Rogers, the man that coined the 'Language' line, swore. "Just—hang tight, I'm coming for you."

"No. Just forget it," you shouted over the noise, grunting in pain as your head hit the side of a storage box, muttering a string of curses under your breath. "I can't afford for you to risk your own life for me. It's okay. Just leave me behind."

"No, I'm not leaving you!" he yelled back. "I'm not going back home without you."

"Steve," your voice was thick with tears, throat feeling tight as you swallowed back the sob that was threatening to erupt from your lips. You wipe a tear that slips down your cheek and cleared your throat. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," he says hoarsely, "I lost you once, and I'm not losing you again."

"There's no point, Steve. I'm going to die. This thing's on autopilot going God knows where at top speed and if there's any chance of stopping this thing, I gotta crash it. If you come and get me you're gonna die, too. You know Fury's not gonna like having to send out an extraction team to drag both our corpses back to headquarters."

"Y/N, don't-" His voice breaks and you swear your heart shatters into a million pieces. "Please, don't- don't say that. I'm gonna come and get you. You're gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay."

That was the last straw for you; and you lost it at those last words. Tears sting a steaming hot trail down your cheeks as you hastily try to wipe them away with your bruised and bloodied knuckles. "No, we're not. I don't think you understand. I'm over 30,000 feet in the air with no protection whatsoever. They're gonna shoot you down before you even have the chance to get to me."

You always told yourself you'd be willing to put your life on the line to save someone else's; to sacrifice yourself for the greater good. But now that death was looming threateningly close to you and staring you down, for the first time in a long time, you didn't know if you even wanted to leave and you were scared. Scared of what was to come if you really were to meet your end. Scared of what was to come at the end of the tunnel, what would happen when you were swallowed whole by death's bottomless, dark pit. You didn't expect your fate to approach so quickly, and it scared you more than you wanted to admit.

Being a superhero meant that making sacrifices were a must-do. You always knew you would need to give things up in order to successfully do your job. That one day, your time to die would come but you didn't know it would happen like this; so unexpectedly.

Now you realize people were right as they told you in your final moments, you'd see your entire life flash before your eyes. You blink and you're transported back to when you first joined the Initiative, skeptical of the six unfamiliar faces before you. But it only takes a matter of three minutes before Thor cracks a joke that has you all howling in laughter, and another one for Natasha to approach you and start a conversation. To you, her, and Steve on the run as fugitives of SHIELD as you conducted the search for The Winter Soldier. The heartbreaking decision of having to choose between your mentor and best friend in Berlin--which you realized, happened barely over a year ago. So many memories had been created in such a short amount of time and you didn't ever want to let any of them go. You couldn't bring yourself to.

You stumbled over, sliding into the pilot's seat and buckling up. Your grip around the controls were so tight that the barely healing cuts around your knuckles reopened and began bleeding again.

You let out a shuddering sigh, tapping several buttons overhead before reaching down to turn on your comm again. "Steve? Are you there?"

"Darling..." The pure agony in his voice only makes you feel worse. You've never heard the great Captain America in such a soft-spoken tone before, so you could only assume it took him a lot to get him into this state. "Yeah. I'm here."

"So..." you readjusted your grip and let your shoulders fall back, "...you remember that one time we took the subway to see Hamilton last weekend?'

"Last weekend? It was only last weekend?" Steve tried his best to keep it together, but his wavering tone gave it all away. "Feels like forever since we got a break."

"I know," you let out a broken laugh, "and then you wouldn't stop talking about it the entire way back? It got so bad to the point Tony had to forcefully shut off all the speaker systems around the compound because he woke up at 3 am to see you sitting in the kitchen, playing the soundtrack at full volume."

"But when he saw you dancing around in the kitchen while making lunch the next day, he couldn't keep doing that for any longer. You have an amazing voice."

"I don't know..." you sniffed, forcing a smile, "you're the one who's pretty good at singing and playing the piano. I think you got all the musical talent-"

"Y/N," he interrupted, "stop. Don't do this to me."

"Do what?"

"You're talking as if you're gonna die."

The gravity of the whole situation comes crashing down on you again. "...Because I am."

"No, you're not. I'm not letting that happen."

"I don't think you have a say in things this time, Rogers," your voice cracked. You shook your head. "I'm done for. God, I really hoped this wasn't how I'd meet my end. I hate heights. I hate the ice, I'm scared shitless of dying, I can't- I can't do this. But I have to. If I don't, millions of people will die and I can't have that on my conscience."

You sucked in a breath as you looked out of the corner of your eye to see you're falling, and falling fast. In a matter of minutes you'll be plunging through the surface of the ice and into the depths of the icy-cold water. There's no turning back now.

"Geez," you spoke up again, "this is like some repeat of '45. Is this how it felt? Knowing you were gonna die, but doing it anyway because you knew you had to do it?"

"That's not the same. It was a matter of chance that I made it at all. Chances are slim to none that you'll end up frozen in a block of ice for 66 years."

"See, it's hopeless," you sighed. "Go back. You need to go...or you're gonna end up filled with bullets."

"I'm not going back," he repeated. "Not without you."

"If you're gonna think of a plan, you better think fast-"

"Jump."

"What did you just say? Are you out of your damn mind?"

"I said, jump. There's no other choice. Look for an emergency exit...there should be one above you. Do you see it?" His voice was calm, gentle, as if he was speaking to a child, and it soothed you a bit. You muttered a quick 'yes'. "Alright. Pry that open, get out of there. I'm coming with the Quinjet right now, so hang tight."

As if he could sense your fear, he softened his tone a bit more, "Hey. It's okay. I'm coming for you. You'll be alright."

