#she deserves death for what she did. she looks at the bruising on her throat and wonders why it wasn't enough | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oceandolores · 2 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 21

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"If we died tonight, I'd die yours,"

summary: joel found you

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 21

masterlist!

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The cold seeped into your bones, icy and unyielding against the concrete floor, and you could feel every bruise, every cut, every ache in your body.

The pain was an unrelenting, throbbing reminder of everything you’d endured, but that wasn’t the worst part. What tore at you now was the horror of seeing Emma, your best friend, taken from this world in a way you wouldn’t have believed possible had you not witnessed it with your own eyes.

Her life, her laughter, her warmth—gone. Because of you.

A sob caught in your throat as the weight of it crushed you. Emma hadn’t deserved this; she had a whole life stretched out before her, full of hope and love.

She had just started it, a new chapter, a new promise. And now, because she’d tried to save you, it had ended in unimaginable horror. The images wouldn’t leave you, wouldn’t stop replaying in your mind.

Jim—God, he was probably gone too. Gone, because of you.

Desperation clawed at your chest, leaving you empty and hollow. You could feel yourself slipping, hope draining out of you like a slow bleed, and something bitter was taking its place.

A deep, aching question clawed at the edges of your mind, one you’d never dared ask before, but one that refused to stay silent any longer:

Why would God let this happen to you?

You’d loved Him, stayed faithful, tried to be everything you were taught you should be. And yet, here you were, in the darkest pit, left to rot.

Why?

Tears blurred your vision, and somewhere between the sobs and the silence, you felt something break inside you.

You stopped praying, stopped hoping for anything good. The words, the comfort, the promises—all of it felt hollow.

You were empty now, just a shell of everything you once believed.

The door creaked open, and in he came—Negan, his footsteps echoing like the toll of a death knell. He looked at you, pity mingling with something else in his gaze, a twisted satisfaction.

A smirk tugged at his lips, and he shook his head, his voice dripping with mocking sympathy.

“Aw, look at you,” he cooed.

“See, doll, I didn’t want it to come to this. But you had to go and make things difficult. If you’d just listened to me—if you’d been my good girl—none of this would’ve happened.”

The rage bubbled up, scalding and raw. You looked at him, every ounce of hatred burning in your eyes. “What did you do to her?” The words barely made it past the tightness in your throat, but they were laced with venom.

You could feel it, the sickening truth—whatever he’d done, it was something worse than you could imagine.

Negan chuckled, an unholy sound that made your skin crawl. “Don’t you worry about her,” he said, a dark glint in his eye.

“I took real good care of her.” The words lingered, taunting, but before you could say anything more, he pulled a medical kit from his bag, the glint of a syringe catching your eye.

Panic shot through you, and you scrambled backward, heart pounding. “Don’t… don’t touch me!"

Negan’s eyes softened, his tone suddenly too gentle, too calm. “Relax, princess,” he murmured, reaching for your arm. “I just need you to play along for a bit.”

But you jerked back, thrashing against his grip. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Your voice cracked, fueled by the horror churning in your chest, the feeling of his hand on your skin like a brand.

The gentle smile on his face vanished, replaced by a cold, dangerous stare. His grip tightened, bruising, and in one swift motion, he struck you across the face, the impact leaving stars in your vision.

“Listen to me, you stupid little bitch,” he hissed, his voice low and deadly. “I’m done asking nicely. You’re going to be a good girl and do as I say, or you’re going to wish you had.”

You barely registered the sting of the needle as he plunged it into your arm. The world began to blur, darkness creeping in from the edges, and you fought it, clawing for consciousness, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

But the drug took hold fast, dragging you down, down, until the world was nothing but darkness.

***

The address Negan gave led Joel to an unassuming neighborhood, quiet and tucked away, where homes lined the street like silent sentries.

Everything here was normal, almost obscenely so, and the ordinariness of it all set his nerves on edge. How could something so terrible be hiding behind these closed doors?

How could neighbors go about their days, clueless to the horror lurking so close? He took a long, deep breath, steeling himself, fingers grazing over the cold metal of his pistol holstered by his side.

He wasn’t a fool; he knew this was a trap. But nothing—nothing—would stop him from stepping into it if it meant the chance to see you alive again.

Before he entered, Joel slipped his phone from his pocket, sending his location to Tommy, leaving the device outside on a rock by the front gate.

He couldn’t afford distractions; whatever came next would be a fight to the end.

As he made his way up the steps, he felt it in his bones, that tether connecting him to you, stretched thin but unbroken. He knew you were here, somewhere behind these walls, waiting, needing him.

His heart ached at the thought of what you’d endured. It wasn’t right—none of this was right.

Inside, the air was thick with rot and rust, the scent of decay seeping into Joel’s lungs as he moved through the shadowed house.

Every step felt like a descent deeper into hell, each room echoing with the silent horror Negan had constructed within these walls.

The quiet was suffocating, pressing against his senses as he advanced with tense, deliberate steps, the weight of his weapon a cold comfort against his side.

The metallic smell of blood seemed to seep through the walls, thickening the air like rot as Joel moved down the dim corridor, his gaze fixed on the heavy big metal door at the end.

Blood was smeared across its surface, a dark, cruel stain, like the mark of some unholy ritual. He forced himself to breathe through the nausea rising in his throat, steadying himself with a muttered plea.

Please, God, let her be alive.

With a rough, trembling hand, he pushed open the door, entering a space so silent and hollow it felt like stepping into a tomb. The walls were metallic and gray, shimmering faintly under the dim, flickering light.

A hulking freezer stood in the corner, and around it lay instruments of terror—chainsaws, rusted wrenches, and knives coated in dried blood.

This was no ordinary room; it was a pit of nightmares.

He barely took three steps before his gaze froze on the horror ahead—a headless body hung from a butcher’s hook.

With a dress dangling from her shoulders, hair matted against blood-smeared fabric. For a sickening moment, his heart stopped, every nerve screaming as he tried to push down the dread that it was you.

But it wasn’t.

He knew you. The shape of your body, the softness of your shoulders, the line of your arms. Relief coursed through him, but only for a split second.

Desperately, he moved toward the freezer, steeling himself for whatever horror he might find. Inside, jars lined the shelves—heads frozen in twisted, agonized expressions.

Women. Girls to be exact. They don't look older than 20.

His stomach churned violently, but he couldn’t look away. And there, in a fresh jar, he saw Emma’s familiar face, her eyes closed forever in a peaceful, sickening slumber.

His chest tightened as the desperate, icy panic surged within him. He’s taken them all.

As he backed away, his gaze landed on a large object draped in thick canvas, its edges sagging like a dark secret. Swallowing, he approached, slowly pulling back the cover, revealing a small dog cage, lined with soiled fabric and stained in red.

It's you.

He could barely breathe as he took in the sight, disbelief warring with hope. Inside, you lay motionless, your body crumpled and cold, pale in the dim light, bruises shadowing your face and arms.

Every inch of you looked fragile, lifeless. Joel’s heart shattered, the pain so raw it made him stagger.

"No... no," he whispered, stumbling forward. "No.” His voice cracked, shattering the silence.

He dropped to his knees, frantically reaching through the bars, hands trembling as he fumbled with the lock.

It wouldn’t budge, metal biting into his hands as he yanked, pulled, and beat at it in fury until finally, with a final, desperate heave, it gave way.

He pulled your body in his arms, a wave of coldness seeping through his skin as he held you close, brushing a shaking hand against your cheek, as if he could will the warmth back into you.

“Baby…I’m here.” His voice was barely a whisper, as fragile as he’d ever been, a man torn open.

He pressed his ear to your chest, desperate for any sign of life, but your skin was cold, your pulse faint to nonexistent, the quiet threatening to consume him.

"I'm here now… open your eyes, babygirl," he whispered, voice raw and trembling, searching for any flicker, any faint sign of life.

He leaned close, brushing his thumb over your bruised skin, trying to will you back to him. "Doll… please… open your eyes. I'm here."

