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justice4gyeongsu · 4 months ago

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━━━ 'CHAPTER EIGHT' [WHEN DAWN BREAKS]

SYNOPSIS ➢ if only there was an on and off switch to your mind, that way, no one gets hurt.

PAIRING ➢ lee suhyeok x male!reader

AU ➢ enemies-to-lovers au!

CONTENT WARNING ➢ this chapter contains; flashbacks, near death experience, alot of angst, loneliness, depression, embarrassment, some fluff, exclusion, reoccuring ptsd, mentions of gore, blood, cannibalism [let me know if i missed any!]

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you quicken your pace, your heart racing as you scan the windows for a safe haven. the moon casts eerie shadows on the walls, making you feel like you're being watched. you can still hear the muffled voices of your peers, begging you to return, but you press on. as you turn a corner, you spot a door slightly ajar. you push it open slowly, hoping to find solace inside. the room is dimly lit, with only a sliver of moonlight illuminating the space. you step inside, closing the door behind you, and lean against it to catch your breath. but your reprieve is short-lived. you hear the sound of shuffling footsteps outside, growing louder. the two zombies you saw earlier are heading straight for you. you frantically scan the room for an escape or a place to hide, but there's nowhere to go.

suddenly, you remember the flashbacks that have been haunting you. the feeling of helplessness, the fear of being trapped. it's all coming back. you're paralyzed with fear, unable to move or speak. the zombies reach the door, their moans growing louder as they try to push their way in. you're trapped, alone and defenseless. and then, just as suddenly as they started, the moans stop. the zombies move on, unaware of your presence. you're left standing there, shaking and gasping for breath, and you realize they cant see you.

you know you need to find something to protect yourself with, but your past continues to haunt you, threatening to consume you at every turn. you turn to the corner of the room to see someone looming in the darkness, you back away slowly. you squint your eyes, trying to be as cautious as possible if its a zombie. but the person is as still as the wind. just, standing. you shake your head before looking again and seeing the person is gone, “what the fuck..?” you grip onto your hair as you lean downwards trying to muster any sanity you had left. you looked around the room and tried your best to see. you walked over to the door you came from and turned on the light switch. you squinted while looking around now to see it was another room you had never been in.

you look to see an espresso maker, comfy chairs with round tables in the middle of them. “huh?” you ask aloud. looking around more to see milk and other foods squished on the floor with splatters of blood on the walls. you huff before realizing it was one of the teachers lounges. there was one per floor and you had never been inside one until now.

as you take in the scene, you notice a figure slumped in one of the comfy chairs, a cup of espresso still clutched in their hand. you approach cautiously, noticing the teacher's nameplate on the desk: "ms. myung". you remember her as the history teacher who always had a warm smile and a love for social justice. but now, her smile is frozen in a permanent grimace, her eyes cloudy and lifeless. you see a bite wound on her arm, and the espresso cup is still clutched in her hand, as if she was interrupted mid-sip.

you feel a pang of sadness and regret, wondering what happened to her. she had a slit in her throat, she wasn't bitten. was she alone when the outbreak occurred? did she try to find help? as you search the room, you find a small notebook hidden between the couch cushions. it appears to be ms. myung’s journal, detailing her experiences during the outbreak. you begin to flip through the pages, reading her frantic scribbles about the chaos and terror that unfolded. the last entry catches your eye: "i've barricaded myself in here, hoping to wait it out. but i can hear someone outside. oh god, i can hear them."

you realize that ms. myung didn't make it, and that you're now alone in the teacher's lounge. you take a deep breath, trying to shake off the feeling of unease. you know you need to keep moving, to find a way out of the school and into safety. but for now, you take a moment to honor ms. myung’s memory, and the sanctuary she tried to create in this small room.

as you finish reading the journal, you feel a sense of respect for ms. myung’s bravery. you decide to honor her memory by cleaning up the mess in the lounge. you start by carefully removing the broken cups and saucers from the tables, and then move on to wiping down the surfaces with a dirty apron you found on the floor. as you clean, you notice that the room is surprisingly peaceful, despite the chaos that unfolded prior. you find yourself feeling a sense of calm wash over you, as if ms. myung’s spirit is still present, watching over you. you continue cleaning, scrubbing the bloodstains from the walls and sweeping up the debris. as you work, you start to feel a sense of purpose, like you're taking control of your situation.

once the room is tidy, you take a step back to admire your handiwork. the lounge looks almost like it did before the outbreak, except for the eerie silence. you notice a small plant on the windowsill, still alive and green despite the chaos. you smile, feeling a sense of hope. just then, you hear a faint noise coming from the hallway. it's soft at first, but grows louder. you freeze, wondering if it's another survivor, or something more sinister. you slowly approach the door, listening intently. the noise sounds like footsteps, heavy and deliberate. your heart starts racing as you wonder who, or what, is coming your way.

as you wait in silence, your senses heightened, the footsteps grow louder and closer. you can tell that whoever or whatever is making the noise is trying to be stealthy, but the creaking of the old school's floors beneath their feet gives them away. your heart is racing, and your mind is flooded with worst-case scenarios. suddenly, the footsteps stop right outside the door. you hold your breath, expecting the door to burst open at any moment. but instead, there's a pause. you wonder if whoever it is has noticed the tidy room and is suspicious.

the silence is oppressive, and you find yourself straining to hear any sound. that's when you notice the smell of ms. myung's decomposing body has grown stronger, and you realize that it might give away your hiding spot. you try to hold your breath, hoping that the smell won't waft out into the hallway and alert whoever is on the other side of the door. your heart is racing, and your muscles are tense, ready to spring into action if necessary. just as you're starting to think that the person on the other side of the door has given up and left, you hear a faint scratching sound. it's soft at first, but grows louder, and you realize that someone is trying to pick the lock. your heart sinks, and you wonder if you'll be able to escape.

as the scratching sound continues, you prepare yourself for the worst. but then, suddenly, it stops. you hear footsteps walking away from the door, growing fainter with each passing moment.

you let out a sigh of relief, realizing that whoever it was has given up and left. you wait for a few moments to ensure they're really gone, then slowly emerge from under the table. as you stretch your cramped limbs, you can't help but feel a wave of exhaustion wash over you. the adrenaline that had been pumping through your veins just moments before begins to wear off, leaving you feeling drained. you look around the dark room, trying to decide what to do next. but as you glance at the comfortable-looking couch, you can't resist the temptation to lie down and rest. you collapse onto the couch, feeling the soft cushions envelop you. despite the eerie silence and the smell of ms. myung's body, you find yourself drifting off to sleep.

as you succumb to exhaustion, you're vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps echoing in the distance. but they're faint, and you're too tired to care. you fall into a deep sleep, surrounded by the eerie silence of the abandoned school.

you sleep fitfully, haunted by dreams of the outbreak and the chaos that ensued. but it's not the nightmares that wake you up - it's the smell. ms. myung's body has started to decompose rapidly, and the stench is overwhelming. you try to ignore it, but it's no use. the smell is so potent that it's making your eyes water and your stomach churn. you know you have to do something. you can't stay in the room with the body any longer. but what can you do? you can't just leave it here, and you can't bury it. the school is surrounded by zombies, and you can't risk going outside.

as you ponder your options, you look around the room frantically. that's when you notice the window. it's open, and you can see the ground below. it's a long way down, but you know it's your only option. with a sense of grim determination, you approach ms. myung's body. you try not to look at her face, but you can't help it. her eyes are cloudy and unfocused, and her skin is gray and decaying. you take a deep breath and grab her arms, trying to lift her up. she's heavier than you expected, but you manage to hoist her up and drag her to the window. as you look out the window, you see the zombies shambling around below. you know that's where ms. myung's body will end up.

with a sense of sadness and regret, you push her body out the window. you hear a thud as she hits the ground, and then the zombies close in. you watch in horror as they devour her body, feeling a sense of guilt and responsibility. you know you had to do it, but that doesn't make it any easier. as you turn away from the window, you realize that the room is quiet once again. the smell is still there, but it's not as overpowering as it was before. you take a deep breath and try to calm down, knowing that you have to keep moving forward. you can't stay here forever, and you need to find a way out of the school.

as the darkness closes in around you, the shadows on the walls seem to grow longer and more menacing. you can't shake the image of ms. myung's body being devoured by the zombies, her eyes frozen in a permanent scream. you feel a wave of grief wash over you, and before you know it, you're sobbing uncontrollably. you collapse onto the couch, burying your face in the cushions as you cry. the thought of your dad, who you lost in the outbreak, comes flooding back. you remember the way he smiled, the way he laughed. you miss him so much, and the pain feels like it's tearing you apart. as you sob, you start to feel like your dad is haunting you. you imagine him standing in front of you, his eyes disappointed and sad. you feel like you've let him down, like you should have been able to protect him. you remember the last time you saw him. the guilt and grief are overwhelming, and you cry until you're exhausted. your body shakes, your throat hurts, and your eyes feel raw. finally, you drift off to sleep, haunted by the memory of your dad and the trauma of the past few days.

as you sleep, you're tormented by nightmares. you dream of your dad, of ms. myung, and of the zombies that are still out there, waiting for you. you dream of being chased, of being trapped, and of being unable to escape. you wake up periodically, gasping for breath, your heart racing with fear. but eventually, you fall into a deep, troubled sleep, haunted by the memories of what you've lost once again.

you wake up to an eerie silence, the only sound being the creaking of the old school's wooden floorboards. you're shivering, despite the warmth of the summer morning. your body aches all over, but your injured shoulder hurts the most. you try to move it, but a sharp pain shoots through your arm, making you wince. as you sit up, you notice that the room is still dark, the only light coming from a small crack in the curtains. you try to stand up, but your legs feel like jelly. you're not sure if it's from the lack of food, the pain, or the trauma of the past couple of hours.

you look around the room, trying to remember where you are and what happened. the memories come flooding back, and you feel a wave of grief wash over you. you remember ms. myung's body, your dad's sacrifice, and your peers you had left the night prior. you try to shake off the memories and focus on your current situation. you need to find food, water, and medical supplies for your shoulder. you need to keep moving and find a way out of the school, your mind starts to wander. you think about your classmates, the ones you left behind when you fled the school. you regret leaving them, wondering if they're still alive, if they're okay.

but as you think about it more, you realize that you weren't ready to go back. you needed to leave the school, to get away from the chaos and the danger. you needed to save yourself, even if it meant leaving others that tested your limits behind. you think about how you were feeling before the outbreak, how trapped and suffocated you felt. you were struggling in school, struggling with your own personal demons. and then the outbreak happened, and everything changed. you realize that maybe, just maybe, the outbreak was your chance to escape, to start anew. but at what cost? you think about your dad, about ms. myung, about all the others who didn't make it. your mind is a jumble of emotions, regrets, and what-ifs. you're not sure what's coming your way, but you know you need to be ready. you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. you need to be strong, need to be prepared. you can't change the past, but you can try to survive the present. and maybe, just maybe, you can find a way to make a better future.

you slowly make your way to the teachers' cabinets, hoping to find some food or supplies. as you open the first cabinet, you're met with a disappointing sight. the shelves are bare, except for a few empty wrappers and crumbs. it looks like someone else had the same idea and cleaned out the cabinet.

you move on to the next cabinet, but it's the same story. either someone else got there first, or the teachers didn't stock up on much food. you're starting to lose hope, your stomach growling with hunger. as you open the third cabinet, you notice something shiny on the top shelf. you reach up and grab it, hoping it's a can of food or a bottle of water. but instead, it's a set of keys. you examine the keys, wondering what they unlock. are they for the school doors? the teachers' offices? or something else entirely? you put the keys in your pocket, thinking they might come in handy later. as you continue to search the cabinets, you find a few scraps of food, but it's not much. a stale granola bar, a few crackers, and a half-empty bottle of water. you take the food and drink, grateful for anything at this point. as you eat and drink, you think about the keys and what they might unlock. could they lead you to safety? or just more danger?

examining the keys more closely, your heart skips a beat as you see a car key among them. it's a silver key with a familiar logo on it - the logo of the nurses car. you feel a surge of hope and excitement. could this be the key to your nurse’s car? could the car still be parked outside, waiting for you to escape? if you can get to the car, you might have a chance to escape the school and find safety. you look around the room again, this time with a sense of purpose. you need to find out if the car is still outside, and if it's safe to get to. you approach the window and carefully peer out, scanning the parking lot for any signs of danger. as you look out the window, you see the parking lot is eerily quiet. there are a few cars parked, but no signs of movement. you see the nurse’s car, parked in its usual spot, looking untouched. your heart races with excitement and fear. you know you have to try and get to the car, but you're not sure what dangers lie ahead.

you decide to leave the classroom and make a quiet dash for the car. you carefully open the door and peer out into the hallway, listening for any signs of danger. the coast seems clear, so you step out into the hallway, trying to make as little noise as possible. as you walk, your heart is racing with anticipation. you're not sure what you'll find outside, or if you'll make it to the car without being seen. just as you're approaching the stairs, you accidentally drop the keys. they clatter loudly on the floor, echoing down the hallway.

you freeze, holding your breath. you know you've made a mistake. at first, there's silence. but then, you hear the unmistakable shuffling footsteps of zombies. they've heard the noise, and they're coming for you. you see two zombies emerge from a classroom to your left, their eyes fixed on you. they're fast-moving, and they're getting closer. you know you have to act fast. you quickly pick up the keys and start to move down the hallway, trying to find a side room or a hiding place. but the zombies are getting closer, and you know you won't be able to outrun them for much longer.

you quickly turn around and head down the stairs, your heart racing with fear. you can hear them as their footsteps echoing off the walls while they give chase. you take the stairs two at a time, your eyes fixed on the landing below. you can't afford to slip and fall now. as you reach the bottom of the stairs, you see the main hallway stretching out before you. it's empty and silent, but you know that won't last for long.

you start to run, your feet pounding the floor as you sprint down the hallway. you can hear the zombies behind you, their groans and footsteps getting closer and closer. you pass by the school office, the library, each one a reminder of the life you once knew. but now, they're just empty rooms, devoid of life and hope. you keep running, your eyes fixed on the front doors. you can see the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and you know that freedom is just a few feet away. but as you approach the doors, you hear the zombies closing in. their arms outstretched and their mouths open wide.

you burst through the doors and out into the sunlight, gasping for air. you don't dare look back, continuing to run, your eyes fixed on the parking lot and the safety of the silver car. as you emerge from the school, you're greeted by a sea of undead faces. every single zombie outside the school turns their attention towards you, their eyes fixed on you with a hungry gleam. you see zombies of all shapes and sizes, their bodies twisted and distorted by the infection. some are slow-moving, while others are faster and more agile. you start to run, your feet pounding the pavement as you sprint towards the parking lot. but with every step, you feel like you're being pulled into a nightmare.

the zombies are closing in on you from all sides, their moans and groans growing louder and more intense. you see a zombie teacher, her eyes cloudy and unfocused, reaching out for you with a grasping hand. you see a zombie student, his face twisted in a snarl, running towards you with an unnatural gait. you see zombies everywhere, their numbers seemingly endless. you keep running, your heart racing with fear. you can't afford to look back, can't afford to hesitate. you have to keep moving, no matter what.

approaching the parking lot, you see the nurse’s car waiting for you, its doors unlocked and its engine ready to roar to life. but between you and the car is a sea of undead, their arms outstretched and their mouths open wide. you take a deep breath and keep running, your eyes fixed on the car. you're almost there. just a few more feet. just a few more seconds.

you reach the car and grab the door handle, yanking it open with a surge of adrenaline. you dive inside, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it just as a zombie is about to grab you. you're safe, for the moment. you're trapped, but you're alive. you look around, taking stock of your surroundings. the car is just as your. you see the keys still in the ignition, and you turn them, starting the engine. the car roars to life, and you feel a surge of power and freedom. you put it in gear and start to move, but you're surrounded by zombies. they're everywhere, their faces pressed against the windows, their arms reaching out for you.

you inch forward, trying to navigate through the sea of undead. they're slow-moving, but there are so many of them. you're not sure if you'll be able to make it out alive. as you move, you hear the zombies scratching and clawing at the car. you see them trying to get in, trying to get to you. you know you can't let them. you keep moving, slowly but surely. you're trying to find a way out, trying to find a way to safety. but for now, you're trapped in this car, surrounded by the undead.