"It's like we're Romeo and Juliet," you managed to choke out in between a laugh and sob, "except only one of us dies."

"Y/N, you're not dying." He couldn't mask the obvious pain in his voice. "Honey, I promise you're not gonna die. You're gonna be alright."

"Steve-" You let out an earsplitting shriek and scrambled to get a stronger grip as blaring alarms sounded throughout the aircraft. The impact of the hits nearly made you topple off and you clung to the side of the jet for dear life, praying to God you weren't going to fall off and crack your head open on an iceberg. "I got hit. They're tailing after me, you can't, I'm actually gonna fall-"

"Okay, okay, I'm here. Do you see me?" You turned your head to the side ever so slightly to see the Quinjet hovering below, but your heart dropped when all you could see were snow flurries blowing around - and zero sign of the super-soldier.

"No-"

"Just jump. I see you. I'm literally right below you, so jump, okay?"

"Are you crazy?"

"Do you trust me?" he yelled out, his voice carrying over on the frigid winds. "Y/N. Do you trust me?"

"But-"

"I've never let you down before and I sure as hell won't now. Trust me, Y/N, come on."

You pressed your lips together. You knew he was right. Either you made the jump now, or get filled with a dozen bullets and dying a brutal and gory death.

You finally bring yourself to look down again and there he is, a little closer this time. His gaze finds yours and suddenly, you're drowning. You might've been hundreds of feet apart but no distance would be able to extinguish his piercing gaze. His eyes were the ocean and you were lost at sea, lost in those endless pools of blue and losing yourself in him—the one guy who stuck by your side for so long and thought as nothing more than a best friend, a teammate until now. The one guy who took your breath away with his million-dollar smile every time you made eye contact.

In the one guy who you thought was just a friend, until you realized you were hopelessly in love with him - the Steve Rogers.

And now you weren't sure if you'd come out of this alive to finally tell him so.

You squeezed your eyes shut and let go. The wind whipping at your hair and face feels like a thousand tiny needles being jabbed into your skin and you swear if you kept your mouth open you would've puked - if you'd opened your eyes you knew you'd die from fear first before anything else.

But all those thoughts are suddenly put to a halt when you're stopped by a pair of strong, warm arms you'd sought solace in countless times before.

"Y/N, thank God you're alright, oh my god," Steve let out a shuddering sigh as he held you close, cradling your head against his chest. "I thought I lost you. Oh my god. Are you okay?"

"I just fell out of an airplane without a parachute and I have no idea how I survived."

His look of concern immediately turns into horror when he pulls his hand off your waist to see it come back covered in your crimson blood. His face falls. Then it hits you all at once, and you're overcome with a nauseating wave of dizziness - the aftereffects were beginning to get to your head.

The super-soldier hurriedly jammed a finger to his ear. "I got her. We're on our way back. Prepare the medbay; she's gonna have to be operated on as soon as we land."

"Yes, sir," a STRIKE agent replied from the receiving end. "We'll get right to it. Please have a safe flight home."

"Thank you."

Steve put the jet on autopilot so he could sit with you in the back, frantically applying pressure to your wound and doing his best to patch you up. But with each round the bandages made around your waist, the blood flow increased, seeping through the fabric. You didn't have to tell him directly for him to know you didn't have much time left and if he were to save you, you would need to get back home, fast.

...

As soon as Steve stepped down the ramp with your limp, unconscious body in his arms, he was bombarded by a flurry of medbay agents, who had you in a gurney and were wheeling you away within minutes. He tried to follow after them but Tony quickly grabbed his wrist and yanked him back.

"Let me go," he growled. "I swear to Odin, Stark, if you don't-"

"You can't follow her in there."

"I can if I want to."

Tony let out a sigh of defeat. "Rogers. She's going to be fine."

"How do you know? How can you possibly guarantee her survival?"

"I just know. Sheesh, you're a hopeless romantic."

...

You glanced over at the monitor tracking your vitals beside your bed, the constant beeping of the machines seemingly echoing in your brain on a loop. You were too exhausted to do anything at the moment, but you couldn't seem to fall back asleep, even with the drugs coursing through your system.

You try to shift around and find a more comfortable position, and felt a twinge of pain on your right side. Note to self; don't place all your body weight on the side where a bullet tore through your stomach. Bad idea.

Laying flat on your back again, you closed your eyes, willing yourself to fall back asleep. But sleep never comes, and a few minutes later a knock on your door pulls you out of your momentary trance.

"Hey there, soldier," you managed a sleepy grin as Steve stepped into the room, pulling up a chair to your bedside. "Nice weather outside, isn't it? Feels like just yesterday I was gunned down and forced to drive myself to near-suicide...wait, that was yesterday, right? I've lost all sense of time-telling-"

You paused and looked back over to see a rare sight - he was on the verge of breaking down. His bright blue eyes were dulled and glossed over with fresh tears that threatened to spill, and although it had barely been over a day since your admittance to the hospital, it looked like he hadn't slept in over a week. And it was all your fault.

"Are you okay...?"

He shook his head, clenching his fists in his lap so tightly that they began turning white. "You’re seriously asking me if I’m okay? I almost lost you. You almost died."

"I'm sorry-"

"If I hadn't gotten to you in time, then...I don't know what I'd do if-"

"Steve, it's not your fault."

"I let you down, Y/N." His voice was cracked and raw, as if he'd been crying for hours on end beforehand. Your heart shattered at the sound. "I let you down and I'm so sorry I couldn't get to you sooner. I'm sorry I left you alone on that ship because I didn't look out for you well enough. This is all on me. My job was to protect you, to look out for you. And I failed to do that."

"You didn't fail, Steve," you said softly. "You did your best. You saved me. I'm alive right now because of what you did."