His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, his body trembling with the weight of the moment, and yet—somewhere, deep in his bones—he felt you.

You couldn’t be gone. Not you. This couldn’t be happening.

Desperation clawed at him as he murmured again, “I’m here… please, please… doll…” The sound of his voice, broken and laced with grief, shattered in the silence.

He clutched you tighter, pressing you to his chest, a hollow ache blooming in the very marrow of him. "Please… don't do this to me, baby…"

"Don't do this to me..."

For the first time in years, Joel prayed.

He’d long forgotten how to ask for mercy, how to whisper words into the void and hope something beyond him might listen.

But here, in this moment, he found himself clinging to the last, fragile remnants of belief, calling out to a God he’d long turned away from, begging—pleading—that you be spared.

His lips moved in a silent prayer, the words barely more than a broken murmur, all his hope wrapped into each fractured plea. Please… don’t take her. Don’t let her go.

His world collapsed into this single, unbearable moment. Everything—the pain, the emptiness, the years he’d spent buried in his own grief—shrank down to this: holding you, willing you to stay.

A part of him whispered that you were gone, that he’d come too late. It sliced through him, the pain cold and merciless, tearing at him from the inside.

But he couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. He held you tighter, as if he could pull you back to life with sheer, desperate force.

"Come on, babygirl," he whispered, his voice a soft plea, thick with tears. "You promised me… remember? You promised."

His tears fell onto your skin, mingling with the blood that marred your face, his grief seeping into every inch of you. He bent his head, pressing his lips against your forehead, his tears hot and relentless.

Every memory, every moment with you flashed through his mind, a lifetime of love condensed into seconds. The laughter you’d shared, the softness in your eyes when you’d look at him—all of it now hung in the balance, slipping through his fingers like smoke.

Joel's grip tightened, his arms wrapped around you like he could shield you, even now, from everything dark and vile in this world. "Please, come back to me," he choked out, his voice barely more than a breath, the words pulled from the deepest part of him.

Come back.

His chest ached, his heart beating against a wall of sorrow so thick it was suffocating. And still, he held you, as though love alone could tether your soul back to him, could fill the silence that had swallowed you whole.

Suddenly, the silence between you shattered as you gasped awake, air flooding into your lungs in a desperate, rattling breath.

Joel’s heart jolted with such force he almost pulled back, but instead, he held you tighter, his relief an overwhelming wave crashing over him.

You thrashed weakly in his arms, vision blurred, disoriented and terrified, your voice breaking in panicked cries. "No! No! Don’t touch me!"

"Hey, hey… it’s me. It’s me," he murmured softly, his hands gentle on your shoulders as he tried to calm you.

His voice was thick, a rough whisper, barely holding back the tears of relief as he drew you closer, feeling the steady warmth of your breath against his chest.

"Joel?" He felt you relax, and slowly, as if afraid you’d disappear if he let go, Joel wrapped his arms tighter around you, silently thanking whatever force was left in this world for bringing you back to him.

"Thank you...Thank you God," he whispered to God, to bring you back.

Your blurred vision cleared, and as your gaze fell on his face, the tears came, spilling over in a torrent of relief, of exhaustion, of love.

You clung to him, like a child, letting out every fear, every longing, until the weight of his presence seemed to ground you, to make you feel safe again.

“I thought… I thought I’d never see you again,” you whispered, your voice trembling, breaking.

He pulled you close, pressing his lips to the side of your head, his words soft and steady. "I got you. You’re safe now… I’m here now." His heart clenched as he felt you collapse against him, trusting him to carry the weight of this moment.

The horror of everything he’d witnessed, everything he’d feared, lingered on the edges of his mind, but with you here in his arms, he could finally breathe.

He then kissed you, you kissed him back.

The warmth of Joel's embrace, that kiss—long, desperate, everything unspoken between you poured into it—all of it felt like salvation, like drowning in relief only to be pulled into air and held there, safe.

Your lips pressed together in a fierce, shared need to feel every ache, every moment of fear, longing, and love—the kiss deepening as if it could carry every bit of pain you’d endured and let it dissolve in his arms.

For a moment, it was just the two of you against the horror, the emptiness that had swallowed you whole.

Here, with him, you are finally feel alive again.

But then, the moment split open. A shadow loomed behind him, and a chill ran down your spine, the dread slithering into your heart before you even turned.

You pulled back, eyes wide, breath catching as you saw Negan standing there, his mouth twisted in a cruel, dark smirk.

In his hands was that familiar bat, glinting under the dim light, raised with lethal intent.

"NO, JOEL—" you managed, your voice breaking as terror surged through you, but it was already too late.

The bat crashed down with a sickening, brutal force, and Joel’s body crumpled beneath the blow.

“Joel!” Your scream tore through the silence, raw and desperate. His form lay motionless, blood slowly trickling from the wound on his head, staining his face as his eyes fell shut.

The sight shattered you.

Negan grabbed you, yanking you away with unyielding strength. You kicked, you clawed, but it was no use. “NO! Don’t do anything to him! Please, don’t hurt him, don’t—” But your pleas fell on deaf ears.

He threw you back into the cold, unforgiving cage, the door slamming shut with a merciless clang.

"NEGAN, NO!" You pounded against the bars, fists slamming as you screamed. He only watched, amused, as though your desperation was an orchestra he enjoyed conducting.

Across the room, Negan dragged Joel’s limp body to a chair, binding his hands and legs with thick, rough ropes. He worked meticulously, each knot tight, his gaze never leaving Joel's battered face.

Blood dripped from the wound on Joel’s head, trailing slowly down his neck, and you felt a crushing helplessness as you watched him, your voice cracking as you screamed.

“Joel! Joel, please… wake up…”

You clawed at the bars until your nails split, your hands bloody, but the steel held fast.

The reality of the moment sank into your bones like ice, each second stretching with dread. "NEGAN, PLEASE!" you begged, your voice breaking, but he only turned toward you with a mocking, cold look.

"That’s the last time he’ll get to touch you," Negan sneered, disgust twisting in his voice as he gestured back at the spot where you’d kissed Joel, where you’d clung to him like he was your last hope. “Disgusting.”

***

Joel’s world flickered back to life in fragments, his mind swimming as he fought the waves of blackness pressing against him.

His head throbbed with a searing pain, and his vision blurred as he forced his eyes open, seeing only flashes of movement and shapes at first.

Then, bit by bit, his sight cleared, and he could see you through the haze, slumped against the bars of a cage, tears streaming down your face as you called his name, desperate and broken.

His heart twisted at the sight, fear tearing through him as he tried to reach for you, only to feel the bite of ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles.

He was bound to the chair, unable to move. Panic settled into his chest, sharp and unforgiving. “Doll…” he managed, his voice hoarse and shaky as he struggled against the restraints, the blood from his wound still warm, trickling down his neck.

Negan’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and cruel, like the edge of a blade scraping against bone. "Well, look who’s finally awake,"he jeered, stepping into Joel’s view, his eyes gleaming with a sick, twisted pleasure.

Every word that left Negan’s lips felt like an assault, each syllable laced with venom.

The sight of him, standing there so casually, was enough to stir something inside Joel that was deeper than fury—it was primal, raw, a burning hatred that ignited within him.

Every muscle in his body screamed to break free, to get to you, to tear Negan apart. He pulled at the ropes, feeling them bite into his skin, but they held fast, as immovable as the horror that had unfolded.

"I'm going to kill you," Joel growled, the words thick with rage and the promise of retribution. The air around him seemed to crackle with violence, his every word a threat, his every breath heavy with hatred.

Negan’s laugh was low and cruel, a sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Without warning, he drove his fist into Joel's stomach, and the sound of it—the sickening thud—echoed in the room, a sharp crack of pain that sent a wave of terror through you.

“No!” you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands reaching helplessly through the bars, as if you could stop the onslaught with your mere presence.

Negan wiped the blood from his knuckles and smiled. "You think you can save her, huh? Think you can play hero, Miller?" he mocked, his voice dripping with scorn.