“fuck!” you curse, as you try to move the car, you realize that it's not going anywhere. the zombies are piling up underneath the car, their bodies stacking up like a gruesome barricade. the car starts to lift off the ground, its tires spinning futilely as it tries to gain traction. you're trapped, surrounded by the undead and unable to escape. the car is stuck, lifted off the ground by the sheer weight of the zombies. you're starting to feel a sense of panic, wondering how you'll get out of this situation. the zombies keep coming, piling up underneath the car and making it harder and harder to escape. you see them crawling under the car, their arms reaching up for you like grasping fingers.

you try to rock the car back and forth, hoping to dislodge the zombies and get some traction. but it's no use - there are too many of them, and the car is stuck fast. you're starting to feel a sense of desperation, wondering if you'll ever escape. the zombies are closing in, their moans and groans growing louder and more intense. you know you have to think fast, or you'll be trapped forever. as you look around, you see that the zombies are starting to climb onto the car, their fingers scratching at the windows and doors. you know you have to act fast, or you'll be overwhelmed.

you start to frantically search the car for anything that can help you escape. you check the glove compartment, the center console, but there's nothing that can help you. as you're searching, the car starts to sway back and forth. the zombies are pushing against it, trying to tip it over. you hear the metal creaking and groaning under the pressure. you grab onto the door handle to steady yourself as the car rocks violently. you see the zombies outside, their faces twisted in a snarl as they push against the car. the car's tires screech in protest as it's pushed from side to side. you're starting to feel a sense of motion sickness, your stomach lurching with each sway.

you try to hold on, but it's getting harder and harder. the zombies are relentless, pushing and pushing until the car is teetering on two wheels. you're not sure how much longer the car can take it. you're starting to feel a sense of dread, wondering if you'll be trapped inside when it finally tips over.

you close your eyes and start to pray, begging for a miracle. you're not sure if anyone is listening, but you're desperate for a way out.

"please, god, help me," you whisper, your voice shaking with fear. "i don't want to die like this. i don't want to be trapped in this car with these...things." you feel a sense of desperation wash over you as the car continues to sway. you're running out of time, and you know it. "please, just get me out of here," you pray, your eyes squeezed shut. "i'll do anything. just don't let me die like this."

as you pray, you feel a sense of calm wash over you. it's a small sense of peace, but it's enough to give you hope. you open your eyes and look around, trying to think of a new plan. the zombies are still pushing against the car, but you notice something that stops your train of thought. you hear a muffled, loud voice echoing through the air. it's hard to make out what the voice is saying, but it's loud enough to get the zombies' attention. the undead horde suddenly stops pushing against the car and turns towards the source of the noise. they begin to run, their slow, shuffling gait quickly turning into a frantic sprint.

you follow their gaze and see that they're running towards the school's outside speakers, which are mounted on the walls and poles around the campus. the voice is coming from the speakers, and it's getting louder by the second.

as you crack open the window, the voice on the intercom grows louder, its words becoming clearer. your heart skips a beat as you tune in to the message. "...we'll come get you, so stay put. got it?" suhyeok's voice echoes through the air, sending a shiver down your spine. your pulse quickens at the sound of his voice, and you can't help but wonder - is he talking to you? is he really coming to save you?

"cheongsan-ah," suhyeok continues, his tone laced with a hint of desperation. "i know what you'll say, but we can't hear you here. so don't go anywhere. wait for us. you really can't go anywhere, okay?" you stifle a laugh, biting your lip to hold back the chuckle of disbelief. the situation is too absurd, too surreal. the harsh reality sets in, a cold dose of skepticism tempering your fragile hope. of course, suhyeok wouldn't go out of his way to find you. why would anyone bother to save you? you're not exactly the most important person in the world.

the bitter truth echoes in your mind: you're on your own, and you always have been. no one's coming to rescue you, no hero's going to swoop in and save the day. it's just you, alone and adrift in a sea of chaos. the thought stings, but it's a familiar ache. you've grown accustomed to relying only on yourself, to expecting nothing from others.

suhyeok's voice crackles through the speaker once more, his words trembling with emotion. "..y/n-ah.." your heart skips a beat as you hear your name, the sound sending

shivers down your spine. you instinctively look up at the speaker, as if expecting to see suhyeok standing there.

"im...im not sure..." he clears his throat, his voice laced with uncertainty. "im not sure if you can hear this. please, be safe." the whispered words are meant for himself, but you catch every one, and they pierce your heart like a gentle dagger. tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you feel your body begin to shake.

"if you can hear me, i need you to meet us at the music room. we need you, come back." suhyeok's voice is stern, as if he's speaking directly in front of you. the words wrap around you like a warm embrace, and you feel a glimmer of hope ignite within. your hand tightens on the steering wheel as your body shakes with quiet sobs. the tears flow freely now, a mix of fear, relief, and longing streaming down your face.

suhyeok's voice echoes through the speakers once more, his words laced with concern. "don't leave by yourself, wherever you are, you should be with us."

you tilt your head back, allowing the tears to fall freely as his words wash over you. your gaze drifts towards the gate, mere meters away, beckoning like a lifeline. the zombies, still entranced by the speakers, claw and scratch at the metal, their mindless fury a stark contrast to the hope rising within you. someone, somehow, is broadcasting a message through the school's PA system, and it's creating a diversion. a spark of possibility ignites within you - maybe, just maybe, this is your chance to escape. you scan your surroundings, and your heart skips a beat as you realize the coast is clear. the zombies, entranced by the speakers, are oblivious to your presence. with a sense of determination, you prepare to make your move, the gate and potential freedom mere steps away.

hroryeong's voice chimes in, her tone laced with a gentle urgency. "y/n-ah, please come back, we can't lose anyone else. especially not you." as you listen, your eyes scan the surroundings, taking in the zombies' distraction and the potential escape route. but your mind begins to wander, and a flashback hits you like a wave. you remember suhyeok's bright, cheerful smile as you both walked home together. the memory is bittersweet, and your heart aches with a mix of emotions.

"fuck it..." you mutter to yourself, the words barely audible. the frustration, and longing all swirl together, and you feel a sense of resignation wash over you. but even as you say it, you know you can't give up. not yet. not when there's a glimmer of hope, no matter how small. you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what's to come. with a deep breath, you burst into action, dashing out of the car and sprinting across the parking lot with a surge of adrenaline. the meditative music grows louder, its calming melody a stark contrast to the chaos around you. as you run, you risk a glance back, and a mix of relief and fear hits you. the zombies are still entranced by the speakers, their undead bodies clawing at the metal as if trying to silence the voice. they're not following you, but you know that could change at any moment.

you pump your arm harder, your heart racing with every step. the music seems to be leading you somewhere, but you're not sure where. all you know is that you have to keep moving, to find safety and answers. the pounding in your chest grows louder, echoing the music's steady beat, as you run for your life. you sprint towards the building's doors, the music growing louder with every step. as you approach, you see a group of survivors running around the corner of the building, their figures blurry and indistinct. you squint, trying to make out who they are, but your eyes can't quite focus. they're too far away, and your mind is racing with fear and adrenaline. not having time to linger, you bursted open the school doors and closed them behind you.

continuing, you pound the hallway floor with your feet, your heart racing with every step. you can still hear the music, and the sound of footsteps echoing ahead of you. you're determined to catch up to the group, to find safety and answers. as you reach the staircase, you take the steps two at a time, your legs pumping furiously. but as you hit the fifth step, your foot slips on a patch of polished floor. you feel yourself flying backwards, your arms windmilling wildly as you try to regain your balance.

but it's too late. you land hard on the step, the wind knocked out of you. you gasp for breath, your lungs burning as you try to suck in air. your head spins, and for a moment, you see stars. you lie there, dazed and disoriented, as the music continues to play and the footsteps grow fainter. you know you have to get up, to keep moving, but your body feels like lead. you're paralyzed, unable to move or breathe.

slowly, agonizingly slowly, your lungs start to work again. you drag in a ragged breath, and then another, your chest heaving with effort. you roll onto your side, using the handrail to pull yourself up to a sitting position. as you look up, you see a figure standing on the landing above you, looking down with a concerned expression. you try to speak, but your voice is barely a whisper. the figure starts to move towards you, and you realize, with a jolt of fear, that you don't know who it is.

soft words echoes in your mind as the figure reaches out a hand to help you up. but just as you're about to take it, you blink. and when you open your eyes again, the figure is gone. you're left sitting on the stairs, feeling bewildered and disoriented. but as you look up at the spot where the figure was standing, you can't shake the feeling that it was...familiar.

the face, the hair, the gentle smile...it all looked so much like the lady from your dream. the one who appeared to you that one time, her presence a comforting warmth in the darkness. and then it hits you - the lady looked like your mother. you feel a pang in your chest, a mix of emotions swirling together. you barely have any memories of your mother, just fragmented images and a deep sense of loss. but seeing that figure, even for just a moment...it brought it all flooding back. you sit there, frozen, as the music continues to play and the silence stretches out around you. you're not sure what to do, or where to go. all you know is that you saw something, someone, who made you feel seen and remembered. and now they're gone.

you shake off the feeling of unease and continue running up the staircase, your feet pounding the steps. you reach the top and push yourself forward, entering one of the hallways. as you look around, you see rows of classrooms and lockers, the familiar sights of a school. but something feels off. the silence is oppressive, and the shadows cast by the flickering fluorescent lights seem to twist and writhe on the walls. you start to move down the hallway, your eyes scanning the doors and windows. you're not sure what you're looking for, but you know you need to keep moving. the music is still playing, but it's fainter now, and you can't quite make out the words. you strain your ears, trying to pick up any sound that might lead you to the group.

you quicken your pace, your footsteps echoing off the walls. you're getting close, you can feel it.

you round another corner, your heart racing with anticipation. but as you hit the straightaway, you notice something's off. the music isnt playing. you slow to a stop, your ears straining to pick up any sound. and then, you hear it. the snarling, groaning, and shuffling footsteps of zombies. lots of them.

you spin around, and your blood runs cold. a giant horde of zombies is packed into the hallway, their eyes fixed on you. they're trying to run, but the hallway is too tight, and they're bottlenecked. the zombies are stacked up, their arms outstretched, their jaws open in a frenzy of hunger. you see the ones in the back climbing over the ones in the front, desperate to get to you. you're frozen in terror, your mind racing for a way out. but there's nowhere to go. the hallway is blocked, and the zombies are closing in. you take a step back, your eyes scanning the horde. turning to the leftyou see the music room door, but it's too far away. you'll never make it.

the zombies take another step closer, their snarls growing louder. you raise your hands, ready to defend yourself, but you know it's futile. you're surrounded, and you're running out of time.

just as all hope seems lost, you see a glimmer of salvation. suhyeok, namra, and wujin come running from the other end of the hallway, their faces set in determination. namra sees you first, and her eyes widen in alarm. "run!" she shouts, waving her arms wildly. time seems to slow down as you force your burning legs to move. you pump your arms and sprint towards the music room, the zombies mere feet behind. suhyeok sees you and rushes to the door, pushing namra and wujin inside. he holds the door open, his eyes locked on yours, and shouts your name.