The super-soldier inhaled sharply and moved his chair closer so he could reach his hand out to place it on your forehead, letting it stay there for a moment before sliding it down to cup your cheek. You didn't make any efforts to remove it and if you were being honest with yourself, you liked how his warm skin felt against your own. He smelled like honey and freshly ground coffee and everything good in the world. He made you feel like you were at home.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you let yourself bask in his warmth, melting into his soft touch. If it weren't for your currently uncomfortable predicament, you would've fallen asleep on the spot all over again.

"Something's on your mind, isn't there," you mumbled, eyes still closed. Even without your powers, it didn't take much for you to figure out that something was wrong. "Tell me what's going on."

You opened your eyes again to see that there were tears streaming down his face. He hastily tried to wipe them away with one hand as the other was gently placed on top of yours, but his efforts were fruitless, of no avail whatsoever.

"Steve-"

"I was so worried," he croaked out. "I don't want to think about how things would be if you died. I can't live without you."

"I'm here now, okay? I'm going to be fine. I'll heal," you said softly. "You saved me, you caught me, so now I'm okay. We're okay." You moved over slightly to give him room to sit. Steve's arms encircled your waist as yours slid down and over his shoulders, and he pressed his trembling lips to your temple.

It was quiet. Whispered oh-so-quietly, as if he was hesitant to open his mouth. But you heard it regardless.

"I love you."

You smiled sadly. "I know. I love you too."

"Just...please don't try and pull off something off like that again."

"I won't. I promise."

You heard each shaky inhale and exhale as he tried to regain his composure - strong arms tightening around your figure with his face buried into the crook of your neck. Letting out a trembling sigh, you held onto him even tighter as if by some miraculous way, doing so could keep him from falling apart. As if somehow, your arms being around him could squeeze all the million little shattered pieces of his heart back together again.

You knew deep down, exactly why he had been so afraid to watch you meet your potential end. It was the jet plunging into the depths of the icy blue, monstrous sea. He didn't want you to experience even a fraction of what he had and prayed you’d never have to. He swore a silent oath to himself to shield you away from as much of the horrifying world as he possibly could, but you were nearly dragged under by the clutches of Death herself that day, and he couldn't help but feel like he failed you.

You took in a deep breath, inhaling his fresh scent of coffee grounds and warm honey as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. For the briefest moment in time you could pretend everything was in fact, going to be okay, because it was just you and him wrapped up in each others' arms without a care in the world. It was just you and him, basking in each others' warmth, silent whispers of reassurance into his ear and repeated soft, fleeting kisses to his temple that reminded him you were still alive and breathing, and you were just fine.

For the first time in a long time, Steve Rogers felt whole again. The hole in his heart was gone, the void finally filled. And all it took was your presence, and your presence alone.

...

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translations-by-aiimee · 4 years ago

Text

Mistakenly Saving the Villain - Chapter 4

Original Title: 论救错反派的下场

Genres: Drama, Romance, Xianxia, Yaoi

TW for this chapter: Sexual abuse (skip to the solo ". . ." to skip that part)

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - Breaking Out of Hell

Song Qingshi finally connected the child with the red tear mole in his memories and the peerless beauty on the golden bird frame.

Someone eavesdropping on their conversation clapped his hands and laughed: "Xie Que is really wicked. It must have been so amusing to see when the little apprentice discovered the truth."

Since Jin FeiRen had cultivated immortality, he had received countless beauties, but he was still excited about the moment that Yue Wuhuan entering the door: "That year, when I was eight hundred years old, I received countless congratulations, so I held a feast on this Langgan stage and invited all my friends to celebrate together. Xie Que also came with Wuhuan. He seemed to tell Wuhuan that he was going to send him to Golden Phoenix Manor to learn sword fighting. Wuhuan was overjoyed. When Xie was absent, he took out the spirit bead and asked me to inspect the slave. His incredulous expression was really cute. . ."

Jin FeiRen casually played with the long hair of the boy in white, forcing him to look at the beauty on the golden bird stand, and then told everyone about the past events:

At that time, Yue Wuhuan had just grown up, wearing the Yuelan clothes that all immortal disciples liked, with a sword on his waist, his hair tied with a simple white jade crown. His body had a clean smell, his facial features were exquisite, and his phoenix eyes were clear and innocent. He had dignified manners, unlike someone with a mortal origin, but like the young son of the immortal family.

He earnestly bowed to the immortals at the banquet and then told Jin FeiRen that he was already in the middle stage of foundation building and that he would work hard to master his sword at Golden Phoenix Manor in the future, and live up to Master's expectations and become like Mo Yuan. The powerful sword repair. At that time, everyone laughed, and there was an ambiguous atmosphere that was built from the laughter. Yue Wuhuan realized that there was something wrong with their laughter and wanted to retreat. Jin FeiRen had already walked down, lifted his hand, studied it carefully, and laughed: "Such a beautiful hand is not suitable for swordsmanship. It's more suitable for serving people."

Yue Wuhuan's face turned pale and he desperately retracted his hands.

Jin FeiRen let go and smiled: "Immortal Xie, since you have brought some excellent goods, you must let me inspect the goods."

The people in the room also clamoured and demanded to inspect the goods on the spot.

Yue Wuhuan watched as his master took out a red bead. He turned his mind, and lost control of his body. He desperately tried to prevent his trembling hands from reaching his waist and threw his most treasured sword away like trash. Long sword. Then, his belt fell, and the layers of Yuelan's clothes faded away. His self-esteem was destroyed in front of everyone, and his dream of cultivation was crushed to pieces.

All sounds of the dinner stopped, and all eyes were staring at the beautiful scenery.