"C’mon, you can’t be that stupid. You really think I’d kill her? Please… she’s way too much fun to kill." He sneered, another brutal punch landing on Joel’s face, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack.

Joel’s eyes were darkened with pain, his mouth now filled with blood, but the fire in him didn’t waver. "I’m gonna fucking kill you," Joel spat, the blood dribbling from his lips, his voice hoarse with fury.

Negan tilted his head, studying Joel with a twisted grin. "Tough guy, huh?" he said, mocking the very idea of Joel’s strength. "Well, let’s see how tough you are when you can’t do a damn thing about it."

Joel’s heart was thundering in his chest, the pulse of his veins matching the brutal rhythm of the punches he endured.

But his spirit didn’t falter; it only burned brighter with every insult, with every blow that landed on his battered body.

Negan circled him, like a predator sizing up its prey, leaning in close, his voice thick with venom as he whispered into Joel’s ear. "What were you thinking, huh? That you could just walk in here and stop me?" He chuckled, shaking his head, his voice dripping with mocking pity.

"We were fine without you. Hell, we were thriving without you." His eyes flicked over to you in the cage, a dark glimmer in them. "She was happy, you know. Didn’t need you to be in her head. But here you are, playing the white knight, trying to save the girl you don’t even fucking deserve."

Negan's voice was like poison, dripping from his lips with a slow, deliberate cruelty, each word laced with venom meant to tear Joel down, to twist the knife deeper.

He knew the weight of Joel's guilt, the shadows of his past, and now, he was going to use it against him.

"You think you deserve her?" Negan’s tone was mocking, cruel, his eyes glinting with a sadistic pleasure. "You? You think you can be her hero, Miller? You’ve known her since she was a little girl, right? Since she was three? And now you’re fucking��her?" His voice rose with each word, the venom thickening, as if he could make Joel choke on the very idea.

"Disgusting."

Joel’s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t respond—not yet. Not when Negan was playing with fire, fanning the flames of his mind, trying to ignite a spark of doubt in his heart.

Joel remained silent, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his gaze burning holes into the floor beneath him.

Negan was trying to gaslight him, make him feel like the monster, make him believe the lies about his relationship with you.

Negan leaned in, his breath hot against Joel's ear, like a shadow whispering sweet poison into his soul. "You really think you’re a hero, huh?" He chuckled darkly.

"You think you’re saving her? You’re just like them, Miller. Just like Ben. Just like that goddamn pedophile you killed. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it—taking matters into your own hands, playing God, playing judge, jury, and executioner. You’re the same fucking monster they were. You’re just too stupid to see it."

The words sent a cold shiver through Joel’s veins, like ice water splashing against his skin.

The ghosts of his past clawed at him, the blood-stained memories that had been haunting him for years now bubbling up to the surface. He had killed Ben and Jamie. Killed them to protect her.

"You killed them because you want her to be all yours. Not because you want to protect her,"

Joel’s jaw clenched, but his mind started to churn with the doubt Negan planted, each word a tiny crack in the wall Joel had built around himself.

He had been justifying everything, hadn’t he? His actions… the things he did for you. It was all for you, wasn’t it? To protect you.

But Negan was playing with fire, and his words were like gasoline—burning through the edges of Joel’s sanity, forcing him to look at the truth through a new, ugly lens.

“God,” Negan’s voice dropped to a low murmur, almost conversational, “I watched her for a long time. Long before you even fucking noticed her.”

He stepped closer, his breath sour, smelling of something rotten, something foul. “The first time I met her father… I was going to repent. I was going to change. Hell, Naomi told me to visit Reverend Gibson, to clean up my act, to find some peace. I was gonna find salvation. All those other girls—bored me. But then… I saw her."

"She was in that white sundress, innocent, pure. I thought—" He let out a dark laugh, shaking his head. “I thought God wanted me to have her, Miller. Maybe she was my redemption. To have a pure, sweet, innocent soul to redeem my sins."

"But then you showed up. Like a fucking rat you have to showed up for God's sake!"

Joel felt his breath catch, like he was drowning in the weight of Negan’s words, each one pressing down on him, pushing him deeper into a pit of guilt and self-loathing.

Negan’s laughter was sickening. It clawed at Joel’s chest, and the air felt thick, choking. “You… you played the fucking hero, huh? You couldn’t leave well enough alone."

Negan walking circled him, "You thought you could save her from her misery just because her father disciplined her. So what, Joel? Girls need to be fucking taught!"

"I agree with her father on that one. She was a brat! and oh she still is!"

The silence was deafening after those words. They hung in the air like smoke, choking the life out of Joel, filling him with a slow, creeping dread.

His mind spun, the thought of you, so innocent, so pure, now tangled in his web. Negan was poisoning everything, every memory of you, twisting it into something ugly, something perverse.

Negan didn’t stop, his words like chains tightening around Joel’s neck, dragging him deeper into the muck. "You led her to you, Joel. Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t."

"You acted like you could protect her. But you can’t even protect yourself from your own past, can you? You’re so goddamn broken, so messed up. And now you’re just taking advantage of her.

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, a storm of guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. Was he—had he really led you here? Was he really just as bad as Negan said?

Negan’s voice dropped to a mocking whisper, dragging the words through Joel's mind like claws on glass. “She was your daughter’s friend, Joel. Ellie’s friend.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Joel’s ear.

“Don’t you feel disgusted? You’ve fucked your daughter’s friend. That’s how far you’ve fallen.”

Joel’s head swam, the weight of the words crashing over him, drowning him in a sea of doubt and self-loathing.

His grip tightened on the ropes, his knuckles white, but there was something else now—a spark of something dark, something cold in his chest.

"What do you think Jane would say, huh?" with the mention of his late wife, Joel's body tighten up.

"You think she’d be proud of you, molesting Evelyn’s daughter? Evelyn, Jane’s best friend. You’re disgusting, Joel. All of this? It’s on you."

Negan continued, his voice a low, mocking growl, pushing Joel to the edge. “You’re no better than any of us. Look at you, Miller."

"You took advantage of her. She was just a little girl who needed someone to teach her. And you? You saw an opportunity, didn’t you?”

"You are pathetic," Negan's word hit like a snake's fangs, stung through Joel's heart.

Joel clenched his fists harder, his body trembling with rage, fear, and a deep sense of self-loathing. His throat burned as he fought to keep the tears back, to keep from choking on the agony of his own thoughts. The floodgates were closing, but they were trembling, about to burst.

What has he done?

Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom now. He couldn’t focus. His mind was torn between the images of you—so sweet, so innocent—and the cruel words that Negan kept throwing at him, one after another.

But then, through the haze of doubt, through the suffocating weight of Negan’s venom, Joel heard your voice.

“No!” You screamed, your voice breaking through the madness, a raw, desperate plea.

“Joel, don’t listen to him!” The words trembled on your lips, an echo of everything you needed to say, everything you wanted Joel to hear.

"Don't listen to him!" you screamed again, your breath ragged, your throat burning from the effort. The sound of Negan’s poison lingered in the air like smoke, heavy and thick, but you couldn’t let it smother the truth.

You needed him to hear you. He needed to hear you.

"Joel, look at me!" you pleaded, your hands gripping the bars of the cage so tightly your fingers turned white.

Every word Negan had said felt like a bullet to your heart, but you couldn’t—you wouldn’t—let Joel fall into the same trap. He was better than this.

He is better than them.

"You’re not like them, Joel. You never were!" The words spilled from your mouth, raw and desperate, desperate to break through the fog that was clouding his mind.

You needed him to see the truth—the truth that was you and him, the life you shared, the love you both fought for in the darkest corners.

"You love me. In your own way, but you love me, Joel! You saved me! You gave me a life I never thought I deserved." Your voice cracked with the weight of everything you were feeling, the deep well of emotion that surged between you both.

"Joel, I love you."

"I love you, Joel. and you love me, you are my savior, you saved me."