"y/n-ah!" he yells, his voice echoing down the hallway. you're almost there, your legs screaming in protest. all you want to do is reach his arms, his arms that kept you safe. you can feel the zombies' hot breath on your neck, their fingers reaching out to grab you. with one final burst of energy, you launch yourself at the door, suhyeok pulling you inside just as the zombies are about to grab you. he slids the door shut with a slam behind you, leaning against it to block the horde. you collapse on the floor, gasping for breath, as suhyeok looks down at you with a mix of relief and aggravation.

suhyeok doesnt wait for you to catch your breath before he leans down and grips on your collared shirt and tightens it as he pulls you close, his eyes blazing. "how many times do i have to save you, dammit?" he shouts, his voice echoing off the music room walls. "stop being an idiot, and think." he shakes you slightly, his fingers digging into your shirt. "we're in this together, now. no more running off on your own!" everyone watches in silence, their faces somber, as suhyeok's words hang in the air. you feel a surge of emotions: guilt, shame, and a hint of defiance.

but as you look into suhyeok's eyes, you see the fear and worry etched there, and your defiance melts away. you nod, slowly, and suhyeok's grip relaxes. "alright, okay..," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "i won't leave again." suhyeok's expression softens, and he lets go of you. "please," he whispers back.

as you shakily stand up, you can't help but feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you. everyone's staring at you, their faces filled with a mix of relief and concern. "we're glad you're back," namra says, smiling weakly. "we thought you were dead, idiot," wujin adds, shaking his head. but before anyone else can speak, onjo steps forward, a scowl on his face. "what were you thinking, running off like that?" she demands, her voice low and stern. and then, without warning, she slaps your bad arm, making you wince in pain. "you could have gotten yourself killed," she scolds, her eyes blazing with worry. you feel a surge of tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you rub your sore arm. "i'm sorry," you mutter, looking down at your feet. cheongsan steps forward, his face tense. "onjo, that's enough," he says, his voice firm but calm. but onjo just shakes her head. "no, cheongsan, he needs to learn. we can't afford to lose anyone else. both of you need to learn.”

overwhelmed with emotion, you feel a gentle touch on your shoulder. you turn to see hroryeong standing there, a warm smile on her face. "i'm so glad you're back," she says, her voice trembling. before you can respond, she wraps her arms around you, pulling you into a gentle hug. you feel a lump form in your throat as you hug her back, tears of relief and gratitude streaming down your face. "i.. we were so worried," she whispers, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

you hesitantly pat he back, feeling a sense of comfort and safety in her embrace. the pain in your arm fades into the background as you savor the niceness of her hug. "i'm sorry," you whisper back, your voice shaking. "i won't leave again." hroryeong pulls back, her eyes shining with tears. "i know you won't," she says, smiling softly. "we're in this together."

the others watch, smiling, as you and hroryeong share a moment of tender connection. for a brief instant, the horrors of the zombie-infested school fade away, replaced by a sense of hope and unity. while you pull back from hroryeong's hug, you take a moment to look around the room. the music room is small, with chairs and music stands scattered about. but what catches your attention is who's not there.

"where's ms. park?" you ask, scanning the room again.

wujin’s expression turns grim. "we don't know.” you feel a pang of worry. ms. park was always the calm and collected one. if she's not here... "what about gyeongsu?" you ask, hoping against hope.

jimin shakes her head. "nayeon murdered him." your heart sinks. gyeongsu’s laughing face flashed in your eyes from when you were just talking yesterday. you stared frozen and in shock, you look around to see everyones glum expressions. “wait what?” you ask in disbelief. jimin steps forward, her eyes clouded with bitterness. "nayeon...she wiped that dead girl's leftover blood that was on the stick and onto the scratch on his hand. he got infected and she lied about doing it," she says, her voice hesitant. “namra called her out and she confessed to murdering him. she left and ms.. park went after her.” she finished with a tear falling from her eye.

"what do you mean?" you press, feeling a sense of unease. jimin takes a deep breath. you feel a chill run down your spine. "what do you mean he turned?" everyone stayed quiet as you couldnt believe what you were hearing, you're horrified. "nayeon did that?"

daesu nods. "fuck..” you say while you feel your heart ache, one of your new friends was gone. someone who made you comfortable, someone you wished you could go back and time and just tell him how much of a good friend he had been. not to you, but to everyone around him. he was a good person, why did that have to happen to him?

“ill kill her if i see her,” you sniffled while rubbing your eyes. the room falls silent, the weight of your words sinking in. nayeon's actions are unfathomable. and ms. park, always the protector, went after her, leaving the rest of you behind. “don't talk like that,” suhyeok speaks up with a shake of his head. “when you stoop to her level youre no better than she is.” he places a hand on your back. “lets just, take a minute and, take a breath.” he announces to everyone who nods.

hroryeong gently takes your arm, leading you to sit beside her. as you settle in, you're unaware of jimin's gaze fixed on you both from across the room, her eyes narrowed slightly as she closes the curtains. "how are we going to get to the roof?" hroryeong asks, her voice soft as she holds your arm. her sudden display of affection catches you off guard, making you feel a weird twist in your stomach. you try to focus on the question at hand, but it's difficult with suhyeok and jimin staring at you both. their attention makes you feel like you're under a microscope. "there are zombies out there," suhyeok says, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for an escape route. "let's just think this through for a minute."

the weight of their gazes still lingers, making you feel like you're the center of attention. you try to shake off the feeling, focusing on the task at hand: finding a way to the roof.

while you glance around the room, you can't help but feel a sense of comfort in the presence of your peers. you've missed them dearly, but the words to express it get stuck in your throat. hroryeong's hand tightens around your arm, pulling your attention back to her. she slowly stands up, her eyes fixed on something behind you. you follow her gaze, peeking over her shoulder to see what's caught her attention.

"hey, namra. what happened to your arm?" hroryeong asks, her voice trembling slightly. you try to see what's wrong with namra's arm, but from your seated position, it's out of sight. hroryeong's concern, however, is concerning. "i-its a bite mark, isn't it?" hroryeong's voice cracks as she asks the question, her eyes wide with worry.

namra's silence is deafening, her gaze fixed on her arm as if the answer lies there. cheongsan's reaction is swift and menacing, grabbing a music sheet holder and advancing towards namra with a threatening stride.the room erupts into chaos as everyone scrambles to get away from namra, but you remain frozen, your body unmoving like a statue. hroryeong tries to pull you away, but you resist, your feet rooted to the spot.

suhyeok steps forward, placing himself between cheongsan and namra. "it's not what it looks like," he says firmly, his eyes locked on cheongsan. cheongsan snarls, telling suhyeok to move away, but he refuses to budge. wujin stands beside him, a united front against cheongsan's aggression. "it's true," wujin chimes in. "a zombie didn't bite her." he says a single word, "gwinam," and cheongsan's face falters, her confidence wavering for a moment. the room holds its breath, waiting for cheongsan's next move.

"he bit her. it wasn't zombies," he finishes, his voice firm. the name "gwinam" crawls under your skin, making your legs buckle. you lose balance and plop down on the chair, your mind reeling. "w-who?" cheongsan asks, her voice laced with skepticism. "gwinam. the bully," suhyeok replies, his eyes flicking to you before returning to cheongsan. "it's true, i saw him. we all did." wujin chimes in, pointing to namra and himself.

"yoon gwinam?" cheongsan asks again, her voice incredulous. wujin nods his head, and cheongsan turns to namra for confirmation. "namra, did gwinam really bite you?" she asks, her voice firm but laced with a hint of doubt. you turn to look at namra, who nods slightly, her eyes downcast. you curse underneath your breath, the truth sinking in like a punch to the gut.

"fuck, there should be others alive then," you exclaim, a glimmer of hope sparking within you. jimin's curiosity is piqued, and she pushes off from the curtains to approach you. "what do you mean?" she asks, her eyes locked on yours. you take a deep breath, recalling the moment. "when i heard you guys on the broadcast, while i was running, i thought...i thought i saw a group of people, teens." you correct yourself, remembering the details. "but they looked normal, not bit." the room erupts into a mix of excitement and disbelief, everyone grasping onto the possibility that they might not be the only survivors.

cheongsan's expression, however, remains skeptical. "that's not possible," he says, his voice firm. you turn to him, confusion etched on your face. "i saw them-" but he cuts you off with a calm shake of his head. "no, not that," he clarifies. "gwinam," he gestures to namra, "he was bitten by zombies." suhyeok lets out a disbelieving scoff. "bullshit," he says, his tone incredulous. the room falls silent, awaiting cheongsan's explanation.

"i saw him get bit," cheongsan counters, his voice steady, his eyes unwavering. "if you get bitten by zombies, you turn into one," he continues, his logic trailing off as wujin interrupts, his voice rising in frustration.

"he's not a zombie! motherfucker was talking to us," wujin exclaims, his words laced with emotion. you turn to namra, seeking answers. "but...why did he bite you then?" you ask, your eyes locked on hers. namra's gaze meets yours, a glint of something in her eye - desperation, perhaps, or a plea for understanding. you're not quite sure, but it's clear she's searching for something. wujin answers for her, his voice still laced with anger. "he's always been an asshole, i don't know." you nod in agreement, your eyes drifting to cheongsan, who still grasps the music sheet stand, his grip tight, ready to strike at a moment's notice. "that i can agree on," you say, your voice measured, your eyes never leaving cheongsan's.

"so can you put the damn thing down?" wujin asks, his agitation growing, his voice rising as he gestures towards the music sheet stand still clutched in cheongsan's hand.

"did gwinam really get bitten?" namra asks cheongsan, who nods solemnly, his expression grim. without warning, namra strides over to the window, sweeps the curtain aside with a swift motion, and opens it, letting in a warm breeze. she climbs up to sit on the windowsill, her movements swift and deliberate, as if driven by a sudden urge.

you rush to stop her, but hroryeong's arm wraps around yours like a clamp, holding you back. "she's bitten!" she warns, her voice low and urgent, her eyes wide with concern. you shake your head, trying to free yourself, and call out to namra. "namra, don't do it!" your voice echoes through the room, filled with a sense of desperation. namra looks up at you, her eyes blinking slowly as if considering your words, her gaze unfocused. "you haven't turned yet, so it's okay. everything's fine," you try to reassure her, and the others, hoping to calm the situation.

as you turn to face the room, you notice jimin prying hroryeong's hand off your arm, her touch solid. jimin sends you a look, and for a moment, you wonder if it's jealousy flashing in her eyes, or just uneasiness. you seem to be inadvertently angering a lot of people lately, just by existing, and it's getting harder to keep up.

“wait, i've got an idea,” you say, a spark of inspiration igniting as you walk over to namra and gaze at the curtains beside her. you grab the curtains and bring them towards her, “we can tie her arms so she can't reach us if she turns,” you begin, trying to reassure the others. you glance around, noticing the skepticism etched on their faces. undeterred, you continue, “and put the desks in a circle around her, so if she gets loose, the desks will slow her down. we'll figure out what to do from there.”

cheongsan slowly nods, a hint of agreement on his face. “it's gonna be okay, namra,” you whisper, turning to her with a reassuring smile. namra looks at you with a mix of affection and disbelief, as if she can't fathom why you're going to such great lengths to keep her alive.

“i wondered why i never tried to talk to you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes locked on yours. you pause, the curtain tie hovering near her wrist, as you meet her gaze. “but i see now, you're really a lot more than i thought you were,” she continues, her words dripping with a sense of wonder and newfound appreciation. the room falls silent, the only sound the soft rustling of the curtains, as you hold namra's gaze, the connection between you palpable.

your face is frozen in stunned silence, your eyes still locked on namra's, the moment everlasting. however, the spell is broken as wujin approaches, his voice slicing through the tension. "i got it, y/n-ah," he says, his words a gentle nudge, prompting you to back away, your hand rising to scratch the back of your head in a gesture of awkwardness. clearing your throat, you nod, trying to shake off the intensity of the moment. you flash namra a small, reassuring smile before turning to make your way back to cheongsan and onjo, who are engaged in a hushed but heated conversation.

their voices are low, but their body language speaks volumes - stiff postures, clenched fists, and narrowed eyes. you can't help but wonder what's fueling their disagreement, and whether it's related to the current situation or something deeper.

as you approach cheongsan and onjo, you notice the others springing into action, their movements swift and purposeful. hroryeong and jimin begin to drag desks across the floor, forming a makeshift barrier around namra, who watches with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "make sure they're secure," cheongsan calls out, his eyes never leaving onjo's face, their argument momentarily put on hold.

joonyeong joins in, his muscles straining as he lifts a desk into place. "we need to make sure she can't get out," he grunts, his face set in determination. the desks form a tight circle around namra, who looks like a wild animal trapped in a cage. her eyes dart back and forth, with a linear expression "it's okay, namra," you say, trying to reassure her, but your words fall flat. she knows as well as you do that this is a temporary solution, a desperate attempt to contain the inevitable. as the last desk is put in place, the group steps back, their faces etched with worry and uncertainty. what happens next is anyone's guess.

the group stands in silence, their eyes fixed on namra, who sits quietly in the center of the desk circle. the air is thick with tension, heavy with the weight of unspoken fears. cheongsan breaks the silence, his voice low and even. "we need to figure out what to do next." onjo nods, his expression grim. "we can't keep her here forever." you sense tension between their words. hroryeong speaks up, her voice laced with concern. "but what if she...what if she turns?" jimin places a hand on her arm, her eyes locked on namra. "we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." wujin shifts uncomfortably, his eyes darting between namra and the others. "we should...we should try to find a cure." namra's head snaps up, her eyes locking onto wujin's. "there is no cure," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. the group falls silent again, the reality of their situation sinking in. they're trapped, with no clear way out, and time is running out. "maybe there is a cure, and we just don't know it yet," you say, a glimmer of hope in your voice.

the others begin to nod, and soon they're all sitting down, discussing possibilities and theories. the room is filled with the hum of conversation, a sense of determination in the air. you, however, remain standing, your eyes fixed on namra. you walk over to a nearby chair and sit down, your gaze never leaving hers. she looks up, catching your eye, and for a moment, you just stare at each other.

meanwhile, suhyeok sits down beside you, his eyes fixed on you with an unreadable expression. you can feel his gaze, but you don't turn to him, your attention still on namra. "what are you thinking?" suhyeok asks, his voice low, but you just shake your head, your eyes still locked on namra. the conversation continues around you, but you tune it out, your focus solely on namra. you're trying to understand her, to read her, to see if there's any sign of...anything.

suhyeok follows your gaze, his eyes also fixed on namra. "you really think there's a cure, don't you?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. you nod, still not looking away from namra. "i have to believe it," you say, your voice equally quiet. suhyeok nods, his eyes still on namra. "i think you might be right," he says, his voice filled with a newfound sense of hope. the others continue to discuss and debate, their voices rising and falling in a cacophony of sound. but you and suhyeok sit in silence, your eyes fixed on namra, who seems to be watching you both with an intensity that makes your skin prickle.

as the minutes tick by, the room begins to settle, the conversation dying down as the weight of the situation sinks in. but you and suhyeok remain vigilant, your eyes never leaving namra's face. you notice a subtle change in namra's appearance, a faint discoloration around her left eye. it's a faint pinkish hue, almost imperceptible, but it's enough to make your heart skip a beat. the rest of her face, however, looks fine, no signs of illness or distress. but then, namra's hand rises to her mouth, and she begins to wipe her lips, as if she's salivating excessively. her eyes dart around the room, a hint of panic creeping into her gaze.

"namra, what's wrong?" you ask, your voice laced with concern. she doesn't respond, too focused on her own body. her hand moves to her eye, touching the infected area gingerly. "oh no, oh no, oh no," hroryeong whispers, her voice trembling. the others lean in, their faces etched with worry. cheongsan's eyes lock onto namra's, his expression grim.