Jin FeiRen couldn't help but straighten up.

Yue Wuhuan was struggling in this controlled state, wishing to die on the spot. He looked at his master in pain, his beautiful lips squirming, and begged silently. Xie Que finally walked towards him and gently stretched out his hand, just like when he touched his head every day to praise him.

Xie Que gently pulled off his white jade crown.

The white jade crown fell to the floor and smashed into pieces. The long, slightly curled hair dropped down to his waist like a waterfall, covering the enchanting Acacia Seal on his pale back. The despair and helplessness in the dark golden phoenix eyes were enough to arouse any raging thoughts. The red tear-shaped mole made people feel allured, and the originally beautiful boy was turned into a seductive collectable.

The more Wuhuan struggled, the more his head lowered to hide himself away in embarrassment.

Xie Que grabbed Yue Wuhuan's long hair and pulled it back fiercely, forcing the ashamed young man to raise his head so that everyone could see one of the best beauties of the country.

He smiled and said: "My vision is never wrong."

. . .

The sound of the flute resonated further, and the depth of the sadness in that lingering sound became more devastating.

Song Qingshi's throat stiffened from sadness, and he was left a little breathless. He gradually understood the meaning of the words Yue Wuhuan said by the river bank. He seemed to see himself locked in a physical prison from his past. He shouted every day, but no one could hear his cry for help.

He didn't want to think about it anymore. He already knew the answer.

He wanted to save was this bruised beautiful bird with his strings of scars.

Song Qingshi began to think wildly about how to naturally whisk this boy away.

The song ended, the flute stopped, and the remaining notes curled away into the wind.

The guests had already been enthusiastic from the song, and now some were even making fools of themselves.

Jin FeiRen got up and announced boldly: "This is the toy that Golden Phoenix Manor will give to you all immortal friends tonight. Please enjoy!."

Song Qingshi was startled and looked back worriedly. Yue Wuhuan only raised his eyebrows. It seemed that he was used to such a scene. He indifferently cast a wink at the immortal beside him, his beautiful calves stretched out under the feather skirt, shaking the bells on the golden shackles on his feet. He swayed them towards everyone as if inviting them to taste.

The Hidden Moon Sect's Young Master looked at him with desire. He raised his hand to grab his foot and wanted to tear off the feather skirt and drag him off to the side to play around with.

Suddenly, there was an exclamation from outside the hall, and the maids and servants fled one after another. A demon tiger rushed into the hall. Its eyes were red, staring at Yue Wuhuan, roaring in a low voice, as if it saw some delicious prey. Yue Wuhuan’s eyes began to glaze over as if he had been drugged. It was like he didn't know what fear was. He actually walked towards the demon tiger, closer and closer, seeming not to know what it was. . .

LingBao Xianzun said in surprise: "This is the show my friend arranged tonight? Such flair!"

The guests were full of drunken spirit. They were getting extremely exciting and started cheering.

The white-clothed boy finally couldn't help standing up. He pushed Jin FeiRen away, and shouted: "Stop! Don't do this! This sort of show. . . is too much!"

Jin FeiRen was a little puzzled. He had arranged a demon tiger hunting slave game tonight, but he was only going to use ordinary slaves. Why would he ever be willing to use such a stunning beauty as Yue Wuhuan? But now the atmosphere of the guests was too energetic. Yue Wuhuan knew how to ensure the guests would not be disappointed and keep the energy. The accusation of the youth beside him also made him feel like he lost face, so he sneered: "Why not? You just have to open your eyes and take a good look. If you dare to disobey me, I'll let you have a go against the beast."

The white-clothed boy's face turned pale. He opened his mouth, but he dared not make any more noises.

Seeing him approaching, the demon tiger became even more frantic and lost its wit. He grabbed Yue Wuhuan's shoulder and bit down. Yue Wuhuan’s shoulder was torn open with a big, bloody mouth. He finally woke up from his dazed state and drew back. The demon tiger still continued to grab and bite at him, trying to tear up what was trying to escape in front of him.

Song Qingshi racked the original body's memories until he found a suitable attack spell he could use. He turned the Underworld Ghost Fire into a needle as thin as cattle hair and shot it at the demon tiger's body. The demon tiger raised his head and roared, and the thin needle that should have been hit its neck hit its leg insted.

Fortunately, the poison of the Underworld Ghost Fire spread quickly in the demon tiger. The demon tiger instantly grew stiff and fell on its side After a while, it turned into a boiling corpse and evaporated.

Song Qingshi got up and walked towards Yue Wuhuan who was lying in a pool of blood. He quickly sealed the wound and pressed a few acupuncture points to stop the bleeding.

Yue Wuhuan was trembling in pain. He kept panting, his beautiful face was covered with blood, and he looked like a ghost. Looking at Song Qingshi, there was no joy of being rescued, only deep resentment and despair. Finally, before he passed out, he said in a soft voice that was almost inaudible: "I was so blind. . ."

Song Qingshi put a spirit pill in his mouth to keep his heart working.

Jin FeiRen came over and was very displeased: "Song Xianzun, why did you kill my demon tiger?"

This demon tiger was his most valuable treasure, capable of human intelligence, and able to protect his master. Much more valuable than a tired slave.

Song Qingshi put himself back into the character of the original body, and said coldly: "I want him."

Jin FeiRen smiled and said, "Was Xianxun actually moved by this display?"

Song Qingshi replied: "I will use him to test my medicine."

He wanted to use Yue Wuhuan to try various miraculous medicines to restore his body to what it used to be!