"Look at me! Look at me, Joel! Don't let him under your skin, please,"

Negan, on the other side of this fragile moment, stood grinning, eyes glinting with amusement, as if watching a puppet fight its strings.

He saw Joel waver, saw the flicker of doubt and fear, and he thrived on it. His smile was nothing short of wicked, enjoying the chaos he had stirred.

He had set his trap, and now he watched, savoring the confusion that was slowly chipping away at Joel’s resolve.

You could see Joel, fighting against the chaos in his own mind, the weight of Negan’s twisted words pulling at him like a chain.

His eyes flickered, lost, haunted, caught between his past and the present, between the lies and the truth. But then—then—he looked at you.

For a moment, it was like time stopped. The world held its breath, and all that existed was you and him.

His gaze locked on yours, and in that instant, you saw everything—the raw, unspoken love, the pain, the guilt, the shame, but also the fight.

The fight to break free, the fight to protect you, the fight to keep you safe.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice soft but steady now, as if you were trying to calm the storm that raged inside him.

"You are so much better than this. You’re not like them, Joel. You’re not a monster. You are the best father Ellie and Sarah could ever want, Joel. They will be proud of you, she would have. The best man I have ever wanted, you're my protecter, the love of my life, you are my soul, Joel."

But as you cried out to him, Negan’s smile twisted into a sneer, his patience running thin. "Enough with your fucking mouth!" he growled, turning to you with fury, his hands reaching for the cage, yanking the door open with a violence that made you flinch.

"Shut up already."

Before you could react, Negan was on you, his hand slapping across your face with a sickening force, sending your head whipping to the side.

The sound of the slap echoed in the room, louder than your scream. The sting spread like fire across your cheek, your eyes filling with tears that blurred your vision.

For a moment, the world spun—his presence, his cruelty, all of it was too much to bear.

With that, Joel—Joel is awake.

In that instant, the haze lifted from his eyes. The fury, the protectiveness, everything that made Joel Joel came rushing back.

His muscles strained against the ropes, his eyes flashing with an intensity that would have burned holes in the walls if he could.

He was no longer the broken man Negan had manipulated, no longer the victim of his words.

He was the man who had fought for you, the man who had saved you.

"You son of a bitch!" Joel roared, the raw anger in his voice like a clap of thunder. His body surged forward, every instinct screaming to protect you, to break free from his restraints.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" He screamed, his hands were shaking with rage, but that was the only thing that kept him grounded—the unrelenting need to destroy the man who had dared to lay a finger on you.

The rope binding Joel's wrists strained as he twisted, trying to force the knot loose, his mind ablaze with fury. Every word Negan spoke chipped away at his restraint, his heart hammering with hatred.

The sight of you in Negan's hold—his arm around your neck, the gleaming knife pressed to your throat—made Joel’s blood boil.

But he knew he had to keep his wits; one wrong move, and you’d be lost.

Negan grinned, tightening his grip around your neck. His voice was dripping with mockery as he taunted, "What’s the matter, honey? Scared now?" He leaned closer, his sneer twisted with sadistic pleasure.

"Oh, Joel, why’d you have to ruin everything? If it wasn’t for you, she and I—" he paused, savoring each word, "we’d have lived happily ever after."

Joel’s hands shook as he worked against the restraints, his heart pounding. Negan’s twisted words were knives slicing into him, each one crueler than the last.

"She’s delicious, Joel," Negan sneered, his voice sickly sweet as he ran his tongue along his teeth. "The way she tastes... can’t get enough of her." He licked his lips exaggeratedly, taunting Joel, mocking him with every vile syllable.

"You should’ve known," Negan laughed, pressing the blade closer to your skin, just enough to draw a thin trickle of blood.

"Stop it, Negan, please," you whimpered, tears spilling from your eyes, the despair twisting in your voice.

Negan only tightened his hold, his voice low and cruel. "What’s the matter, honey? You were enjoying it too, right?" The words crushed you, and you turned your face away, unable to look at Joel, a sense of shame sinking into your soul.

Joel's fingers scraped against the ropes with renewed desperation, his fury almost blinding.

Negan’s voice slithered through the silence, every word laced with cruelty. "You know," he continued, "I thought of sharing her around with the others. She made me good money, after all. She knows how to entertain… they paid well. Maybe you’d want a turn, too, Joel. She’s… profitable." He laughed, a dark, rasping sound that reverberated in the room, tightening the coil of hatred in Joel’s chest.

"I’m gonna kill you," Joel growled through gritted teeth, his voice a low, venomous promise.

"Ah, ah," Negan teased, pressing the blade harder against your skin, making you wince. "I’m not finished yet."

Negan’s voice softened, a calculated cruelty in every word as he continued. "But I started thinking... she can’t stay young forever. Thought maybe… it’d be a shame not to pass on those… charming qualities of hers."

"And wouldn’t you know it, Joel, she was carrying a piece of me inside her. That's right, My child!"

"She didn’t agree, of course… but a little force never hurt, right?"

Joel’s heart froze at Negan’s taunts, every word tearing open old wounds he’d buried deep.

Each sentence was a twisted knife, slashing at the walls Joel had built to keep the pain, guilt, and memories at bay. Negan’s voice was venomous, slithering around the broken dreams Joel had long since given up on.

He felt the darkness creeping back—the part of him that, years ago, had once loved fiercely, only to lose everything in one brutal instant.

But pregnant? His mind reeled, the word pounding in his skull like a drum. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, carrying his child—his child—pierced through the numbness in his heart.

He could barely breathe, the thought of you enduring such horror while he was oblivious igniting a fury so primal, so fierce, it nearly drowned him.

Rage tangled with a crushing sense of failure. He wanted to rip Negan apart with his bare hands, make him pay for every ounce of pain he’d inflicted.

Negan’s twisted laughter cut through his thoughts. “Yeah, she wanted a family, Joel,” he sneered, lips curling in a malicious grin.

“She had this fucking unrealistic idea, delusional bitch. You. Her. Playing house. Kids. The whole perfect life fantasy. But she knew, didn’t she?” Negan’s gaze pierced Joel, mocking him with each word.

“You were scared of it, scared of screwing it up like you did the last time. I mean, how could she not know? You’ve got ‘haunted’ written all over you. Lost control, didn't you? When you killed your own family,” Negan laughed, as if savoring each jab.

Inside, Joel’s heart twisted. He remembered the night like yesterday. Now he was left with nothing but ashes and guilt that hollowed him out from the inside.

Every part of him was screaming to shut Negan up, to wipe that smug look off his face. But it was true, wasn’t it? Deep down, he was scared—scared of losing again, scared of failing you the way he’d failed before.

But you, you were different. Despite everything, you stayed.

Despite the darkness he carried, the broken parts he tried to hide, you’d somehow found something worth holding onto.

That fierce loyalty of yours was like a light in the pitch-black cave of his heart, something so pure it almost hurt to look at.

You were stupid, he told himself, but the truth was you were braver than he ever could be.

You had this impossible, relentless hope—the dream of a life together, a family, even though he’d told himself it could never be.

You had loved him, flaws and all, even when he couldn’t love himself. And now, the thought of what Negan had done, the way he’d shattered that hope, drove him to the edge.

"But this stupid bitch killed my baby before they could feel their daddy's voice,"

Negan's words echoed in the dim room, each one twisting deeper into Joel's heart. The pain surged through him like wildfire. You'd done the unimaginable for him, sacrificing more than he could comprehend, and now here you were, your hope and loyalty used against you like weapons.

It was more than he could take—Negan was tearing away the last pieces of himself, bit by bit. Joel's fists clenched tight, knuckles white, straining against the binds holding him back, desperate to shut Negan up, to take back what had been lost.

Negan’s voice grew sharper, each taunt slicing like a blade. "You see, Joel? this bitch is loyal and fucking crazy, she killed her own child for you! just to make a new baby for you!"

"She killed her own kid—for you. All that love, all that loyalty, wasted on you."