"we need to get her out of here, now," he says, his voice firm. onjo grabs cheongsan's arm, holding him back. "wait, cheongsan, don't! let's give her a chance. maybe she won't...maybe she'll be okay." cheongsan's face twists in anguish, but he just stares, his eyes never leaving namra's convulsing form. namra's body slows, her limbs relaxing as she gazes up at you. her eyes, once bright and warm, now have a glint of...something else. a hunger, a craving, a primal urge that makes your skin crawl. she tries to walk towards you, her movements slow, deliberate. the others watch in horror, frozen in place. "namra, no," you whisper, trying to reach out to her, but she doesn't respond. her eyes lock onto yours, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. it's as if she's seeing you for the first time, seeing you as...prey. "namra, snap out of it!" wujin shouts, trying to break the spell, but she doesn't flinch. only when the curtains hold her from walking any further towards you.

then, just as suddenly as it began, everything stops. namra's body freezes, her eyes glaze over, and she collapses to the ground, unconscious. the room exhales a collective breath, the tension broken. but you know it's far from over. something inside namra has awakened, and it's only a matter of time before it takes control again.

namra's face, once twisted in a snarl, relaxes, her features smoothing out as she exhales a deep breath. her eyes, once gleaming with an otherworldly hunger, return to their natural warm brown, filled with a deep exhaustion. she sits up, her movements slow and labored, as if she's been drained of all energy. her hands tremble as she pushes her hair back, revealing a face pale and clammy. "namra?" you whisper, reaching out a hand to her. she looks up, her eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, you see a glimmer of recognition, of the person she once was. "i think shes fine," wujin mutters. “she wouldve definitely turned by now,” joonyeong says.

namra's voice trembles as she speaks, her words spilling out in a rush. "i'm not okay...i wanted to bite you...i wanted to be as close to you as possible...i could smell your sweat..." her eyes drop, shame and horror written across her face. the others exchange worried glances, unsure of how to respond. onjo, moves the desks and walks up to her. puts a hand on namra's shoulder, trying to comfort her. "namra, we'll get through this," she says softly. "we'll find a way to reverse whatever is happening to you."

but namra shakes her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "you don't understand...i wanted to hurt him...i wanted to taste him..." her words hang in the air, a dark and foreboding cloud. you feel a shiver run down your spine as you realize the true extent of namra's transformation. “you guys arent safe, i should go,” namra tries to quickly leave through the classroom doors but onjo stops her in her place. “wait,” she turns to cheongsan. “you saw gwinam get bitten by zombies?” to which he rolls his eyes.

"i told you a hundred times, yes," cheongsan exhales, his eyes darting to the floor before meeting onjo's gaze. "and you saw him turn?" onjo presses, her voice laced with skepticism. cheongsan hesitates, his eyes dropping again. "no, i didn't." the group exchanges confused glances, unsure of what to make of cheongsan's admission. onjo turns to suhyeok, her eyes narrowing. "suhyeok, you definitely fought gwinam?" suhyeok stands, his voice firm. "yes, i did.” he meets your gaze, and you sense a understanding pass between you. onjo's words hang in the air, a theory taking shape. "there's no reason for either to lie," onjo says, her voice filled with conviction. "maybe gwinam was bitten but not affected. i think he's immune."

jimin speaks up, her tone bitter. "still, she tried to bite him." her eyes flash with fear and distrust. "regardless, she isn't normal. so i'm not going with her." you rise to your feet, your eyes wide in disbelief. "jimin, stop," hroryeong pleads, placing a hand on jimin's arm. but jimin shakes her off, her gaze fixed on namra, who sits silently, her eyes downcast. the group's tension rising, divided loyalties and fears hanging precariously in the balance.

"what? are you saying that i'm wrong?" jimin taunts, her voice dripping with defiance. but no one responds, the group's silence a testament to their uncertainty. suddenly, namra springs into action, her movements swift and determined. "enough!" she exclaims, her voice ringing out as she rushes to the door, intent on leaving. but onjo is quicker, grabbing namra's arm before you can even react. "stop! where will you even go?" onjo asks, her voice laced with concern. namra struggles against onjo's grip, but she holds firm. "hyeonju and isak's hands were cold when they turned," onjo pleads, her eyes locked on namra's. "namra's are warm. that means something."

jimin scoffs, her expression unyielding. "so? that means nothing, she could still turn. what then?" onjo's face twists in frustration. "jimin, stop acting like this. we need to work together." but jimin refuses to back down. "no, onjo, you're the one who's being blind. we can't trust her." the group's tension escalates, the debate raging on as namra stands frozen, her eyes fixed on the door, longing for escape.

"guys!" you say firmly, your voice commanding attention. "we're not going to survive this if we dont trust together. jimin, i understand your concerns, but you need to consider the fact that namra is immune to the virus. she could be the key to our survival." jimin crosses her arms, her expression unyielding. "i don't care," she says. "i'm not going to risk my life for someone who might turn on us at any moment.”

"that's exactly my point," you say, your voice firm. "we can't just abandon each other. we need to work together if we're going to make it through this." the group looks at you, some nodding in agreement, others looking uncertain. "here's what we could do," you continue. "we could set up a schedule for keeping watch, making sure everyone gets rest. we could work together to find food and supplies. and watch eachothers backs." jimin scowls, but you can see the faintest glimmer of understanding in her eyes. "namra, try to work with us to understand your immunity," you say. "we'll figure out how to use it to our advantage." namra nods, a small amount of gratitude on her face. "and jimin," you say, your voice firm. "you're gonna have to learn to trust." jimin nods reluctantly, but you can see the tension in her body begin to ease.

“alright, lets get started.”

#all of us are dead #allofusaredeadfanfic #enemies to allies #angst #lee su hyeok #male reader #suhyeok x male reader #suhyeok x reader #all of us are dead x reader #bxb #lgbtqia #fluff

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olinblogin · 1 year ago

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REQUEST MASTERLIST! (REDONE)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ⁺ 　 . ✦

What fandoms I will write for;

-Lego Monkie Kid

-One Piece

-One Punch Man

-Assassination Classroom (limited characters)

-COD (call of duty, any game)

-ATSV (across the spiderverse)

-TADC (the amazing digital circus)

-Dandy’s World

-Pressure (only like three characters I’ll write for💔)

-Regretevator

-Cookie Run

-Arcane

What fandoms i won’t write for;

-Genshin Impact/Honkai impact

-Seven Deadly Sins

-Obey Me/Obey Me nightbringer

-FNF (Friday night funkin)

-MHA (my hero academia)

-Hazbin Hotel/Helluva boss

-other fandoms that have problematic backgrounds

WHAT I WILL WRITE!!!

-platonic

-light angst

-fluff

-slightly suggestive content (will have a warning)

-slightly suggestive content (not full on nfsw)

-childhood romance (no suggestive stuff)

-teen romance (no suggestive stuff)

-Reader x character

-character x character (very rarely)

-character x Reader x character

-polycules/polyamory (multiple characters x reader)

-T4T (trans for trans relationships)

-F4F (femme for femme relationship)

-M4M (masc for masc relationship)

-F4TF (femme for trans femme)

-F4TM (femme for trans masc)

-F4TNB (femme for trans non binary)

-F4A (femme for any)

-M4TF (masc for trans femme)

-M4TM (masc for trans masc)

-M4TNB (masc for trans non binary)

-M4A (masc for any)

-LGBTQ content

-Yandere Content (not extreme)

WHAT I WILL NOT WRITE!!!

- major nsfw

-r@pe/noncon/dubcon

-cnc (consensual non-consent)

-child x adult

-abusive scenarios

-anything to do with children involved in anything sexual

-racism

-ableism

-unsanitary fetishes (i.e. scat, wound f*cking, etc)

-severe angst

-s*icide & s*lf h*rm

- extreme Yandere stuff (r@pe, cannibalism, etc)

CHARACTER’S I’LL BE WRITING FOR

ARCANE

- Viktor

- Jayce Talis

- Vi

- Jinx

- Sevika

- Caitlyn Kiraaman

- Mel Medarda

- Ambessa Medarda

- Salo

- Lest

- Vander

- Silco

- Ekko

LEGO MONKIE KID

- MK (Qi Xioatian)

-Mei Dragon

-Redson

-Sun Wukong

-Six Eared Macaque

-Ao Lie

-Lady Bone Demon

-The Mayor

-Yin & Jin

-Tang

-Pigsy (mostly platonic)

-Sandy (mostly platonic)

-Nezha (platonic)

-Bai He (platonic)

ONE PIECE

- Monkey D. Luffy

-Vinsmoke Sanji

-Roronora Zoro

-Usopp

-Nico Robin

-Franky

-Chopper (platonic)

-Nami

-Jinbei

-Donquixte Doflamingo

-Donquixte Rosiante

-Boa Hancock

-Dracule Mihawk

-Crocodile

-Shanks

-Rayleigh

-Portgaz D. Ace

-Marco

-Thatch

-Izou

-Edward Newgate, Whitebeard (mostly platonic)

-Eustass Kidd

-Jewelry Bonney

-Killer

-Sabo

-Trafalgar Law

-Buggy

-Smoker

-Rob Luci

-Kalifa

-Yamato

-Perona

-Shaci

-Penguin

-Bepo (platonic)

ONE PUNCH MAN

-Saitama

-Genos

-Garou

-King

-Child Emporer (platonic)

-Metal Bat

-Speed O’ Sound Sonic

-Mumen Rider

-Watchdog Man (mostly platonic)

-Fubuki

-Atomic Samurai

-Lord Boros

-Bang

-Zombieman

-Flashy Flash

-Sweet Mask

-Charanko

COD - CALL OF DUTY (MW2/3)

-Simon “Ghost” Riley

-John “Soap” MacTavish

-John “Captain” Price

-Horangi (Hong-Jin)

-König

-Nikolai

-Valeria Garza/El Sin Nombre (F4F/NB/AFAB)

-Alejandro Vargas

-Phillip Graves

-Farah Karim

-Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

-Kate Laswell (F4F)

-Gary “Roach” Sanderson

ATSV - ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE

-Miles Morales (platonic/fluff)

-Gwen Stacy (Platonic/Fluff)

-Pavitr Prabhakar (platonic/fluff)

-Prowler Miles (platonic/fuff)

-Peter B. Parker

-Jess Drew

-Miguel O’Hara

-Hobie Brown

TADC - THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS

-Pomni

-Jax

-Zooble

-Kaufmo

-Ragatha

-Gangle

-Caine

-Kinger

Dandy’s World

- Dandy

- Astro

- Vee

- Shelly

- Sprout

- Pebble (platonic)

- Glisten

- Flutter (platonic)

- Toodles (platonic)

- Rodger

- Teagan

- Brightney

- Scraps

- Goob

- Boxten

- Poppy

-Cosmo

- Finn

- Razzle & Dazzle (can be semi-poly)

- Shrimpo

COOKIE RUN

- Hollyberry Cookie

- Dark Cacao Cookie

- White Lily Cookie

- Golden Cheese Cookie

- Pure Vanilla Cookie

- Pitaya Dragon Cookie

- Burning Spice Cookie

- Shadow Milk Cookie

- Wind Archer Cookie

- Moonlight Cookie

- Sea Fairy Cookie

- Black Pearl Cookie

- Frost Queen Cookie

- Stormbringer Cookie

- Elder Faerie Cookie

- Crimson Coral Cookie

- Shining Glitter Cookie

- Stardust Cookie

- Clotted Cream Cookie

- Nutmeg Tiger Cookie

- Street Urchin Cookie

- Rebel Cookie

- Mozzarella Cookie

- Burnt Cheese Cookie

- Smoked Cheese Cookie

- Captain Caviar Cookie

- Financier Cookie

- Crunchy Chip Cookie

- Wildberry Cookie

- Affogato Cookie

- Tea Knight Cookie

- Lilac Cookie

- Red Velvet Cookie

- Almond Cookie

- Black Raisin Cookie

- Latte Cookie

- Kumiho Cookie

- Milk Cookie

- Werewolf Cookie

- Vampire Cookie

(There’s just a lot)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ⁺ 　 . ✦

IF YOU DON’T SEE ANY CHARACTERS OF INTERESTS YOU CAN (in dms if you prefer) ASK IF I’LL WRITE THEM! ^^

please as well reread the will/won’t write section if you’re feeling unsure!

#what i will write #writing #fandom #fandom writing #multiple fandoms #writing requests #request page #request #lmk #cod mw2 #assassination classroom #one punch man #one piece #across the spiderverse #the amazing digital circus #underverse #undertale au #this took way too long

196 notes · View notes

velidewrites · 9 months ago

Text

Breaking Point

Six months after Catrin Berdara is presumed dead, Gwyneth abandons the Erudites in search for answers. Knowing there is only one faction with the ability to take her over the spiked fence that shields their world from the truth, she does not hesitate to spill her blood over the burning coals at the Choosing Ceremony. But to be taken over the Fence, Gwyneth must first pass Initiation—and, unfortunately for her, one of the Dauntless squad leaders seems hell-bent on making her life all the more difficult.

Pairing: Azriel x Gwyneth Berdara

Tags: Divergent AU

Notes: I was going to post this yesterday when I realised Divergent was released exactly 10 years ago today! If you were as obsessed with this series as me, welcome to the chaos. This fic was inspired by me seeing a tiktok of the knife throwing scene and thought oh yeah this is Gwynriel at its peak.

This is baby's very first Gwynriel and my humble contribution for @gwynrielweeksofficial! Thank you to @azrielshadowssing @ablogofsapphicpanic @octobers-veryown for being such patient betas and to @damedechance for being so brilliant and coming up with this title for me.

Before you proceed, please be advised of the TW for past SA.

Read on AO3 or continue to Chapter 1 below!

Gwyneth Berdara was risking her life, and it was the most exhilarating thing in the world.

Her sister’s ice-cold hand on her mouth had snapped her awake, and it had only been thanks to her quick “Shush!” that Gwyneth managed to stifle the scream in her throat. It had not been the first time Catrin woke her up in the dead of the night—still, their routine had never quite made either of them loose the reins on her instincts.

Catrin’s eyes had glinted like onyx as she’d quickly prompted Gwyneth to get up and get dressed. The nights were shorter during the summer, which made the next few hours all the more precious. The truck had already been waiting, parked two blocks west—only two minutes on foot if they kept a fast pace.

Gwyneth could see the urgency painted on her sister’s features, yet it had nothing on the excitement that had her leg bouncing near the doorway to their dorm. It had lit up her entire face like moonlight, all the dark heaviness of the risk they were taking skittering away at the sight. It was contagious enough that Gwyneth, too, had found herself smiling—a smile that lingered even as they’d made their way down the pristine white hallways of the Academy.