Under Song Qingshi’s deliberate misguidance, Jin FeiRen was completely fooled. The advantage of the wood spirit root system was that the natural body had a strong resilience and was a good choice for medicine refiners. Medicine Master Xianzun’s behaviour was like immortals that flew through the sky. It was hard to guess what he was thinking. Since the demon tiger was dead, there was no point in investigating it, so it's better to take this opportunity to have Song Qingshi owe him a favour.

Song Qingshi took out a bottle of his immortal pills from his mustard bag, and didn't really count out how much he took out. Instead, he directly handed them to Jin FeiRen as compensation. Refining pills were extremely beneficial to practicing cultivation. It’s just that the materials were extremely precious, and they were very hard to come by. Pills refined by the Medicine Master Xianxun himself were even more of a rarirty. Considering this was compensation for the demon tiger and a slave he was tired of playing with and might now even make it. . . this was a very sincere offer. . .

Song Qingshi was afraid that he would reject the offer, so he thought about it and then said: "This tiger has been drugged. He was overly vicious and had become deranged, so it couldn't be left as was."

Jin FeiRen hurried down the steps, erased his spiritual thoughts from Yue Wuhuan's bead and transferred them to Song Qingshi. He thanked him for discovering the tiger's madness and killing it without injuring the guests on the court and ordered someone to investigate the demon tiger being drugged.

Song Qingshi courteously paid his farewells to Manor Lord Jin and rejected his enthusiasm for sending him home with some beauties.

He picked up Yue Wuhuan, who was seriously injured and still unconscious and stepped out of this hell of jade carvings.

In hell, there were still many souls that still couldn't escape. . .

Behind him, the carefree laughter grew farther and farther away.

The blood on Yue Wuhuan's face has been wiped away, and the crow feather-like eyelashes are tightly closed, trembling slightly, fragile and beautiful.

When Song Qingshi looked at him, his heart gradually became firmer.

He suddenly remembered the story his mother told when he was a child:

There are thousands of fish from the tide pushing them into the shallow puddles on the beach.

He has no way of saving all the fish. He can only release the dying fish in his hand to the freedom of the sea.

"Because this fish cares."

#mistakenly saving the villain #mistakenly saving the villain translation #chinese novel #chinese bl #bl novel #english translation #yaoi novel #danmei novel

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whump-town · 4 years ago

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A Cumbersome and Heavy Body

Chapter Six: Looking In Their Eyes When They’re Down

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word Count: 4453

Author’s Note: The next chapter is the final chapter... somehow

I bet on losing dogs I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place By the ring Where I'll be looking in their eyes when they're down I'll be there on their side

She has no warning to prepare her for the swift sea of medical personal swarming around them. One moment she’s folding Aaron’s fingers over her own, using both hands to keep his captive between hers, and the next he’s lodged free. Her own panic spikes and she can see his tired eyes snap open with alertness, shoulders moving as he tries and fails to move his body. His deep, rasped voice calling out to her muffled by the oxygen mask they’d pulled over his face. Any movement he manages is met with a hand, his left shoulder pushed back to the stretcher, and his wrist caught swiftly and held down. He stands no chance against them.

She’s allowed to stand at the corner of the room. Left to watch as Aaron’s nose starts to bleed again, he gives a low grunt as his head begins to pound. She steps forward, moving to point it out, but she stumbles into a nurse and is met with two more guiding her right back out. One stands by her side, a hand on her bicep to keep her in place and all she can do is stand and watch them cut his clothes away. She winces at the bruises, ones he’d managed to keep hidden from her, or maybe she just can’t keep track these days there are so many. They stand out horribly-- dark greens and blacks and blues against his nearly colorless flesh. Up and down his legs and arms and chest.

He gives a soft protest as his shirt is peeled open, both of his hands shaking where they lay at his sides. Painful goosebumps breaking out over his skin. He’s lifted up, the head of the stretcher lifted so the blood pouring down his face won’t slide back down the back of his throat. His weak protest is met with a pink bucket being thrown into his lap and he takes it wordlessly. A nurse moves the mask off his face, giving it to a woman behind her to be cleaned, and Aaron falls forward, caught by the swift-handed nurse, as he throws up. All this movement too much for his stomach to take.

The whites of his eyes are all Emily can see and she shouts, being held back by that nurse, as he slumps back against the stretcher. She watches them pass things between one another, doing everything but ignoring how cold he obviously is. She doesn’t get a clear name of the drug they press into him, just watches it get passed to the woman standing over Aaron’s shoulder. It’s as if she’s watching in lapsed time seconds behind every action that takes place. Having no idea what they’re doing or what’s wrong just that Aaron has stopped moving, laying still and calm while they manipulate his limbs. She watches the needle sink in and frowns, waiting for some sort of reaction. Watching for whatever is that they’re waiting for. Hotch lets out a little kicked breath, leg twitching as he rasps something incoherently, and falls limp once again.

“What--” she never gets the chance to ask.

They start kicking the stretcher, forcing the wheels into motion as they scramble overtop one another. Placing machines on every side of Aaron and pulling the guard rail up. She’s pulled back not allowed to follow.

“If you’ll wait in here,” she’s left in a hall or something like one. There are some chairs thrown against a wall and two shitting vending machines with overpriced snacks in one and shit coffee in the other. “Someone will come out and speak with you shortly.”

What’s she to do until then?

“Da-Dave?” she hears his groggy reply. A slurred, panic not yet set in, mumbled “yea”. “He’s -- We’re in the hospital,” she says, restlessly walking the cold hall of the waiting room up and down in slow lazy circles. “Pneumonia, they think. Probably, uhm, maybe caused by the radiation. Something to do with -- with scarring.” She pushes her hair back from her face with her palm, the messy ponytail she’d managed running out the door isn’t cutting it anymore. The cold sweat dying off as her adrenaline goes with it. She wants a shower and to see Hotch.