"But it’s over, you hear me? You and her? Done. I’ll make sure she forgets you. And when I’m finished with you, there’ll be nothing left."

The world narrowed to this single moment. Negan, too consumed with his taunts to notice, didn’t see you move.

In a swift, silent motion, you grabbed a jagged tool from the ground behind him, the weight of it heavy in your hand. You swung it, heart pounding, and plunged it into Negan's chest with everything you had.

Negan gasped, staggering back, his eyes flashing with fury and shock. In an instant, he retaliated, plunging his knife into your side.

The pain ripped through you, a white-hot flash as you felt the blade sink in, stealing the air from your lungs.

"Joel..."

Time slowed, the world narrowing to the throbbing ache and the look on Joel's face—his eyes wide, pure horror carved into every line, as he screamed for you, voice raw and desperate.

"NO!"

Your name fell from his lips, a broken prayer, just as you stumbled back, collapsing onto the cold ground. Negan kicked you aside with brutal force, your body sliding across the floor as you fought to keep your vision steady.

You could barely hear Joel’s cries over the rushing in your ears, his desperate shout, the anguish that filled every word, but you felt his presence as if he were right there, holding you.

The sound of wood splintering filled the room as Joel threw his weight against the chair, shattering the binds that held him. In one furious motion, he was on his feet, lunging at Negan with a force that seemed to shake the air.

They collided in a storm of fists and fury, each punch landing like thunder. Blood smeared the floor, echoing the carnage that seethed within Joel’s heart, his fists fueled by a rage that seemed boundless.

Every blow was a release, a reckoning for the agony and fear Negan had unleashed.

Through your blurred vision, you saw them—Joel, relentless and unyielding, his fists raining down on Negan, every punch charged with a love he’d never put into words, a love you could feel, pulsing through every beat of your wounded heart.

The scene before you felt like a twisted nightmare, each moment a struggle to stay present, to push through the pain as blood seeped from your wounds.

You clutched your side, feeling the warmth slip between your fingers as you pressed down, refusing to give in. You had to stay awake. You had to stay with him.

Joel was still fighting, his fists relentless, fueled by desperation and a love that spoke louder than words. But Negan’s laugh rang out, mocking, dark.

“Tough guy, Miller? Is that all you got?” Negan’s face was bruised, bloodied, but he still smirked through it, as if even this pain was just another game to him.

"Bring it on!" Negan said. Joel didn’t let up, his fists a storm of anger, of love, of every unspoken promise he’d made. He was protecting you with everything he had.

But in a flash, Negan’s hand found his bat, and with a brutal swing, he sent Joel flying backward, his head colliding with the floor.

As Joel’s head slammed against the cold ground, a sickening thud reverberated through the room, a sound that echoed in the hollow of your chest.

But Negan loomed over him now, his eyes alight with a sadistic joy. “My turn,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again and again, each blow ringing out, a sickening thud that filled the room.

"NO!"

Joel tried to stand, tried to fight, but he was slowing, his strength waning. Blood pooled around him, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were glazed, his face pale.

Blood ran from his temple in a dark, winding river, and you could see the light beginning to fade in his eyes, the haze of consciousness slipping further with each ragged breath.

His gaze found yours, as he tried to smile, to offer you one last reassurance. You felt a surge of panic rise in you, raw and consuming, as you screamed, “NO! STOP IT!" you saw Negan bash his bat to Joel over and over again.

But Negan laughed, a deep, sinister sound that filled every corner of the room. “Look at you, Miller,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again, the force of it making Joel’s body jerk, each strike ripping pieces from your soul.

“You really thought you could win?”

Your vision blurred as hot tears slipped down your cheeks. The pain in your side was blinding, your own blood pooling beneath you, but nothing compared to the sight of Joel—your Joel—bruised, broken, and bleeding, his life slipping away with each heartbeat.

“Wake up, Joel,” you whispered, a plea laced with desperation, but your voice cracked as you saw him begin to fade.

"WAKE UP!" you screamed, “Please, Joel. Wake up!” You tried to rise, but agony shot through you, your body weakening under the weight of your injuries.

All you could do was lie there, helpless, watching as the man you loved was torn apart before your eyes.

Negan paused, his cruel smile widening as he noticed Joel’s lips moving, a faint whisper escaping.

“What’s that, tough guy? what did you say? oh my God! tough son of a bitch! look! he tried to speak to you!” He laughed looking at you as Negan point to Joel laying in the ground blood all over him, mocking, stepping back just enough to give Joel room to speak.

Joel’s head lifted, his bloodied face turned to you, his voice broken but determined.

“C-close… your eyes, doll…” His words were barely audible, each syllable a struggle, blood trickling from his mouth as he tried to form the words.

He lifted a hand, reaching out to you, trembling, his fingers stretching to bridge the aching space between you.

You shake your head crying, "No...Joel...", The world closed in around you, the weight of your love for him too heavy, too fierce, to bear the thought of letting go.

Tears blurred your vision, and you choked back a sob, heart shattering as you whispered back, “You can’t… I can’t lose you.”

"J-just, c-close your eyes, you're gonna be okay," he said again, blood now coming out from his mouth again.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurred with tears. No, you thought, this can’t be it.

The man who’d become everything to you—the man who’d fought against his own darkness just to hold onto yours—was fading. You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t lose him.

Then, as if by divine intervention, your gaze fell to the floor.

It's your gun. Your bible and your gun you hadn't see in a long time.

The gun and the Bible Frank had given you, lying just within reach beneath the table. A fire rekindled within you.

A fury as deep and fierce as your love for Joel, you need to save him. This man would fight to his last breath for you, and you'd do the same for him.

Then you began to crawl, inch by painful inch, toward the weapon. Negan, too caught up in his victory, hadn’t noticed, his laughter grating on your raw nerves.

“Oh, don’t worry, Joel,” Negan sneered, leaning over him with twisted delight. “I’m gonna take real good care of your girl here. Good night.”

But before he could swing, before he could deliver that final, sickening blow, you rose to your knees, aimed the gun, and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

The sound shattered the silence. Negan froze, the shock evident in his wide, stunned eyes as he stumbled, blood blooming across his chest. You fired again.

You didn’t stop. Y

He looked at you, eyes narrowing, but you held your ground, staring into him with a steady, unyielding gaze.

Again and again and again, you pressed the trigger, feeling your breath hitch with each pull, each impact sinking deeper, as if each shot was tearing away the chains he had wrapped around you.

You are screaming as the fury poured from you, pouring all the agony into each pull of the trigger, trying to emptying every last round into him, watching him fall, watching his face twist in horror as his strength faded.

Finally, the gun clicked, empty, but you weren’t finished. Dropping the weapon, you stepped forward, picking up his bat.

The weight felt righteous in your hands. Standing over him, you paused, staring down into his eyes, watching the realization settle—he knew he’d lost.

Negan’s bloodied mouth twisted into a smile, his laughter hoarse and fading. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice broken, taunting to the very end. “All grown up now.”

Those were his last words.

You raised it high and swung the bat with everything you had, unleashing everything he’d taken from you, every wound he had caused, every hope he’d tried to crush.

The sound of cracking bone echoing in the room, a raw, primal scream tearing from your throat as you brought it down again and again and the bone shattered beneath you.

The world faded, reduced to the rhythmic, furious release of pain, until nothing was left but silence, his broken body beneath you.

You dropped the bat, chest heaving, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

And then you heard it—Joel’s voice, barely a whisper, calling your name, grounding you, reminding you of who you were beyond the fury.

You turned toward him, your body swaying with the weight of pain and exhaustion. Every step you took felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself wanted to hold you back, to stop you from reaching him.

But you pushed forward, collapsing beside him, your trembling hands finding his blood-streaked face, brushing against his stubbled cheek with a gentleness that defied the violence you’d just endured.

"Joel… hang on," you whispered, but the words barely escaped your lips, thick with tears.

His head lolled against you, his brown eyes finding yours, and the blood pooled in his hair shimmered like some tragic halo.