Frankly, she had never quite figured out who in Campus Security Catrin had managed to bribe. The only thing either of them had was each other, a fact that Catrin often joked would make them the perfect fit for Abnegation once they turned twenty-one. Gwyneth could see her sister there—could see her spilling her blood on the smooth, grey stones and devoting her life in the service of others. Not Gwyneth, though. She had always thought herself too selfish—too selfish to abandon the Academy and all the knowledge it contained. At heart, after all, Gwyneth was—and always had been—an Erudite.

It was only one of their differences. From the day Gwyneth and Catrin were born, people had a hard time believing the two of them were twins. Catrin’s eyes were darker than the depths of the ocean the city bordered, her hair a similar black and her skin pale as milk. Gwyneth’s eyes were the sort of teal their ocean never saw, not even now, when the sun blazed right above it every day. She enjoyed the way it reflected in coppery brown waves, though, and the way it brought out the freckles on her face.

But as Gwyneth moved carefully behind Catrin, her every step falling right into her sister’s quiet shadow, she forgot about everything that divided them. In this—the excitement of the rebellion, the danger of the risk—in this, they were the same.

The drive to Amity had been almost entirely silent save for the crunchy gravel of the road as they exited the city. Even so, she could make out Catrin’s grin in the shadows of the cargo bed, could hear the gentle tapping of her still-bouncing leg.

If anyone in the Erudites found out about their nightly escapades, Gwyneth and Catrin would be dead—or worse, subjected to whatever classified research the Erudite leadership was undergoing at the headquarters. Only the most brilliant of the Academy students were allowed to apply for their stewardship—to watch and observe. To learn, the way the customs of their factions demanded.

Gwyneth had no interest in aiming for the top floors of the HQ. There, she would have likely been guarded—supervised—every hour of every day. Catrin, if she would be allowed to see her beyond Visiting Days at all, would no longer be a constant in her life, their monthly drives to the farmlands beyond the Fence only a distant memory. It was why Gwyneth sometimes doubted herself. An Erudite without ambition, after all, was like a Dauntless without courage, an Abnegation without people to serve. Useless.

Studying alongside the most illustrious of her faction was perhaps the greatest ambition of all, but Gwyneth was happy to remain at the Academy, to learn and contribute in whatever ways she could, all while retaining the little pieces of herself she still owned. To think such thoughts was to betray the Erudite virtues, constantly in pursuit of wisdom and intelligence. It was a fear that lingered somewhere deep in her chest every night she and Catrin ventured out to the unknown.

She tried to dwindle it, though, as she now danced around the bonfire near Sector Five’s stables. One of the Amity girls, dressed in yellows and oranges as dictated by the Amity fashion, had grabbed her by the hand and dragged her into her circle of friends, her laughter rising over the crackling flames. Sometimes, Gwyneth wondered what it would be like to be a part of that—part of the Peaceful, the Kind.

She couldn’t imagine a life free of worry, a life dedicated to preserving what remained of their destroyed world’s nature without questioning its past. And while the joy on the Amity girl’s face felt true, Gwyneth couldn’t help but feel like right now, she was living a lie.

“Have you seen my sister?” she shouted over the fire, the music a small guitar band had begun playing a few minutes ago. She had not seen Catrin since the Solstice celebrations started—since all of Sector Five had gathered to honour the end of the longest day of the year.

The girl shook her head, the fire dancing in her brown eyes. “I’m sure she’s with Clare,” she replied with a smile. Then, she winked, “I’d avoid the stables, if I were you.”

Gwyneth blinked. “Clare?”

The smile quickly faded from the girl’s pretty face. “Oh,” she said, her shoulders deflating slightly as she halted mid-dance. “You didn’t know?”

She must’ve had the surprise written all over her face, and Gwyneth schooled her features back into that light, free-of-any-worry-in-the-world expression she knew would help her avoid suspicion. “Oh, Clare! Of course,” she lied. “Sorry. It’s been a long night.”

The girl waved a hand. “I get it. The way they keep you under watch back in the city is ridiculous to me.” She angled her head, that brown gaze studying her with mild curiosity. “How old are you, again?” she asked.

“I’ll be twenty-one in a few months.”

She clasped her hands together, her whole face lighting up at Gwyneth’s answer. “Ah, you haven't Chosen yet!” she exclaimed. “You always have a place here—we’d welcome you with open arms.”

“I doubt my results will sort me into Amity,” Gwyneth said truthfully.

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Well,” the girl said, leaning conspiratorially over her shoulder, “I know we’re all supposed to follow the Aptitude Test’s recommendations, of course.” She tilted her chin towards the dancing group before them—to the truck still parked in the distance. “Something tells me, though, that you’ve never been one to follow the rules, anyway.”

Gwyneth followed her gaze—but words died on her tongue before she managed to answer.

There she was—Catrin, sitting with her back resting against one of the truck’s large wheels, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Alone.

“Excuse me,” she said to the girl, and moved towards her sister without so much as a goodbye. It wasn’t as she, or any of her Amity friends, would ever take offense—they simply returned to their dancing, the band’s song slowly fading into the distance as Gwyneth kept on walking.

Catrin’s eyes were fixed on the fire even as Gwyneth took her seat on the cold ground beside her.

“Where’s Clare?” she asked, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. There had never been any secrets between them—whatever there was to face in this world, they had always faced it together.

But Catrin simply smiled, her gaze sad, somehow, as she said quietly, “Look at them, Gwyneth. Look at all the dancing—the singing. They’re all smiling.” Finally, Catrin peeled her gaze off the scene to meet her own. “Do you think it’s real?”

There was something in her sister’s tone that made Gwyneth pause—something so unbearably raw it made Gwyneth shelve all her questions in the back of her mind and consider.

She looked towards the celebrating crowds. “I think they believe it is.”

Catrin rasped a laugh. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

Gwyneth placed a hand over her sister’s. As gently as she could, she asked, “Why do you ask, Catrin?”

Her gaze dropped to her feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Clare,” she said, and it wasn’t lost on Gwyneth how she’d avoided her question in favour of another. “Dating outside our own factions is forbidden, and I suppose…” Her throat bobbed. “I supposed I didn’t want to burden you with the secret.”

She was so unlike the Catrin from a few hours ago that Gwyneth felt her own throat burning, all the excitement they’d shared earlier fading into the night along with the bonfire smoke.

The question nearly forced itself onto Gwyneth’s lips—what changed?—but instead, she managed, “You could never burden me, Catrin.” Then, “I didn’t mean to pry. If she makes you happy, then that is all I need to know.”

Slowly, Catrin turned to face her again. “She makes me happy,” she whispered. “Very much.”

Gwyneth smiled. “Good.” She squeezed Catrin’s hand. “No secrets, remember?”

Perhaps it was the smoke carried by the summer breeze, or the late hour catching up with Catrin at last, but Gwyneth could’ve sworn she saw silver gleam in her sister’s eyes as she said, “Yeah. No secrets.”

***

Catrin’s funeral took place midday, and it rained the entire time.

Erudites had never been too spiritual in nature, and saw death simply as the time for the mind to finally rest. As such, there were no celebrations of the life she had lived like the ones held in Amity—no formal burials with lengthy speeches from Candor’s government officials, either. It was, perhaps, the one thing where Erudites and Abnegations found common ground—in the lack of spectacle surrounding their funerals. In Abnegation, death was only a tragedy because it meant an end to one’s servitude.

Gwyneth watched as her sister’s casket was covered by a deep-blue sheet, the colour slowly darkening as it soaked up the pouring rain. The entire Academy had gathered to watch it being lowered into the city’s foundations—to symbolise the collective knowledge upon which it was built, if nothing else. One of the Erudite representatives then murmured a few words about the tragedy Catrin’s death was, and the new, stricter regulations the labs would be implementing to prevent anything like this from happening ever again.

Gwyneth had not been invited to say a few words. The Erudite virtues did not speak of emotional attachment, of the importance of sentiment. Catrin’s pursuit of knowledge may have ended, but Gwyneth’s…Gwyneth’s had only just begun.

She was not permitted to look upon her twin’s face for the final time, either. The stone casket seemed impenetrable from where she stood, one lone student in the sea of blue umbrellas and Academy uniforms. It was not like Gwyneth would have asked to see her, either. Whatever spirit of rebellion had lived inside her before, it died today—watching its counterpart disappear beneath the ground.

As the plates of the burial site began closing in on each other, though, ready to swallow Catrin for the rest of time, something shifted—like a spark in the air, charging the weather with lightning. Gwyneth’s shoulders tensed as she braced herself for impact.

And then, someone screamed.

All one hundred—perhaps more—Erudite heads snapped towards the sound, some of the faces immediately twisting in a grimace, some in curiosity. Gwyneth’s eyes, though, only widened in shock, her mouth parting slightly as she realised who the voice belonged to—who had just lunged onto the stage, her orange dress muddy and torn.

Clare Beddor’s tears blended into the rain as she reached for the Erudite representative, her expression so wild and pained that Gwyneth felt it in her own already shredded heart. Even through the hauling rain, through the thunder booming somewhere in the distance, she could hear Clare’s words as clear as the day she had last seen her lover. Could hear the accusation that would get her reunited with Catrin at last.

“MURDERERS!” Clare yelled, the crowd gasping in unison. “You’re all murderers!”

Everything happened so quickly after that.

Someone had grabbed Clare from behind—one of the junior HQ researchers, a Dauntless transfer if his large, muscular frame was any indication—and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back with the kind of force that should’ve hauled her off the stage. But Clare kept on fighting, kept on kicking and screaming and digging her nails into the man’s forearms, leaving long, bloodied streaks splitting his tattoos. Still, the man did not let go.

Only when the rain began to leave the taste of salt in Gwyneth’s mouth did she realise she was crying, too. She watched as Clare was dragged off the stage and shoved into a sleek, black car—Candor, Gwyneth noted immediately—which appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She watched as it drove off, too, as the Erudite representative apologised for the intrusion and once again reiterated the tragedy of the incident before ordering all of Catrin’s fellow students to return to their daily obligations.

But Clare’s words lingered even as the crowd dissipated, echoing between the glass Erudite buildings before settling right in Gwyneth’s chest.

Murderers. Murderers. Murderers.

When the rhythm of her heart started to beat alongside the syllables, alongside the truth Gwyneth had thought no one else believed in, that rebellion inside her reignited—blazed, like the fire she had danced to in Amity two weeks ago.

She wasn’t insane. She was not paranoid, and Clare all but confirmed it.

Catrin Berdara had been murdered. When and how—it did not matter.

The only question that mattered was why.

And Gwyneth was going to find the answer.

***

SIX MONTHS LATER

Compared to her old Academy dorm, Gwyneth’s apartment at the Erudite Headquarters felt ridiculously empty.

Truthfully, she had not exactly put any effort into decorating it in the past two months. The walls remained white and untainted by the vibrant prints and watercolour paintings she and Catrin used to sneak into the Academy from Amity. The entire space was simply occupied by her bed, wardrobe, and desk. The latter, at least, was filled with enough books to let the average visitor know someone was, in fact, living in this place.

Gwyneth had shoved one of those books into her bag before leaving, along with some crumpled papers containing notes she could hardly remember writing last night. It must have been well past three in the morning when she’d finally finished, but when it came to her supervisor, Gwyneth always prioritised being sleep deprived over unprepared.

Not that anyone had ever acknowledged her efforts, though. Her supervisor just so happened to be the Erudite representative, the faction’s very leader and the main voice advising their Candor-comprised government. It was a great privilege, Gwyn had always told the other graduates, making sure to dip her head an inch and blush slightly as she lied: I was certain it was a mistake, but Merrill was really impressed with my dissertation, it seems.

Gwyneth’s Academy dissertation just so happened to align perfectly with the Erudite’s research—a coincidence, and, of course, a great privilege. Gwyn had been planning to teach at the Academy post-graduation—that much, at least, was the truth—but when the HQ had made her an offer, she simply could not refuse.

She was the envy of other HQ graduate researchers, which was definitely one downside in the grand scheme of things. Gwyneth had been prepared for the attention, but the amount of eyes turned towards her in every lab, every hallway, was certainly making things…difficult.

After all, no one at HQ could ever suspect why Gwyneth Berdara, a previous history major, had suddenly taken up interest in genetics—why her dissertation, initially on the history of the Erudite faction, had suddenly shifted focus onto Aptitude Tests in the final two months of her studies at the Academy. No one could quite figure how, exactly, she had managed to produce a report worthy of the attention of the Head Erudite herself.

That part, Gwyneth did not have to lie about, either. She was an Erudite. She studied—she sought the knowledge and acquired it.

Getting to the HQ was the easiest part of her plan. Getting out of it, however, was going to prove a lot more…difficult.

There was one other thing cluttering her desk, its silver gleam drawing her eye before she finally made her way to leave. Gwyneth picked up the lighter, the metal cold against her skin, and pushed the small lever down with her thumb.

The flame came to life in Gwyneth’s hand, and she watched as it danced playfully in the air. All of her belongings, all the Amity posters and photos she had taken over the years—they were memories too painful to bring along for her final act of rebellion. The lighter, though, was the one thing of her own she’d allowed herself—she had purchased it on her first day at the HQ despite the voice of reason protesting in her mind.

“I’m almost there, Catrin,” she whispered to the little bonfire in her palm. “I’m almost there.”

With that, the lighter disappeared in the folds of her lab coat, and Gwyneth did not spare another look at the empty apartment as she made her way out.

Lost in her thoughts, Gwyneth hadn’t even realised she’d already made it to her supervisor’s office.

“You’re late,” Merril said in her usual manner of greeting.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been preparing for tomorrow,” she replied, closing the door carefully behind her.

The Head Erudite looked up from her computer, its blue holo reflecting in her stare. “There is no preparing for the Aptitude Test. You know this, Gwyneth.”

“Emotionally preparing, I suppose,” she corrected herself, her response met with a deep sigh.

“I assume you have the notes I assigned you,” Merril said, not entirely a question. Everything was an order with her—an order that would never be satisfied no matter what Gwyneth did.

Still, she nodded, taking the papers out of her bag to place them on Merrill’s desk, the professor’s eyes already scanning over the writing. She couldn’t help but hold her breath as she waited, silently watching as Merrill took in the results of last week’s experiments, then finally, finally, nodded.