“It’s -- It’s not a big deal,” she mumbles, speaking far too quickly for Dave to even get a chance to get something out in the way of conversation. “He’ll probably be fine. Or, well, I guess I don’t really know. They won’t tell me anything yet. They just took him, Dave. They just took him from me and left me in here in this fucking room that’s freezing.” She motions up to the unapproachable white walls extended all around her, shaking her head. “I’m sure he’s fine,” she mumbles, frustratedly. “I just wish I could--”

She wishes she could do something, give him a kidney or a quarter of her liver so that this little game can come to its falling action and find them naïve and drunk off winning. She’d return to them in a heartbeat and never go back to London. She’s not sure she’ll ever be able to leave Hotch again, can’t spare the thought of what shit he’ll get into if she’s not around. Maybe she knows too much for him to want her to (or maybe they’ve developed a sort of codependency). But she’s learned her lesson and she’s not sure what Hotch’s is but he’s probably figured it out too. Certainly, that means they have just reached the climax of this awful story, she thinks around every turn it’s here and finds herself pumping the breaks never hearing the right words.

“It’s aggressive, abnormal.”

“It’s spreading rapidly to his other organs.”

“We’ll combine the chemo and the radiation but all we can do is cross our fingers.”

Where’s the ringing of that bell that’s downstairs in the treatment facility Emily drives him to? She knows what it’s for and she’s never heard it ring. Not once. Someone should get to, after all the people she’s seen during those trips, and not a single one has done it yet. When does it end?

Because they’ve done the hair loss. She’s seen him puke so many times and wondered how he managed to still bring something up. Watched him cry in the front seat of the car in pain and lay so still, sleep so deeply she thought he was dead. They do the walks the doctor said would help but unless she’s supposed to be harnessing the sun to shoot into his veins alongside the poison they pump into him she’s not sure what else to do. How much more do they need to take? She’ll give them an arm or sell her soul but there has to be some sort of answer. A place, an option, some time, or someplace where they get to win. So Dave can make them a celebratory dinner Aaron won’t eat but it’s not about what pasta is chosen. It’s about the giant, flared office chair that Derek will roll him out on a little too fast. Smiling no matter how propped up by pillows that he has to be and with as many blankets and layers of clothes that he wants until he’s warm. So that he can rest his head against the side, curling into himself as he falls asleep to their laughter.

It’s about winning.

Fuck, she just wants to beat this.

“Emily? You with me, kid?”

She snaps back to reality. To the hall. “What? Yeah, yeah.” She walks over to the chairs along the wall, falling into one and folding into herself. Letting her head fall into her palm. “I’m here,” she mumbles.

Dave is sitting up in his bed, working his body into motion. “I know you said he’ll be fine,” and honestly, he does believe her. “I’m going to come down there, okay? You don’t need to be alone and I’ll bring real coffee, don’t drink whatever they have.” The doctors have Aaron, he’s in the best place that he can be. Emily is in the worst. “Okay? Does that work, Emily?”

She nods her head, humming, before pushing her hair back again and forcing herself upright. “Yeah,” she rasps. “Yeah, that’s okay.” She wipes her mouth, moving up her face and drying the tears sliding down as best as she can. If not scoffing at herself for crying in the first place. “I’ll see you in a second?”

Dave sighs, nodding. “Yeah,” he replies. “I’ll be there. Hang in there, kiddo.”

She has two degrees, you know. A bachelor’s degree in Criminal Justice and a master’s degree from Yale. She’s not stupid or oblivious but the ability to obtain a college education has never been a good determinant of intelligence. To compare her ability to compartmentalize her life recently would lend some light to her naivety. She might have gotten the grades to get into Yale (and more importantly the money) but here she is sitting at the hospital refusing to see what’s right in front of her.

What good has college done any of them?

He could have owned Roy’s old shop in town and raised Jack there instead of here. Where the local kids run around with no shoes or shirts and he greets each of them by name and exchanges good grades for candy bars. With a back porch that he stands on at eight-thirty calling Jack home for the third time until sweaty and breathless his son pops up with a grin and rushes right past him into the house for water. Where Haley watches him build swing sets and trampolines for birthdays and Christmas with a smile and a shake of her head because Aaron’s the farther thing from handy but he’s going to get this damn thing built.

He probably would have made it so much longer, cancer or not.

But he doesn’t want that, no matter what she convinces herself. That life she just captured wasn’t his, it wasn’t a choice he’s ever had. He’d never be okay there where his father’s ghost could latch onto him, where it would follow him into his own grave, and, if he wasn’t careful, Jack’s too. He got away because it was the only way he’d be able to live and Haley decided she didn’t want to live without him and after all this time he doesn’t want to live without her either but he has. And, if he had a choice, he’d keep doing it.

“Aaron Hotc--”

She stands, nearly zombified with her sluggish amble. The night has worn her down. After spending way too long sleeping in his office chair and managing to wake-up to every little bump and hitch into the night only for this to happen-- she’s on edge. “Yes?” she responds to the doctor. “That’s me, I’m here for Hotch. For--For Aaron.”

The doctor nods, “good, good. He’s doing well. We’re giving him steroids for the pneumonia. I’d like to give you a projected release time but I’m afraid I can’t do that until I see how he takes to the steroids. The pneumonia will need to clear up a bit before I suggest sending him home again.” The doctor flips Hotch’s chart closed, tucking it under his arm and motioning with his head for her to follow. “I can take you back to see him if you’d like.”

She nods, pulling out her phone to send Dave a text, and lets him lead her back.

They give him back to her worse than when she left him.