You could feel the strength slipping from his body, a slow ebbing tide that pulled him further away with every heartbeat.

"Look at me, doll," he murmured, his voice a threadbare whisper, his hand lifting with a tremor to brush your cheek, his thumb sweeping away the tears that blurred your vision.

"You’re… you’re gonna be okay."

You shook your head, gathering him closer, your blood mingling with his as you pressed his head to your lap, cradling him as though you could shelter him from the world that had dealt you both such cruelty.

"No, we’re gonna be okay," you insisted, your voice breaking under the weight of it, a plea wrapped in promise.

"Don’t leave me… please, Joel. I can’t do this without you."

You could see the struggle in his eyes, the quiet resignation in his bruised face as he tried to smile, each line etched into his skin telling stories of a life spent fighting—and now, his final fight slipping through his grasp.

He lifted a hand, pressing against the wound on your side even as his own blood stained your fingers. Every breath was shallow, every word a strain.

He leaned his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes barely focusing but still on you, clinging to this moment, to you.

"I’m sorry, babygirl," he whispered, as if the words themselves could bind you together just a little longer.

“No. Don’t… don’t do this to me, Joel,” you begged, pressing your hand harder to his wound too, as if the pressure alone could stop the flow of time, of everything that was slipping away.

You cupped his face, tears falling onto his skin, mingling with the blood that soaked you both. "We’re gonna be okay. We have to be."

But even as you spoke, darkness edged into your vision too, the room narrowing to the beat of your shared breaths, slow and unsteady.

His fingers held yours, entwined in a desperate grip that softened as his strength faded, his pulse a faint echo in your hand. “I love you,” he whispered.

The words raw and cracked, filling the hollow spaces between you, the ache and loss that could never be spoken. “I’ll always be with you.”

The world blurred, the pain and fear blending into a strange calm as you traced your fingers over his face, memorizing every line, every scar.

"I love you so much, Joel," you whispered, voice barely a breath, pressing your lips to his forehead, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, the man who had become your salvation, your strength.

He looked at you, his gaze softening, his hand falling to rest against your cheek one last time. "I found you,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the darkness began to claim him.

In the distance, a sound broke the silence—a wail of sirens, voices muffled and faint, calling yours and Joel's name.

You heard your own name echoed, felt the vibration of the world rushing toward you, but it felt so far away, unreachable.

“Joel?” you whispered, weak and fading, your vision blurring as exhaustion pulled you under. Joel didn’t respond, his head resting still against your lap, his breathing shallow, slipping away from you.

Your name rang out again, closer now, a voice that you knew—a voice that felt like home.

"Tommy," you managed, a faint smile softening your lips as your gaze lifted, catching sight of his familiar face before the darkness claimed you.

“He found us.”

And then, like the soft closing of a book, everything faded into black.

HANG ON PEOPLE, WE STILL GOT ONE MORE FINAL CHAPTER!

146 notes · View notes

cattlemons · 4 months ago

Text

When The Tide Returns Lost Memories

| Wriothesley awakens in a foreign land with fragmented memories and a desperate need to return to someone he can't quite remember.

TW: Memory loss, unspecified violence, not proofread, 4k words of hurt and comfort

a.n. saw this post by @cyb-rdva about this fic idea. I just got a buzz and felt like writing it! I don't really know how permissions work on here but I hope I did it justice!

Wriothesley’s eyes find the crippling light as he squints away the last remaining darkness, pushing it to the back of his mind once more. Finally feeling himself take a breath, he hears himself grunt awake; much like a machine starting up after months of disuse. Creaking and clanking to a sitting position, he feels the cracks of his bones and the bruises of his injuries sting him.

Where am I?

Disoriented beyond belief, he let his eyes collect a view of his surroundings. The gears of his brain churned and turned but, to no avail, he’s completely lost on where he is. Panic seized him as his parched throat let out a hoarse yell– he doesn’t know who exactly he was trying to reach out to but, dear archons, let them be nice.

The door opened just as he finally found enough strength to stand. Training his eyes onto the green-headed figure by the door, his focus was sharp despite the delirium he had experienced not long ago; the tendons of his feet ready to leap like a coiled spring waiting for the undoing.

The green-haired man placed his two palms out, ducking ever so slightly to make himself look as small and harmless as possible. Wriothesley assessed the situation with the sense of a trained warrior, looking the man up and down before releasing his tightly clenched fists, letting the white fade to a warm red.

Wait a second!

Wriothesley pounced at the tall man and knocked him over to the ground, the thud of their fall resounding throughout the room. His knuckles which are covered with hidden bruises and healed cuts saw the light of day after a long time being hidden. Choking the man, Wriothesley sneered and gruffed, “Where’s my gauntlet, NOW! WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO?”

The man flailed helplessly beneath him as he clawed at his bound neck, searching for escape. Before anything else could unfold, both men were pulled apart; the lanky man by a man in Liyuean garment and Wriothesley by a purple child.

What the fuck is going on?? SHIT, WHERE IS SHE? I NEED TO FIND HER! I NEED TO TELL HER...!

Huh? Who? Tell her what?

The child made some sort of listless remark but Wriothesley was not aware of what she said. His ears rang deafeningly as his vision wavered. His consciousness was escaping him and his panic and fight whittled down and numbed itself, leaving a sense of nothing in its wake. He can’t help but mourn if this is to be his last moment of living. What kind of defeat was this? Surely, he deserved a better battle to die on.

His mind winds down slowly, unfinished strings of thoughts urging him along from what topic to the next before gently placing him right on the edge of consciousness. Dreary and barely awake, he wonders if anyone can hear his last words and wishes. If he could, he would’ve chuckled dryly, even now on his deathbed (or rather death-floor) he is still nothing but an orphaned boy with no one to mourn for him. Dust returns to dust, he supposes.

As he feels his eyes wane to a close, the only thing on his mind is a name with a face left unplaced and undecided, oh how he loved her.

WAIT! WHO? HOLD ON!

He was out cold, now.

—

The second time he awoke, Wriothesley was ready for a fight. Whatever foul play, or trickery used on him that first time, won’t get him twice. Raring to go, Wriothesley opened his eyes wide and ready to jump into a fighting stance, only to be stopped by a pair of cuffs chaining him to the bed.

Something! He needs to find SOMETHING?!

Controlling his uneven breaths, he forced and willed the adrenaline pumping in his veins to subside; there’s no use for it if he’s bound and alone, anyway. For now, he chose to focus on locating where he was and (more importantly) where his gauntlets were. Sure, the normal man can’t hope to survive a fight against him but something within him is anxious to be away from it. He almost feels physically ill without it.

Damned wrist decorator causing me separation anxiety. Just like a damned dog.

At the sound of a creak, he snapped his neck towards the open door. Behind the heavy timber, stood the green-haired man he has yet to learn the name of (but rest assured if he’s come for a round two, Wriothesley is ready to choke him; this time to sleep). Fortunately for everyone in the vicinity, the man had no ill will. With the patience of a saint, the man stepped into the room, carrying with him a bruised neck and a handful of medication supplies.

Setting his things down on a table, he watched Wriothesley with calm eyes. The same cannot be said for Wriothesley whose sharp steel irises were pointed at him. Muscles rippling in tandem, Wriothesley pulled at the cuffs that kept him in place. Truth be told, the steel keeping him bound to the bed may just snap in a few more strong pulls had the child from “yesterday” not stepped in, this time clearly brandishing a syringe swirling with translucent liquid.

That shut him up quickly.

Relatively calm now (and sedated), the thin man slowly inched closer to Wriothesley, pushing back his glasses from his nose while at it. With a slightly quicker heart pace, he explained in a rushed tone, “I am Baizhu, a local physician of Liyue and owner of The Bubu Pharmacy. We’re located in Liyue Harbor. We found you unconscious outside our pharmacy so we decided to take you in.”