“Take these to Lab Six,” she instructed, Gwyneth’s shoulders sagging with relief. As far as Merrill’s compliments went, this one was the best she could have asked for. “Make the necessary preparations for next month.”

Already on her way out—Merrill did not appreciate anyone wasting her time—Gwyneth stopped.

“Next month?” she asked, turning over her shoulder. With the Choosing Ceremony scheduled for the last day of January, who knew what the next month would bring.

Clearly, Merrill thought Gwyneth was here to stay.

She raised a white eyebrow in scrutiny. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

In exactly a week from now, Gwyneth would finally do what she’d spent the last six months meticulously planning. Merrill said there was no preparing for the Aptitude Tests, but Gwyneth had not spent all those sleepless nights studying, all those days smiling and pretending Catrin’s death hadn’t affected her at all, only to let someone else decide her fate.

No. Gwyneth Berdara had figured out how to cheat.

Tomorrow, the Aptitude Test would sort her into the one faction with the ability to bring her one step closer to the truth behind her sister’s murder.

Next week, she would no longer be Gwyneth Berdara, Erudite.

She would be Dauntless.

“No,” she said to Merrill with a sweet smile. “No problem at all.”

***

It had been over twenty-four hours since Gwyneth had last slept, and she was seriously starting to worry she might just pass out in the chair if her name was not called out next.

As dazed as the lack of sleep was making her, Gwyneth knew that once she exited that room, she would thank herself for persevering. No one under the age of twenty-one was supposed to know this, but being Merrill’s protegé came with its benefits—all carefully researched and planned for six months ago.

The test would begin by having a simulation serum being injected into her neck, setting off a range of scenarios eventually leading to Gwyneth being matched to one of the five factions: Erudites, Abnegation, Dauntless, Candor, or Amity, all based on the choices she’d be making throughout. Fifteen weeks—Gwyneth had spent fifteen weeks studying the simulation patterns and the reaction of the brain every scenario it presented. The Aptitude Test’s results were meant to serve as a guide for the Choosing Ceremony, and if one did not wish to end up factionless–-end up an exile to society—following the Test’s recommendations was the only true choice.

Gwyneth knew—had always known—she was an Erudite, if the last few months were any indication for her to ground her confidence in. Her Test results today, though, would recommend a different faction entirely.

Her research suggested there were side effects to the serum. Sustained deprivation of sleep, Gwyneth found, would catalyse a heightened neural state—high enough for her to remain in full cognitive control of the simulation. She would recognise the patterns effortlessly—would know where to go and what to say for the test administrator to proclaim her as a Dauntless the moment she woke up. In theory.

A few hours into the tests, there weren’t many people left. From the colour of their clothes, Gwyneth noted two from Abnegation and one from Candor, his black tie and formal attire making her shift in her own seat. She could hardly register the light tapping of her foot against the linoleum floor, consumed entirely by the silence of the hallway. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

The Tests were being held at the Academy, and it made her all the more uneasy. These halls, the cafeteria they now sat in, this entire building—the Academy was so familiar Gwyneth had nearly forgotten what had driven her out of there. She half-expected Catrin to come out of the East Elevator leading right up to her old lab, to give her a small wave as she called out her name.

“Gwyneth Berdara?”

Gwyneth jumped in her seat.

The Candor boy snorted.

The test administrator—a woman that could not have been more than a few years older than Gwyneth—gave him a look. The Candor cleared his throat immediately, his eyes falling back into that blank, emotionless stare. It was then that Gwyneth realised the woman was from Candor, too.

She arched an eyebrow as she looked at Gwyneth again, her ice-blue eyes settling on her own. “Gwyneth Berdara, yes?”

Gwyneth nodded.

“Good. Come on in.”

The hallway, as Gwyneth already knew, hosted a row of ten rooms, and the woman led her to the one at the far left. The teaching classroom had been transformed into an empty space with nothing but a reclined chair that made her feel as though she was about to walk into her dentist’s appointment, the walls now covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

Even though Gwyneth knew what to expect, she couldn’t help but swallow the tightness in her throat. She had volunteered to set those rooms up herself before—the administrator herself was a volunteer, too. Most of the Candor worked for the government—their inclination towards truth and justice made them the only objective candidates. According to their manifesto, at least.

This woman, though—she seemed nothing like the Candor Gwyneth had met before, perhaps save for the stern look in her gaze and the way she carried herself. As if nothing could bend her will.

There was something about her face that seemed familiar, and Gwyneth could not shake the feeling that she had seen her before. Her features seemed sharper than those faded images in her memory, her hair a lighter shade of golden brown, straighter and tied into a sleek, braided bun. No matter how hard she focused, though, Gwyneth couldn’t quite place her.

“Take a seat,” she instructed before Gwyneth could try searching her mind again. “My name is Nesta Archeron. I’ll be your test administrator today.”

The name did not seem familiar, and, frustrated, Gwyneth slipped into the chair, the leather cracked at the armrests. As though whoever had come in before her did not take the simulations well.

Great.

After an uncomfortably long pause, Gwyneth looked up to meet the administrator’s stare. Was the test not supposed to start already?

“Well?” Nesta asked, her arms crossed over the sleek, black jacket padded lightly at the shoulders. She might have been the only Candor Gwyneth had ever seen that did not seem stiff in their clothes.

She blinked in confusion. “Well…what?” she asked.

“Most people want to know if it hurts,” Nesta pointed out.

Oh. “I already know it doesn’t hurt,” Gwyneth told her. “My research focuses on Aptitude Tests,” she explained, her cheeks flushing slightly as she realised she might have fallen into the Erudite trap of sounding too pretentious.

“Your research,” Nesta repeated, a shadow of a smile playing in the corner of her mouth. “That is, perhaps, the most Erudite thing I’ve ever heard.”

Gwyneth huffed. “I thought the simulation was meant to decide my faction, not you.”

To her surprise, Nesta snorted. “I think I might like you, Gwyneth Berdara,” she said. Then, “Why do I know your name?” she asked, her golden brows knitting.

Gwyneth could see the exact second realisation dawned on Nesta’s face.

“You were Catrin Berdara’s sister.” She shook her head, her hair catching some of the white, artificial light at the ceiling. “I am so sorry. Horrible tragedy.”

“Yes,” Gwyneth said, unable to keep the tinge of bitterness from her tone. “Tragedy.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “You know, in Candor, our most prized virtue is the truth. During Initiation, we spend weeks training how to detect lies.” She tilted her head to the side. “Why do I feel like you’re lying to me, Gwyn?”

“It’s Gwyneth.”

“Gwyneth,” Nesta corrected, that strange amusement returning into her face. “I have two sisters, you know. The youngest had her test earlier today.”

“How did she do?”

“You research our tests, don’t you? You know the results are not to be discussed—not even amongst family.” Nesta smiled. “I know, though—from the moment she was born, out and screaming her rage right into the world.” She snorted. “Feyre is going to choose Dauntless, because that’s who she always has been.”

“You sound excited for her,” Gwyneth started carefully.

“I am.”

“Won’t you miss her in Candor?”

“My sisters and I were born in Abnegation,” Nesta explained. “Four years ago, I chose Candor. Two years ago, Elain had left for Amity. Grey had never quite suited her, anyway,” she added. Gwyneth was not entirely sure she’d ever heard a Candor joke before. Then, Nesta said, “In a week from now, Feyre is going to leave, too. I’m sure of it.”

Gwyneth hummed. “Your parents must miss you very much.”

“Our parents are dead, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” she faltered, her cheeks heating yet again. “So are mine.”

Nesta shrugged matter-of-factly, the gesture enough to keep Gwyneth from asking. “Then you know,” she said, her gaze dropping to whatever notes Gwyneth’s profile contained on the datapad. “I see you study under Merrill Dorset,” Nesta observed. “The Aptitude Test research makes a lot more sense now.” She shook her head, as though in disbelief. “Thanks to her, we no longer have sixteen year olds do these tests. Ridiculous—to make someone with such a young mind decide on the rest of their life.” She looked at Gwyneth again. “You must be very excited to work under her.”

Gwyneth shrugged. “It has its benefits.”

“I’m sure it does,” Nesta said—and if she weren’t Candor, Gwyneth might have thought it a lie. “Is that how you know not to be afraid?” she asked, pressing one of the electrodes to Gwyneth’s head.

Gwyneth scoffed. “Merrill has nothing to do with it,” she told Nesta, flinching slightly at the cold touch as Nesta attached yet another electrode to her head. “I’ve figured it out all on my own.”

The words escaped her without warning—and if Nesta were an Erudite, she would have been fully within her rights to drag her straight to Merrill’s office and filed for Gwyneth’s expulsion.

Instead, a smile—a true smile bloomed on Nesta’s face as she pressed the syringe to Gwyneth’s neck, the clear serum swirling lazily inside. “Perhaps not an Erudite, then.”

The word blurred into nothingness as Gwyneth slipped into the simulation at last.

***

Gwyneth woke up to the sound of screaming, muffled only by a thick wall of concrete and windows sealed shut by dark, bloodied wood.

She did not recognise her surroundings, and from the blurriness of the corners of her vision, she knew she was not supposed to. Even the words of the crying crowds outside had no meaning at all. The emotion they carried was clear, though—fear.

Gwyneth grounded herself in the sounds—became one with the simulation, aware of every pattern presented before her, every entrance or exit she could find her way to. There was a door behind her that had not been barricaded—only an iron handle stood between her and the screams. Turning towards it, she wondered why those people did not simply open the door.

“You’re late,” a childlike voice now spoke behind her. “He’s getting away,” it said.

Gwyneth whirled back to the sound—and found no one at all.

The setting before her had changed, though. There was a staircase now, tall and made entirely of concrete, too. A table blocked the way up, though, small and built from some light type of wood Gwyneth had never cared to study at the Academy.

“Who?” she asked carefully.

“Have you changed your mind already?” the voice spoke again from somewhere behind her back. “You’re our last hope, you know.”

Gwyneth turned again—once again facing nothing but the iron door and the screams behind. She was not supposed to see this child, whoever it was. So instead, she asked, “What’s happening outside?”

“You have a choice here,” the voice continued as though she hadn’t spoken at all. “Go up, and finish what you came here to do. You cannot proceed without this,” it then said, and when Gwyneth turned towards the staircase again, the table was no longer empty.

Atop a clean, ivory cloth laid a gun—a pistol, its silver glinting subtly beneath the streaks of sunlight pouring in through the cracks between the bloodied wood. Gwyneth sucked in a breath.

“You may decide to go back. Rejoin the others, if you wish. The choice is entirely up to you.”

The choice seemed entirely clear to Gwyneth. Turn back to the people—Abnegation. Amity, perhaps. The gun, however…

“I thought you hired me,” she told the voice.

It giggled—a shrill, eerie sound that seemed to carry all the way upstairs. “I cannot decide your fate for you,” it said, as if scolding her.

Gwyneth looked back towards the door again—then to the gun. What if this was a test, and the true display of courage would have been to save the people outside from whatever horrors had befallen them?

No—there were no underlying motives in these tests. Her choices, Gwyneth had learned, were plain and simple, the way the faction members’ lives had been designed to be. If she wanted to be classified as a Dauntless, the gun was her only viable option.

So Gwyneth picked it up—wrapped her hand around the cool metal, letting it slip down to the polished hilt.

“Go now,” the voice urged. “Go!”

Gwyneth did not waste any more time.

She started running, every step light as she made her way upstairs, the echo of the people’s cries following her all the way up to the sixth floor. She felt no weariness, no strain in her muscles or stiffness in her joints, the blend of the serum and twenty-four hours without sleep clearly taking effect.

The stairs seemed to end here, though. There was only one door at the very top of the building, made of the same dark, blood-stained wood the windows had been. Gwyneth reached for the doorknob—iron, too, she realised—and the door clicked open as she turned it to her left.

“Are you the one?” someone asked her—a new voice, male and hoarse coming somewhere from the back of the room.

“What?” Gwyneth asked, and the room lit up with the question.

She had to stifle a scream of her own as she saw him. The man stood at the very end of the narrow hallway, his back pressed toward the wall and a gun steady in his hands.

“Are you the one they sent after me?” he repeated, his voice rougher now, like gravel against her skin.

“No,” Gwyneth lied, fighting to keep her voice from trembling as her own pistol slipped down an inch in her clammy grip. “I’m on your side,” she told him.

“Liar,” he seethed, “I’ll give you one more chance. Tell the truth, and I will go—you and your people will never see me, never hear of me again. Peace,” he said. “So, what will it be?”

Gwyn opened her mouth—and the man smiled, revealing a perfect set of bloody, iron teeth.

Her mind raced, chasing every possibility that seemed to escape her the wider the man grinned. He must have been the reason for the carnage outside, all the pain and death that would have awaited her had she chosen to open the door. Perhaps the simulation would have made her tend for the wounded, or forced her to become one of them. Either way, there was no turning back.

She understood now—she had to kill that man. His promise of peace, while appealing to an Amity or maybe even an Erudite, was a lie. That left her with two choices.

Tell the truth—Candor.

Keep on lying—Dauntless.

So Gwyneth tightened her grip on her gun and told him, “I’m not here to kill you.”

The man’s smile became a long, vicious snarl. “Wrong answer,” he said, and pointed his own pistol at her.

“Leave her alone!” someone screamed then, a voice—a familiar voice, one she had met in this simulation before. The child materialised before her, a small girl that could not have been older than five—and lunged for the murderer aiming at Gwyneth.

All Gwyneth could see, though, was Clare Beddor’s face as she ran for the Erudites that killed her sister. The same Erudites that prized knowledge above all else, only to put an end to it whenever someone reached too far.

What had Catrin found out that day? How bad must it have been to merit an order for her execution.

Whatever truth the answers held, though, Gwyneth had already failed. But, perhaps, she could do this—could save this child, so ready and eager to sacrifice its life for those who could not have done the same.

For Catrin.

As if reading her thoughts, the man pointed his gun at the little girl.

“NO!” Gwyneth screamed, and jumped in front of the child the moment the gun fired.

***

The word still lingered on her tongue as Gwyneth shot upright with a scream.

“Sit up,” Nesta ordered, her hand steady on Gwyneth’s back. “Drink,” she added, a cold glass suddenly pressed to her trembling lips.

She obeyed, the water dripping down her chin as she gulped, the glass shaking alongside her sweaty palms.

“The whole thing,” Nesta nodded, and only when Gwyneth emptied the glass did she finally seem satisfied enough to let her speak.