His dark blood is harrowing where it’s pooled and splashed along his pale skin. They’ve managed to poke another hole in him, she’s not sure what this one is for, but she sighs and prepares for his confused pain over it. He’s attached to so many machines that it should be daunting but after sitting and watching chemo dribble into him for hours they are nothing. She knows they don’t hurt, maybe emotionally as she watches his heart rate and knows the beat is too fast to be safe. They don’t hurt him, though, and that’s all that really matters.

They’ve been lucky, as lucky as they can be considering. They really haven’t spent that much time in the hospital and even less time compared to when they’re all active duty and not on varying levels of “in” and “out” of the field. Less time than when they’re chasing serial killers around. Maybe they were taking it for granted or maybe luck is just sand in an hour-glass and it was really only a matter of time before it started pouring in the other direction.

With a sigh she slides into the chair they’ve left at his side. There’s no doubt in her mind that this is the first domino, she’s read about it plenty. The nosebleed a while back, the first one when he was still working, was what she thought would start them off and it terrified her to see it so soon. Having this time, though, has allowed her some naivety to believe the domino might never fall. That the things every blog she’d read had to say, every book, and pamphlet and article, was wrong. Not Hotch. That wouldn’t happen to him.

But this hospitalization will end it all.

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

He thinks about death less than he had before. All he has is death, it’s of little importance these days in its abundance. Experiences concern him a great deal more. Life often feels like an endless source, no matter how much you take when you return you will find it full and swelling with its richness. In reality, it’s a stopped sink and they’re scraping the bottom. Everything they have is numbered and he watches them find mindless reasons to be here. Reid with his endless facts, spending hours explaining, again and again, each element until Aaron’s tired mind can understand. Never commenting about how these are all things Aaron had, at some point, understood. Maybe a matter of days ago, maybe longer but now he watches Reid silently, with little clarity. Garcia hides things around the room so that she can sneak in long after visiting hours are over under the disguise of getting something “oh, please, it’s super important” to sit with him. He enjoys hearing her coming, smiling without even opening his eyes and knowing it’s her. Her happy giggles as she greets him with a kiss to the temple and a soft retelling of her slick little plan.

He taught JJ to dance before her wedding, which feels like forever ago now. He remembers how hesitant she’d been to place her hand in his, anxiously messing up every move, and stepping on his toes so many times he’d started to think she might take them off. He convinced her to dance in socks for the sake of his toes and so that she could master the motions. It had given them both the perfect distraction, if not selfish, to have to think about what they knew Emily was planning to do. At her wedding, she’d made him dance with her again, beaming the entire time and he’d be lying if he said he was immensely proud of how far she’d come. She didn’t step on his toes once and when they’d parted she’d kissed his cheek and thanked him.

Now she comes in here and forces him up and into motion. The doctor says he should spend more time trying to keep active, even if it’s just a stroll up and down the hall or moving from the bed to the wheelchair and going outside for a moment. JJ makes him dance. He’s clumsy now, lacking the control he’d had not that long ago. Now she’s the one reminding when to step and she takes it far easier on him than he had on her. Pushing until he can’t stand it and the two of them just lean and sway but this time she has no hesitation stepping closer to him. No second thoughts about wrapping her arms where she wants them and hiding her face against his shoulder when she cries.

He sleeps well after her visits and the weary weight of his limbs, though painful, is solidifying. He can feel his body, take some sort of ownership of it before the night calls him home and he twists and turns and is lost to it once again.

The greatest joy he can obtain is not in a direct action so much as a lack of action.

“You have pneumonia, not an identity crisis, let me cut the beard.”

After they cut what was left of his hair off he kept shaving for… autonomy reasons. A way to maintain the semblance of control over his life and his body. Mostly, though, because there’s something about the simple, repetitive nature of shaving that soothes his mind. So he’d continued to shave, the one thing that started this whole mess.

“Look at that pretty boy,” Derek jostles Reid the most about it. “Hotch can still grow a better beard than you!” And it’s funny, it really is, and sort of astonishing. The doctors brush it off, it happens, they say, which is fine. The beard, though thinned, covers his gaunt cheeks and the sickening pallor of his face. In the right light, it does draw more than unnecessary attention to his poor color but they stick to seeing it as some sort of win. Some way in which Hotch has overcome… a way to ignore the ways he doesn’t.

Plus, Emily hates it.

“Oh leave him alone,” Dave always defends him.

He only keeps it because Emily hates it. It’s the little things, you know?

Everything they do, everything he does, is just a tactic to ignore the pneumonia. Coping is, well, it’s not going well for them.

The snow does not let up and it starts to complicate their days. A foot accumulates and it just keeps going and that love Emily had for it is starting to dissipate. She gets snowed in, too much snow falling and she can’t get it cleared to leave her house. It’s really not that big of a deal that he spends a single day alone but it does scare her about what could happen if no one is there.

She calls him but he’s started this awful habit of not picking his phone up or forgetting to charge it. He doesn’t answer.

He considers this perfect timing.

He doesn’t sleep well that night at all. He can’t get comfortable and maxed out on painkillers and his oxygen at a poor level but stable, each second feels like hours. A nurse comes in every so often, coaching him through breathing deeply and evenly, but he ends up with a nebulizer or a coughing fit. He does fall asleep for a few hours a little after one in the morning. Chest aching from the coughs, a sharp cutting pain across his ribs, he’s too tired to stay away. He’s vaguely away of people moving around him, the mask coming back down over his face.

When he wakes, just a few minutes before Emily calls, he’s in a panic. Laid out on his back, sucking in weak, thin breathes around lung fulls of fluid. There’s a moment, suspended, light-headed where he feels the hands of various staff members on him. They speak to him but he’s moments behind, hearing their warning but not understanding until his brain is on fire and he’s sitting more upright than he had been before.