This “Baizhu” figure looked to his side at the small purple child as if to see whether or not he’d forgotten something. The two seem to be close because without missing a beat, the child showed him a page of her book. This seemed to jog the man’s memory as he continued, “Ah, yes. Your weapons and, ahem, gauntlets are in our safekeeping. They were badly damaged so we were worried the bones hidden underneath weren’t fairing all too well, either, please don’t misunderstand.”

Taking his words in, Wriothesley felt a slight bit of guilt for almost beating the guy up. The man, however, doesn’t seem to be waiting for an apology, rather, his eyes gleamed in a sort of curiosity. Wriothesley supposes he would be the same way if the situation had been flipped and this Baizhu man showed up half-dead at the doors of Meropide.

Wait, Meropide! Shit, MEROPIDE!

“Sir, how long have I been here?! Please, answer me!”

Baizhu’s eyebrows scrunched in slight perplexity and hesitation, he wasn’t too keen on agitating the man again.

“Well, we found you on the sixth and today’s the nineteenth, so, about two weeks. Yes,” he answered, stepping away, in case the mild sedation was, indeed, too mild a dose.

Shit! That’s way too long for me to be away! I won’t be surprised if the place is in shambles by now. Fuck, I need to get back! I NEED TO GET BACK! IS SHE OKAY? I NEED TO APOLOGIZE!

To whom?

Fighting against the effects of the syringe, Wriothesley tensed his forearms and willed them to move. Against his better judgment, Baizhu saw this and went to undo the locks of his cuffs. He supposes, that if he’s going to break through the chains, might as well take it off him to prevent any further injury.

“Though I am uncuffing you, sir, I suggest you take it easy in the meantime. You have a long list of blunt traumas all over you and from the looks of it, your memory isn’t too intact. I don’t know what happened to you or where you want to rush off to with your weapons but I would be an unfit physician if I allowed you to go anywhere outside my supervision for the time being. At least, let me help you remember so I can send you off with a clear mind on your shoulders.”

“Please, just calm down, when I release you, alright… there...”

Arms now freed, Wriothesley calmed down significantly; somewhere in his mind, he felt safer knowing he could beat someone to a pulp if need be. Finally feeling safe enough to be civil, he decided he’d stay long enough to get some answers and his weapon and memory back. Wriothesley knew it’d be best to stay. He can’t be so sure he’ll find a physician who knows enough of their field of study to claim they can help bring back his foggy memories. That said, he won’t be wasting any time.

“Mr. Baizhu, please tell me what you know about my… umm… predicament. I don’t quite enjoy being puzzled this way. Also, the gauntlets, I want them back,” he said, before quickly pasting a ‘please’ behind his sentence.

Yes, she always liked it better when I’m civil; like a proper duke. She?

Wriothesley wasn’t sure what was going on with him at the moment. Everything’s in disarray and he can’t help but want to rip the tufts of gray out of his head. Nothing is making sense to him. The memories and facts that should be concretely sealed within the wrinkles of his brain are now fluttering in front of him. Try as he may, they flit just out of his reach. He only hopes his memories come back to him quickly so he can somehow get back to wherever he needs to be to get to whoever she is to do whatever it is he needs to do.

This is truly shit.

—

Meanwhile, you were running up and down the underground prison and makeshift factory to make sure it, ironically, stayed afloat. In all honesty, all you wanted to do was cry and wail at your husband’s disappearance. Yes, disappearance. Though you’ve heard many relegate their condolences to you, you accepted none of it. You were sure he was alive somewhere out there; he just needed to come back home.

Some may say it’s denial but acceptance simply wasn’t the answer right now. Not when the livelihood of thousands of people rely on your emotional stability to ensure proper functions of this prison they call home. Meropide is counting on you to keep yourself together so acceptance truly isn’t needed right now; not when acceptance would mean falling to your knees as you plan funeral arrangements. No, as long as hope is free, the man you call your husband is alive.

Today’s to-do list is a mile and a half long but it all needs doing so that’s exactly what you’re going to spend your time and elbow grease on. You started your day at the break of dawn when the waters were still moving in compliance with the moon’s pull. The dull thud of the waves against the steel prison walls keeps you grounded as you check off your lover’s duties one by one. Noon soon takes hold as the water calms down relatively, now giving way to the clanks of machinery. The resounding clicks and clacks of tools and shoes signify that all was still in order. Night finally came and the mile-long list has been taken care of, well mostly. Last but not least, you’ll have to surface and meet with someone very important.

After throwing on whatever clean and acceptable outfit you find within your closet in the duke’s Meropide residence, you are off to Poisson to meet with Navia. You sure hope she’s found something useful.

At moments like this, you’re grateful for your long-standing friendship with the ever-kind and well-connected President of The Spina di Rosula. Navia has been spearheading the search for your husband for the past few weeks. She turned the whole of Fontaine upside down last week but it yielded no results. Though Spina di Rosula is an organization built to help with Fontanian problems, you’re glad she spared no effort to search beyond the borders of Fontaine for you.

“I just don’t know where he could have gone, Navia. One minute we fought and before you know it the clock strikes midnight and it’s the second day he’s gone,” you let out as your chest starts heaving, a poor effort to hold back the sorrow and fear you felt.

“Navia, I can’t let that be the last interaction we have, I just… I can’t live not knowing if he’s done with me or, worse, if something bad happened to him. I just want to know he’s alright and then, if he so wishes, we can part ways.”

Navia pats your back gently as your breathing grows heavier, “I don’t know the duke all that much but I know enough to say that he’s mad for you. He’d kill for you just as quickly as he’d die for you, my dear. Give him credit that he’ll return, if only to see and make amends with you, hmm?”

Your throat is raw from keeping the dam of your rising emotions from spilling. You turned to your sole companion in all this, “Are you sure, we’ll find him, Navia?”

“All the signs we’ve found so far indicate him being alive. As long as that duke of yours is on Teyvat, we’ll find him, my dear partner, I am sure of it,” she cheered softly, conviction intertwined with a strong dose of compassion.

With that, tears soak your face as you cry softly. Your shoulders shook as rivulets of sorrow trickle past your lashes onto your cheeks. You couldn’t possibly let them out in Meropide so you let them out here. Within the confines of the four walls of Poisson, you let your walls crumble if only for a bit.

You hope he comes back to you soon. You don’t know what you’d do without him.

—

“Do you recall anything at all before your waking,” Baizhu asked Wriothesley for the umpteenth time since his wake from the sedation-induced stupor.

The two figures, Wriothesley and Baizhu, were sitting outside the pharmacy doing a routine inspection. For the past week, Wriothesley has been fairly cooperative in working with Baizhu to further his recuperation; if only to get his gauntlet back and return quicker to Meropide and to the missing woman his heart claims to love so much.

Wriothesley still has no clue as to what his sense of urgency is based on. Of course, the meropide needs him but in the event of his absence, he’s set aside some protocols and second-in-commands that can take up the mantle for a bit before his return. This is something he recalled a few days ago and it’s helped him ease up and stay put for the time being. The exercises Baizhu has given him are certainly giving promising results on jogging his memory back but, much to his dismay, none about the mystery woman. It’s eating his heart up like a worm on an apple, plaguing his heart and making him feel rotten for forgetting her.

Who are you, damn it.

Damn, even cursing at her feels wrong.

Alright, let him fix that-

FIX… FIX!

Just like that, the memories of the weeks prior come crashing onto him like the waves of the midnight tides. All that he’s been through, getting knocked out, the fight, everything filters through his mind like an hourglass finally filling up. Despite all of those moments being mostly shit, he’s overjoyed of remembering what he thought he lost, of remembering you.

By Archons, it’s you!

“Baizhu! That’s it! I need to see her, I need to see my girl! Oh, for the life of me, Baizhu, I need to apologize to MY GIRL,” Wriothesley yelled, joyous.

He does not recall ever being so excited to apologize but he’d be damned if anything wipes the smile off of his face. How can he not? Imagine falling in love all over again with the woman that’s captured your very being. Imagine seeing her in the fresh light of a stranger only wishing to be within her gravity then realizing you were the moon pulling her tides of love all along. Imagine, oh archons, that can fucking wait.