“Well?” Gwyneth asked, wiping the salt on her forehead with the back of her hand. “ Not an Erudite, I’m assuming?”

Nesta’s lips pressed into a thin line, her skin somewhat pale as she quickly entered something into her datapad. “Not exactly.”

“What—what is that supposed to mean?”

Nesta met her gaze, her blue eyes wary. “Gwyn—Gwyneth, your results were inconclusive.” She sighed. “Is that something you have seen in your research, or do you need me to explain it to you?”

Gwyneth ignored the jab. “Inconclusive?” She frowned. “That is not possible.” She tried so hard—so hard to be matched to the Dauntless. She was prepared to shoot—to prove she wasn’t afraid, to prove she didn’t hesitate. If she only hadn’t let her emotions get the better of her—

“Of course not,” Nesta said, something like mockery creeping into her tone. “In theory. How many times have your theories been proven wrong, Gwyneth?”

She had to give her that one. “Many.”

“You have chosen the gun, effectively closing both paths that would have taken the simulation towards Amity—or Abnegation, for that matter.” Nesta looked at her datapad again. “That gave us Dauntless. Then, you lied to the man—then lied again, even when given a second chance and promised peace—that rules out Candor. You’re definitely not Amity, that’s for sure.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You were smart enough not to believe him, displaying equal aptitude for both Erudite and Dauntless. But then you saved the girl,” she said. “Threw your body over her own. Abnegation again.”

Nesta set her notes on the chair’s armrest, leaning in closer—close enough for the distance between them to close almost entirely as she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “Gwyneth, people like you are called Divergent. And they are very, very dangerous.” Those icy eyes searched her own. “Tell me, Gwyneth, what does our society do with dangerous people?”

Gwyneth stopped breathing entirely.

Nesta nodded. “You, of all people, should know this.”

“You know,” Gwyneth breathed. “You know what my sister researched.”

It had been Gwyneth’s theory from the day she had found a stash of notes in Catrin’s bed—shoved deep into the mattress, nearly lost to the world after death. Notes containing Catrin’s own research, all of them detailing the hypotheses of her Genetics thesis. Catrin had been studying the factionless—had been seeking to understand why, no matter how hard they tried, they did not belong to any of the factions. She had nearly found the answer.

But Catrin’s notes ended abruptly, the final entry dated two weeks before her death. The night the two of them had last ventured out to the Amity farmlands. The night Catrin had promised her no more secrets.

“And look where that research got her,” Nesta said quietly. “Gwyneth, you cannot share this information with anyone. Under no circumstances can you reveal your test results. Do you understand me?” she asked, her tone inviting no protest.

Gwyneth swallowed. Hard. “I do.”

Nesta straightened. “I’m going to put your aptitude down for Erudite, and we’ll forget about this whole thing.”

She picked the datapad up again.

“No,” Gwyneth said then.

Half-turning over her shoulder, Nesta’s brows rose. “No?”

“Dauntless,” Gwyneth blurted out, her final attempt at salvaging six-months of pain and preparation. “Please. They will look—Merrill will look at my test results. She cannot know why I didn’t come back.”

“Gwyneth,” Nesta started slowly. “Whatever you think you’ll find at the Dauntless—”

“It’s not what I’ll find there,” she interrupted. “It’s where the Dauntless can take me.”

Understanding settled into Nesta’s beautiful features. “Going beyond the Fence is strictly forbidden,” she told her.

Gwyneth offered a tense shrug. “It seems to me like I’m already on the forbidden list.”

Nesta shook her head. “To live the life of a Dauntless is to die,” she warned her. “Not many Transfers survive their Initiation. Consider what you’re about to do, Gwyneth Berdara.”

Gwyneth was done considering. It was finally time to act.

“If it was your sister,” she started, looking Nesta right in the eye, “either of your sisters. What would you have done?”

Something like surprise sparked in Nesta’s gaze, and for a moment—for a short, beautiful moment, Gwyneth had hope.

But then, Nesta told her, “You are asking a Candor to lie.”

Gwyneth knew she had lost.

She’d forgotten—she’d forgotten that, in this world, factions came above all else. No matter what Nesta thought of her, no matter what she would have done for her own sisters in Gwyneth’s position—the primary Candor virtue was to never tell a lie.

Dishonesty is rampant. Dishonesty is temporary. Dishonesty makes evil possible.

The doctrine was practically written on Nesta’s face, her features practically writhing in conflict.

So Gwyneth braced herself—braced herself for the administrator’s next words, no doubt announcing her imminent arrest and exile following the betrayal of her faction, of conspiring against her own. Perhaps they would tackle her the way they had Clare Beddor—perhaps they would drag her down to her casket beneath the city’s foundations themselves.

But then Nesta’s datapad flashed red—and Gwyneth watched as her results disappeared, wiped from the digital memory forever.

“When you get to the Dauntless,” Nesta began, her voice tight, “Find a man named Cassian. I need you to pass on a message.” Her throat bobbed. “Tell him,” she asked, “Tell him I was right.”

Gwyneth could only stare.

“Go now,” Nesta ordered, jerking her chin towards the exit. “And try to survive.”

For Catrin—for her sister, Gwyneth always would.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you, Nesta.”

She did not remember the walk back to her empty room at HQ. The last thing Gwyneth truly recalled was the cold bowl of her toilet as she leaned over it and retched her guts out.

The Choosing Ceremony was held exactly a week later at the Hub, the very centerpiece of the city. Gwyneth had queued in her dedicated blue line of twenty-one year old Erudites all morning, unable to occupy herself with anything else but waiting.

She could trust Nesta. Couldn’t she? When had she ever met a Candor with the ability to tell a lie, or worse, keep the truth from reaching the rest of the world? One word to the wrong person, and Gwyneth would be dead before even entering the building.

She had entered it, though, the Hub so much larger than she had remembered it. She and Catrin had once visited it during a school trip, when they were so young they could hardly understand the power it would one day hold over them. The power it held over everyone else.

The Ceremony had started about thirty minutes ago, and after a few brief speeches from the Candor government about the grandiose of this very moment, people’s names had begun being called out one by one. Gwyneth watched as those with an A last name made their choices, her gaze slipping occasionally to the sector at the far right, where the Dauntless would shout out their excitement each time a new Initiate’s blood was spilled over the hot, burning coals.

It was a sick display of devotion—Gwyneth had always considered it as such. Still, she was in no position to argue, not when her only other choice was to embark on a self-imposed exile. Or, apparently, submitting herself to the authorities for being an illegal outlier she had no idea even existed.

Slowly, she slid her gaze over the five white bowls, each the size of the large, sizzling cauldron she’d remembered from her childhood’s fantasy stories, their contents symbolising the five factions. Grey stones for Abnegation, plain and unassuming the way their lives were supposed to be; the hot coals for Dauntless; glass for Candor, clear as the truth; soil for Amity, like the farms they cared for; and, finally, water for Erudites, its flow representative of the ever-changing nature of knowledge.

Somewhere behind those bowls sat Merrill, no doubt expecting to see Gwyneth stain the water red. Perhaps, in another life, Gwyneth would have done just that—would have returned to the Academy, studying history the way she had always wanted, sneaking out to Amity every Summer Solstice to celebrate Catrin the way Amity celebrated the sun.

That life, though…it would not have been enough for Gwyneth. Not when she had seen the rage in Catrin’s lover’s eyes, not when she felt it in her own heart every time she felt the weight of her lighter tucked into her lab coat. Honouring Catrin would have never been enough.

Gwyneth wanted answers. Gwyneth wanted revenge.

“Gwyneth Berdara,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the hall, some of the Erudites’ quiet gasps disrupting the space. Some of them, no doubt, had already forgotten the tragedy from six months ago, Gwyneth’s family name serving as an uncomfortable reminder.

Gwyneth did not look back at them as she walked down towards the five bowls at the hall’s centre. Her eyes were only on the knife laid out before her the way the gun in her simulation had been—waiting patiently to find its way into her hand.

Gwyneth took one, steadying breath before picking it up at last. Then, she flipped it over to the sharp edge and sliced through her palm.

The quiet hiss snuck its way past her teeth as her skin split open, and she realised with a tinge of embarrassment that she may have cut too deep. Within seconds, her blood would begin spilling nowhere but the floor. Perhaps it was exactly the place where the Divergent belonged—unable to be defined despite so many choices laid ahead of them.

Gwyneth allowed herself one look at the water before looking up to meet Merrill’s gaze.

She held it even as she outstretched her hand over the burning coals and opened her palm, her blood sizzling over the fire.

There was only a second of silence when the entire hall held its breath.

And then, the Dauntless erupted with a roaring cheer.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @azrielshadowssing @damedechance @talons-and-teeth @octobers-veryown @foreverinelysian @sunshinebingo @aldbooks @climbthemountain2020 @trashforazriel @bibliophiliaxvignette

#divergent au #first hunger games!feysand now divergent!gwynriel gosh i wonder what's next 👀#gwynrielweeks2024 #gwynriel #pro gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #gwynriel fic #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel fanficiton #gwyneth berdara #pro gwyneth berdara #gwyn acotar #gwyn acosf #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel acosf #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #my writing

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venusjeon · 1 year ago

Text

faith

a rock god drabble

jungkook drags you back to the convent after having some drinks.

♔ PAIRING: rockstar!jungkook x novice!reader

♔ GENRE: 80s au, angst, fluff, humour

♔ WORD COUNT: 1k

♔ WARNINGS: religious themes, drinking, swearing, referenced non-consensual sex

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: 16.3k wasn't enough for these two so they're back! i actually planned this for the main fic but bc i felt it was getting too long i discarded it. here it is though<3 it takes place sometime before that fateful mass...

1986

The cloister looked so beautiful at night with the moonlight raining down on the grass, the crickets singing, the columns’ shadows dancing on the floor… Wait, how were they dancing if they were the columns’? Oh! That shadow was yours, and that one Jungkook’s.

You pointed at them, slurred, “They’re ours!”

Jungkook chuckled, “Nothing gets past you, Sherlock. But keep your voice down and let’s go.”

He was dragging you by the hand through the convent, having previously dragged you from the car and before that from the venue where he performed hours ago. Jungkook had insisted you snuck out to see him again, and you had to say, this time the show had been nothing short of stellar.

“I think I tolerate your music better like this.”

“What, wasted?”

“Let’s go with merry.”

It was your first time getting drunk. The venue had stayed open after the concert—drinks on the house for Bangtan since they’d lured in so much clientele—and when your face expressed hesitance Jungkook promised fun, that he wouldn’t take a single sip to drunksit you and later drive you to the convent. Accepting had proved to be a good decision, even if right now you couldn’t remember half of the night. The one clear thing in the mist of your mind was the seductive way that guitar player had eyed you through Rock God.

“Y/N? Jungkook?” A voice made him halt and curse under his breath.

“Is it Father Jimin?” you asked in what you’d intended as a whisper. Jungkook shook his head, so you turned around to be met with Sister Daeun walking over, and started giggling at the fact that you’d confused her voice with the abbot’s. Obvious you were drunk, the shock on her face at the two of you being out of bed at such hour turned into outrage.

“What in God’s name is going on?!”

You gasped. “Oh my god, I’ve never thought about that... What is God’s name?”

Jungkook would’ve normally laughed, but this time led you to the stone base between the columns some footsteps away and had you sit, lean on one. “Stay here,” he ordered calmly and you nodded, then watched him return to Sister Daeun. “I can explain, aunty.”

“How can you possibly? You took her out and got her drunk!”

“She’s fine, she just had a few drinks. I monitored.”

“Have you forgotten she’s a novice? And what if it had been Father Jimin that woke up for a glass of milk and not me?”

“Father Jimin is not a glass of milk man.” Jungkook assured her, and you burst into giggles again.

“Tell me the truth, Jungkook.” Sister Daeun hugged herself. “Where were you taking her?”

“Well, to her cell. Where else would I–” He saw in her eyes a glimpse of the apprehension she was trying to suppress, and it took him aback. “Nice to know you think me capable of that. What, is it because I have tattoos? Because I’m in a rock band? I guess I was fucking stupid to believe you’re any different to mum and dad.”

Half of Sister Daeun felt ashamed, but the other half jumped to argue, “I see you dragging a drunk girl in the dead of the night, what do you want me to think?”

“That I’m looking out for her!” Jungkook shouted without thinking, his voice echoing across the cloister. Sister Daeun closed her eyes and prayed he hadn’t been as loud as to wake anyone up, but he didn’t care, scoffed at the lack of a response. “If you don’t trust me, take her to her cell yourself, then.”

He turned to leave and with a sigh, his aunt held out a hand to you. “Come with me.”

“No, I want Jungkook…” you whined like a kid, rushing to his side to curl your arms around his left one. Despite how mad he was, he didn’t shake you off or snap at you, instead stopped walking not to pull you into tripping.

“Y/N…” It didn’t take her long to realise separating you from Jungkook would take at least three nuns. “Fine. But we’ll have a word tomorrow.”

She left and Jungkook led you away, hands held softly but a tension lingering in the air—and not the fun one he so liked to summon. You wanted to make him feel better, but it was hard to think straight, and before you knew it you were entering your cell in pitch-black darkness.

“Goodnight,” he whispered once he’d found the bed by touch and helped you lie on it. You reached for his hand in time and pulled, forcing him to sit down.

“Don’t go yet…”

He chuckled lowly, “Scared of the dark?” and you giggled again. Gosh, why was everything so funny when drunk? Well, if you thought about it, you always found Jungkook funny. Sometimes it seemed he went out of his way to make you laugh. He was so nice to you… “Hey, YN…”

“Huh?”

It was dark, but you didn’t need light to see he was nervous. “Listen, I’m sorry about before. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed you to drink. I’m not the best influence…”

You started playing with his hand. “You didn’t push me. I had lots of fun with you and Bangtan.” Especially when Hoseok and Taehyung kept insisting you sainted them, and you kept explaining that it was sadly not in your power to do so. “I’m glad you were watching over me, because I trust you.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything else, just caressed your hands back. Only once you’d fallen asleep did he leave, the pain in his heart from earlier somewhat lessened.

Hopping into his bed, he thought it was crazy that you had that effect on him. Well… not so crazy. He’d allowed you to have it, given it to you, the one person who seemed to have faith in him. It made him scoff, how ridiculously head over heels he was, and as he thought of that he finally drifted into sleep, a comfortable smile settled on his lips.