He tries to pull in a breath and can’t. On the right side of his chest, is a sharp pain that increases to stabbing when he tries to keep breathing. His chest tight like a vice, as if decreasing the size of which his lung can expand.

“Just keep breathing Agent Hotchner.”

He watches the doctor pull out a needle, his vision swimming out of focus as he’s reclined back.

“The needle aspiration isn’t going to work--” It certainly doesn’t feel like it’s helping. “Hand me a scalpel.”

His last thought, just as the scalpel breaks his skin and the doctor grunts as he manipulates the wound he’s just created, is that Emily is going to be fucking pissed when she comes back. He’s just not sure if that anger is going to be pointed his way or theirs.

Derek comes through and spends his day shoveling everyone’s drive-ways with this wacky machine she’s never seen before and hits her house first, freeing her. As grateful as she is, she sends him off with a rushed appreciative tap to the butt and leaves. Luckily most of the machines they brought in have been taken away. That doesn’t mean they don’t tell her what happened.

“We had to intubate--”

She can see him in the bed from here. His hospital gown just sort of thrown over his chest and loose, oversized material leaves him bare enough that she can see the tubes and wires sneaking here and there. Crossed and varying in color and size. Her eyes are drawn to the chest tube-- a thin white thing that protrudes between his ribs, the gown raised to leave it easily accessible. Though she knows it’s not life-threatening, it’s a taunt just being here. For now, it’s a wound easily fixable. It’ll take longer for his body to heal but it’ll go away eventually. It’s just the beginning.

“He’s alright now?” Calm overcomes her and instead of seething with the anger that she feels, all she knows is this strange gratitude that it wasn’t all somehow much worse. That she doesn’t have to come in and see the tube, his head extended back and body motionless. Not even his breaths his own. That he’s just beyond this door watching whatever daytime TV channel Reid left on last time he was here.

The doctor is expecting there to be more of a fight, there typically is. All he finds is a weary, tiredness. “He’s doing much better. His oxygen has improved and we hope to move on from the mask this afternoon to something less obstructive like a canal.”

She nods, “and the chest tube? When can you take that out?”

The doctor smiles, realizing his potentially hopeful news. “The fluid from his lungs is draining nicely, so with some luck and if he continues to react well to the treatment we’re considering removing the chest tube and releasing him by the end of the week.”

She knows better than to get hopeful, she nods. “Okay.” She nods her head towards the door, “can I?”

The doctor nods and she leaves him there in the hall.

“I see you’ve been busy.”

He means to nod but winces, moving his left hand over his chest to lightly touch the ribs the tube sits between. “Something like that,” he says, pulling clumsily at the mask until he manages to pull it down under his chin. “Still enjoying the snow,” he motions to her coat, a single finger and a grin pointing out the small collection she has of it still on her.

Her sigh is answer enough and she bats it away, flicking some at him for good measure. “I hate it,” she puffs, falling into the chair beside him. Being here again, having him just a foot away soothes her nerves more than she thought possible. It makes her feel kind of silly for being so anxious in the first place but then she looks over and sees the tube and the deep angry wound around it and remembers why she was scared in the first place. “What’re you watching?” she asks, standing back up. She goes to the little closet near the door, pulling down on the blankets the nurses showed her are kept there. It’s nothing to her, all of this, and him it’s all just so… normal.

Careful to spread one over him, she pulls the other around herself. Waiting a few hovering seconds for him to tuck himself underneath it and settle before she sits back down.

With a tired sigh, looking every bit as exhausted as she feels, he mumbles, “Judge Judy.”

She glances at him, smirking because he’ll never admit it but he loves Judge Judy. Loves the mindless drama. It is nice, though, and she soaks it in. She couldn’t sleep last night and couldn’t sit still in that house without him. She’d washed all the bedsheets, made the beds, washed dishes, and even mopped. All for the night to fall and for her to, once again, find herself stuck. Can’t sleep and can’t relax.

“I missed you yesterday,” he admits, watching her eyes drop shut as she falls asleep.

She hums, squishing herself deeper into the chair. She’s not ready to admit just how much she missed him-- okay, maybe she’s a little dependent on him but it’s hard not to miss someone you see every day. “I’m sure you did,” she sneaks a glance up at him, smiling. “Poor old Hotch, nobody here to eat his jello or sit around and watch Judge Judy with him.”It makes him smile and that’s worth everything. “I missed you too.”

Her phone goes off and she spares it a glance before frowning. He raises an eyebrow and she shakes her head, “Reid.” She answers it and hears exactly what she knew was coming. She nods her head along as he speaks and agrees to help him. “Okay, be there in a second. See ya.” She pockets her phone. “He’s a genius but he can’t drive in the snow. He needs me to come pick him up.” Leaning down she kisses Aaron’s forehead and rolls her eyes. It’s snowing hard still and she’s driving Hotch’s SUV so she can get through it and besides he wants to come here anyway so it’s not that big of a deal. One ride isn’t going to kill her. “Behave,” she mumbles, poking his arm and she means and he knows it. “I love you but I will kick your ass when I come back, got me?”

He glances at her and moves his eyes back to Judge Judy, “I got ya.” It doesn’t occur to him to return the sentiment. This is the third time she’s told him that she loves him and he hasn’t said it back once. Not verbally and he’s slacking in the “showing” it department. But he hasn’t got the fear that she does, he doesn’t think he’ll run out of time to say it back to her.

That makes him just as naïve as she is.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan, @lazyhater

#so....#what do we think?#are we enjoying ourselves?#I certainly hope so #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #spencer reid #david rossi #penelope garcia #derek morgan

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