#bts au #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts x reader #bts #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bangtan imagine #bts fic #jeon jungkook scenarios #bangtan #bts x you #jeongguk #rockstar jungkook

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chibsandchill · 11 months ago

Text

The peasant dances in the pale moonlight

Pairing: Oliver Quick x Catton!AFAB!Reader (uses she/her pronouns)

Fandom: Saltburn

Warnings: Oliver, Grammatical and spelling errors, NSFW, MDNI, 18+, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation, non-con voyeurism, degradation & humiliation, thoughts of death, Oliver needs a therapist ASAP,

Summary: You seem to have moved on from what happened the night before, but Oliver’s left craving more.

Masterlist

Previous part (Can technically be read as a stand-alone)

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Life on Saltburn moved on as it always had, but Oliver felt as though he was forever changed. How could he not when he had felt what it was like to be part of them, pure and unadulterated bliss brought about by being so wholly consumed. You had chipped away at pieces of him until his very core was laid bare but not even then did your hand stay. With each caress you showed him what to be, how to act, and he devoured every inch of attention. You had given him a finger,

but he had taken the whole hand.

It was not only his core that was revealed in the pale moonlight. Underneath those designer clothes and the easy smiles both you and Felix shared, there was a particular brand of cruelty. A certain sharpness to his words as you degraded him. It wasn’t about pleasure,

not really.

It was about dominance,

humiliation,

and he longed to feel it again.

He found release like he had never before under the cruel ministrations of your fingers, euphoria as you whispered filthy, demeaning things in his ear with the same ease and familiarity as one would a pet name.

Now his eyes sought you out from the shadows of the estate, eager to catch even a glimpse of that hidden part of you. Was it just him that you had shown it to? He held himself a bit taller at the thought.

“Morning, Ol.” Felix slid into the seat next to him at the table.

He instantly felt warmer.

“Morning.” He ducked his head.

Could he see the mark you left on him?

He wasn’t just Felix’s anymore, just like the Earth belonged to both the sun and the moon, he sought to be warmed by Felix by day and be guided by you at night. You pulled and pushed and prodded at him until he bent under the weight of your touch.

“Sleep well?” He raised a brow. “You’re a bit,” Felix gestures to his face, “red.”

Oliver cleared his throat. “Yeah, thanks. You?”

Felix shrugged his shoulders. “Couldn’t find my hairbrush. Venetia must have nicked it.”

The brush.

“Must have.”

Images of how you had pushed it into him until he spilled himself into your hand played every time he closed his eyes. The noises rang in his ears even as Venetia and Felix’s banter started back up. Oliver shifted in his seat, feeling his cock stirring in his trousers. He hid the brush in his room and sometimes it would catch his eyes and he would be transported back to that moment in the tub.

He hoped Duncan wouldn’t find it.

If that be his only memory of that night then so be it.

It wouldn’t be,

couldn’t be.

You had given him a taste of belonging, of how it felt to be seen by something, someone, greater. It would be cruel, cruel even for a family of vultures, to open the door just a sliver only to slam it in his face when a speck of that warmth touched him. A man dying of thirst would drown himself in his desperation to drink,

and Oliver was parched.

“Morning.” Farleigh slumped down in a chair next to Venetia.

The Start boy nodded his head in thanks as Duncan placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. It shouldn’t have surprised Oliver that he took it black, as bitter a person as Farleigh was, but he’d imagined that a posh boy such as he would have milk or sugar, or sweetener to curb the bitterness. Rich people could afford to buy the finest coffee and add all kinds of things to chase away the taste.

There’s a glint in his eye that sat wrong with Oliver. Did Farleigh see them? Did he know?

A familiar sense of desperation blooms in his chest. It stings.

Farleigh couldn’t know. He just couldn’t. How could he? His room was nowhere near Felix and his. Had Felix overheard them? Oliver knew he hadn’t been silent, but surely the walls were thick enough to drown it out. Wouldn’t you have told him if he got too loud? What if you had gone straight to Felix after and told him what happened. What then? No more Felix, Oliver imagined. He’d be banished back into the darkness. Thrown out like yesterday’s newspaper, discarded and used, and he’d have to go crawling back to Michael.

Maybe he’d be even less than Michael then. Who would want to hang out with the person who got fucked by a hairbrush by his best friend’s twin sister while drinking his bathwater.

A social outcast. Worse than before.

He couldn’t go back to not having someone to speak to, to vent to and to marvel over. Tearing a lung out would be less painful than having to go back to staring at Felix from across the library, or catch a glimpse of him walking past his dorm window with the rest of his mates.

Or maybe Farleigh was just a smug cunt. A shit-stirrer.

Oliver spent the rest of breakfast waiting for you.

But you never came.

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

No one seemed to question where you’d gone.

No one except him.

Didn’t they care? Didn’t Felix?

“She does this all the time.” Felix had said when Oliver finally asked over the brim of his cup of exotic tea. The floral undertones and fruity aftertaste was as foreign to him as the silk that brushed against his chest, and the underwear that sat a bit too loosely to truly be considered comfortable.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit… strange?”

“Nah.” Felix snorted. His own cup stood forgotten on the garden table. “She’s probably in the library. Last I heard she found a new exciting book about some murdered knight from the 1200s.”

Oliver let his head fall to the side. Felix looked particularly handsome from that angle, he found. The sun lit up his face in delicious golden tones and cast shadows along toned muscles.

“Fun.”

Felix hummed around the base of his ciggy before he threw it over his shoulder. No doubt a maid or something waited behind the hedge and had already picked it up before it could ruin the precious lawn. Oliver wanted to chase after it, to chase the traces of Felix on it. He’d inhale and inhale until his lungs turned black but Felix would be on his lips and death would be a small price.

Did you smoke?

Oliver didn’t see you as someone who smoked. Your room didn’t smell of it, or your clothes. Your pillow smelled of your expensive perfume – the one you shared with Venetia – and Oliver knew how cigarette smoke lingered. First time in Felix’s dorm he had a coughing fit, had almost drowned in it when he laid on his bed, but it had been worth it because Felix patted him on the back, fingers lingering by the nape of his neck.

His mind wandered to the library.

Felix didn’t like reading. Not like you anyways. What was it in the library that caught your eyes so? Oliver was right here, did you not feel the longing as he did? Like a chord strung so tightly he couldn’t breathe without feeling it strain against him. There must be something.

Were you fucking Duncan?

Is that why the butler lingered outside the door, lapping at your heels like a man possessed? That glint in his eye when he caught sight of you… Oliver knew it well.

“There she is!” Felix whooped as you rounded the corner. “Ollie was asking about you.”

Your face is blank as you look at him, the warmth you looked at Felix with drained away. “Was he now?”

“Join us.”

“Oh, fine. Just for a while, though, I need to check on the roses. Mum’s gardener forgot to water them again.” You sit down on the edge of Felix’s chair, head lolling over to rest in the crook of his neck.

“Get a new one then.” Felix said.

Oliver heard you chuckle. It was not for the first time he thought you callous, but Felix? He had only ever thought him clueless; sheltered. The sun provided warmth for all, it could not help that some strayed too close, but you? You were cold and glared from your high seat, and if they did not worship you as you deserved you turned the tide against them. There would always be another to marvel over you.

They were replaceable,

he is replaceable.

Oliver realized then that he must carve out a place in the very stone of Saltburn, burrow into the very foundations so that you could never get rid of him. He must become the ground to which you always return.

“Felix told me you found a new book.” Oliver said.

You groaned. Felix scolded you.

“Yes, Ollie, Duncan brought it from when mum sent him to the Henrys’.”

“Wh-what’s it about?”

“A peasant addicted to sex.” You peaked out from under Felix’s hair. There’s that cruelty. Oliver shivered, and his trousers tightened. “He fucks and fucks and fucks some more. And then the king beheads him when he finds him in his sister’s bed. The end.”

Oliver gulped.

“That’s… dark.” Felix flicks you on the shoulder. “Did Duncan really bring you that book? Fuck, didn’t know the old man had it in him!”

:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:

Dinner came and passed, and the moon took its rightful place in the sky. It lit up his path as he stalked down the corridors to your rooms. For hours you had not so much as glanced at him. You had been inside him, forced him to release twice, but now he wasn’t good enough anymore?

Oliver wouldn’t be a peasant.

He wouldn’t be meek.

If you would not give him your attention,

he would take it.

All for himself.

Him. Him. Him. Him.

Deja vu hits him like a rock in the face. Your door isn’t closed. Through the crack he spots you,

naked. Writhing on the bed with your hand working away between your legs. Moans spill from you, calling out to him. A soft sigh. He’s rock hard in his underwear. A roll of your hips against your fingers and he has to hold himself from moaning. Your eyes are closed, but you must know he is there. It was an invitation, but this time Oliver wouldn’t stop at the door. Wouldn’t force himself to stay and watch.

Is Duncan in there with you? Looming in the corner of your room? Envy and jealousy combined in the pit of his stomach. He felt nauseous at the thought of wrinkled fingers staining your skin, tracing the edges of you like one would a beautiful sculpture.

The door opens easy enough and then he’s there. He’s crossed the line – entered your space with audacity far above his station.

“What the fuck!”

You don’t bother to hide yourself as you hiss your venom at him.

“Come back for more, did you? Fucking pathetic.”

The words go straight to his cock. He doesn’t stop. His feet bring him to the bed where you’re still leaning against the headboard. You didn’t respect him enough to move. A lion staring down a sheep who thought himself one of you, who shaved his fur and mauled himself until he grew claws. Bloody and whimpering he laid himself at your feet, begging you to do anything, to touch him. Rub sand in his wounds, spit on him.

“Just cuz I didn’t tell Felix about yesterday does not mean you can just walk in here.” You sneered. “You’re really fucked up, aren’t you?”

The thought thrilled you. Oliver could see it in your eyes. He said nothing as he stood at the edge of your bed.

“You’d let me do anything to you, and you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you, you freak.”

“Not anything.” He protested, though the lie fell flat.

You chuckled. “Leave.”

“Please.”

He can’t let you go back to Duncan. Duncan wouldn’t let you do the things Oliver would. How could the old man keep up? Would he allow himself to be broken apart and put back together however you wished until he was your perfect toy.

“Please.” You mocked him. “I feel sad for you, Ol, Ollie, Oliver.”

Oliver climbed into your bed, and you seemed amused by his bravery.

“Go on then.” You said. “Prove me right.”

He fitted himself between your legs, eyes still staring into yours. Oliver lowered his head but refused to break the contact, and then he lapped at the wetness leaking out of your cunt. If it feels good you don’t let it show. Your taste is tangy, salty but wonderful. He could drink it for the rest of his life and never tire of it.

You’re part of him now. And he’s part of you.

Oliver flattened his tongue and ran it from the bottom to the top, snaking the tip in to prod at your hole, before flicking your clit. Your eyes flutter but you don’t shut them. Your lips remain in a smirk.

“Is that the best you can do?”

Fire burned inside him.

Dragging his thumb across your cunt produced a truly filthy sound, but the moan you let out when he used the pad of the digit to press down on your swollen clit almost has him cumming in his boxers. He flicked it. Traced it. Experimented with shapes and pressure until your eyes fell shut, your chest heaved and the smirk is gone from your pretty lips.

His tongue worked diligently at the rest of you, lapping up the wetness no faster than more gushed out. Oliver’s face glistened with juices, and a stuttered moan was torn from him when you coated him with your release. It’s soundless, a sharp exhale before all tension leaked out of you – ragdolling in his arms. Eager to chase that high, you grabbed his hair and brought him closer, and he took his thumb off your clit, replaced it with his tongue so he could slip a finger into you.

“Fuck.”

His chest swelled with pride. You allowed Oliver to tear your pleasure from you, and he did not disappoint. He wondered which of you were the more eager for you to feel more pleasure, him in his all-consuming desire to serve, to press himself against you until he had ripped himself apart, embedded himself in your heart so that you would carry him with your forever, or you, who came so sweetly when he begged and pleaded.

Oliver was about to press another finger inside you when his face fell on the damp sheets. His brain felt foggy, eyes unfocused as he searched for you.

“Lay down.”

The command is sharp, laced with threat that send his heart rushing. He’s on his back within seconds, splayed out on your bed with hearts in his eyes. Would you tear them out? Grind it to pieces with your teeth, blood rushing down your cheek. He’d truly be with you then. But then you’d throw him away and he would have to offer another part of him, and another, until there was nothing left and you had consumed him all.

He would give the last of him to you on bloody stumps and praise singing from his lips.

“Hm. You’re bigger than I expected.”

Pride surged through him.

And then you’re on him, grinding down your cunt on his stomach, manicured nails leaving crescent marks on his chest until he whined, shirt pushed up to his collarbones. But he doesn’t move away. He moved into your touch, arched his back to chase you when you left. And you indulge him. Blood wells up, and you dipped your head to taste it. it stained the corners of your mouth.

Oliver throbbed. It was painful how hard he was. It felt as though he would tear through his underwear at any second, but then your hand pushed the fabric away and grasped him in your hand. Your hold is too tight, too dry but it tore moan after moan out of him all the same.

Sweet relief.

His heart sang when you guided him to your heat, and he never felt as full so that he might burst as he did when you joined together as one. To be inside you? Beyond words. Oliver felt as though he was floating. Did you feel the same?

He would never let you go now.

You were one now.

The act itself is meaningless. The pleasure is background to the completion he felt, second to how he chased after your soul so that he could stitch himself onto you. He would tighten the stitches until they were seamless and no one would know who was who, for why did it matter? He was yours, always, wholly, all that he was was yours.

He vaguely felt you rock faster against him, but your lips never pressed against his. You don’t seal the connection with a kiss. His spine ached, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. You licked them away with a throaty groan. You ride him ever so faster after that, fingers wrapping around his throat until he can’t breathe,

but he doesn’t need to.

You are his oxygen – all he needs to survive is but one glance. For the moon to see the Earth under the piles of bodies.

When you climax, he does, and it is euphoria. Otherworldly pleasure times two. A golden string tugging and tugging until it snapped and left stars branded into his eyelids, scars on his heart from where it was torn out by your claws. He will forever bear your mark,

but it wasn’t enough.

Olive wanted more. He wanted you to take more. He was too whole, too alone, too cold,

he couldn’t stand to look at himself in the mirror and not see you.

Taglist:

@fedyascoffin

#saltburn imagine #saltburn smut #saltburn x reader #saltburn #oliver quick x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick smut #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick

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