He’s leaving now!

Baizhu smiles at the breakthrough, both of his patient’s memory and of a new memory recovery technique. Calling for Qiqi, Baizhu asks her to get the man’s big boy hands because, yes, we’re finally letting him go home. No, without the sedation.

—

On the ferry ride back, the duke sat painfully still as he stared at the gauntlets that he now wore. The gauntlets that symbolizes his power in Meropide, the ones you've basically created with him now that he remembers your significance in his life. No wonder he can't bear to part with it.

Suddenly, the vast blue separating Liyue and Fontaine seems not enough time now that his thoughts finally catch up to him.

Of course, he was beyond ecstatic to see the love of his life again but thinking back to how he left things off… he shudders at the thought. He’s downright shit for leaving this mess for you to shoulder on your own, not to mention, the fight that went down before he disappeared.

If the roles were reversed, he doesn't know if he’ll ever function properly again. He left you after saying some nasty things and did not return. Not even after two weeks, in fact, it took him three. He wonders if you’re mad at him still or if you’ve fully given up on him. He wonders if you think he left you for good on his own accord. He hopes your heart hasn’t been damaged beyond repair. He knows he’ll do a lot worse to himself if it is.

He just hopes you haven’t completely locked him out of your heart forever because if you haven’t fully closed the doors on him, if he even sees a sliver of forgiveness in your eyes, he’ll lay his everything down in hopes of winning you back.

Wait for me, please, my love.

—

The ocean’s gentle rhythm is the only lullaby strong enough to lure your restless heart and mind to sleep. You can’t imagine being able to rest if you were anywhere else. At least not after the stagnation of your search for your husband. It would’ve been one thing if it were slow progress but there’s nothing else to be found now. Last you heard, there were sightings of a seemingly Fontanian man in Liyue but before anyone could get ahold of him, he disappeared again. You suppose it makes full sense that a man with his extensive knowledge of the underground world and wide connections would slip away easily, after all this is well within his expertise. That’s what you chose to believe, anyway.

The murmurs of the sea continue drumming constant beats as your eyes flutter shut. You hope that this time they bring you to a distant land where all is well; where your husband is still beside you and he still looks at you like you hung the stars just for him.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, heavy clunking and ruckus were heard outside by the registrar of the Meropide. Soon, a crowd began to form as doors were opened and gates were unlocked, in came the man of the hour.

The duke is back.

—

Doors were flung open as the duke marched in, passing by the stunned prisoners of the Meropide. There were rumors abuzz that the duke had fled, of course, his sentence was served to fulfillment so, technically, he did not flee. The spicy part of this scandal was that his wife was left stranded and alone to deal with the mess he’s left. Truth be told, this wasn’t so far from the truth in Wriothesley’s heart.

Opening the massive steel doors to his residence, Wriothesley whispered prayers. With every step he climbed, he murmured a small prayer and promise of devotion to whichever Celestia deity would grant him your patience and forgiveness. Perhaps, however, he should’ve been whispering his promises of devotion to you instead.

Like seeing a mirage in a barren desert of swirling guilt and longing, you lay there asleep but so very beautiful. The rise and fall of your chest fills him with ease as the scent of your perfume grows stronger with each step he takes toward you. His eyes begin to water as his feet grow heavy, it seems his heart grew to immense proportions just at seeing you within touching distance.

He reaches your side and kneels to be at level with your sleeping face. He studies you, slowly memorizing all the things he wishes to never forget. He engraves into his mind, the dips of your cupid’s bow and the flick at the end of your nose. He etches into the crevices of his brain the way your eyelashes flutter just so slightly at whatever it is you sense. Finally, he allows himself to fully sink into your hypnotic gaze as your eyelids lift ever so slightly to reveal his favorite colors. He wishes to have those exact shades enshroud him forever.

The moment you open your eyes, you can’t help but smile, though you remain unmoving.

How lovely! They did bring you good dreams.

“My… after so long of not seeing you, I must’ve forgotten how many scars you have,” you giggled lightly as your eyes counted his scars one by one, hoping to update your foggy memory.

You smile as you continue, “two new ones over your left eyebrow and one down your neck. Even in my dreams, you’re still as rugged as ever. I guess it’s my fault for falling in love with a man so magnetized by fights. I love you that way, though. Don’t change.”

Wriothesley could only sit in pious silence as he followed your gaze, he never wanted to part from it.

“My love, why don’t you take me to where you are? I never want to wake up if this is what sleeping is like. I don’t mind remembering new scars that never happened if only to stay with you like this,” you whispered lowly as your hands went out to reach for his cheeks.

It’s impulsive and you knew the moment his form revealed its corporeal quality, he’d fade away from even your dreams and you’d be left alone again but you just… you just had to. He compels you in a way that no one ever has and ever could. Even if only in this second, you wish to believe he’s just within reach.

Just like you remember him to be.

Wriothesley closed his eyes as he awaited your warmth. He can’t possibly move an inch or say a word when the atmosphere is filled and doused with your affection and love. He just can’t. If anything, he leans in almost antsy with anticipation.

But your touch never came.

Wriothesley opens his eyes to see tears falling down your face and your hands just a hair's breadth away from his cheeks. The droplets stained the carpet beneath him along with his heart.

Breaking piece by piece, his heart shatters as more tears fall from the corner of your eyes; even more when you begin to speak.

“Wriothesley, if I don’t touch you, will you stay? Even as a memory, will you continue to be mine? Or will my mind take that away from me too?”

His heart sank as he watched his love break before him. Not standing for this anymore, he pulled your face closer to his and sealed your lips onto his, claiming this moment as real.

You cried into the kiss letting every single feeling and emotion you’ve pent up run free. Wriothesley pulled you into him and held you as close as he physically could. He wants to absorb every piece of you into his heart to make sure he never has to part from you ever again. He’s selfish and he keeps ahold of you even after your lips part from his.

He kisses every inch of your skin to make sure you know he’s here, to make sure he knows you’re here.

Pure, unadulterated love encapsulates his mind as he holds you close, afraid he might lose you again if he lets go.

As the minutes faded into hours, Wriothesley murmured into your ears the undying poetry of his love for you, unyielding and true. Even if you don’t believe him right now, that’s alright. He’ll keep reminding you of it.

Every second of every minute.

Every minute of every hour.

And every hour of every damned day.

All until you remember it.

a.n. This is a long one and I just kinda word vomit onto my laptop for a few hours and then bam it's right there. Please be gentle, I don't think I was all that awake for this banger!

Hope it's a good read!

#cattlemon's writing #Wriothesley x reader #Wriothesley angst #Wriothesley hurt comfort #Wriothesley x you #Genshin angst #Genshin x reader #Genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x you #genshin impact angst #genshin impact fanfic #no but fr wriothesley's name gets so tiring to type i ended up copy pasting it when i need it :(

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1d1195 · 2 years ago

Text

Traditional VIII

Well this is the fastest I've ever written. Sorry to leave you hanging on part 7 like that. You can read Traditional here.

I actually wanted this part to be longer but I think I stopped it at a good spot to continue with what I want in the next part but the next part will be a hot minute before it’s posted also part 9 will pick up right where this leaves off.

Warnings: angst (see I remembered the word this time), death mentioned, mourning, (etc.)

“Can I help you?”

She stopped by the bathroom to take stock of what she looked like as soon as she got to the floor. She put the bag at her feet and stood in front of the sink counter and gripped the edge. The pain in her arm from her slip ached from the bruise forming on her forearm and rippled up the length of her arm as she held onto the counter. Taking a deep breath, she finally looked in the mirror.

Ill. She looked ill. From a green complexion to her red eyes. Her nose was cold and reddening by the second making her look like she had a cold. Bloodshot eyes and overall, just the pallor of a ghost. Her head ached and it was a dumb idea to come back to work. Surely, she would mess up more things. But there wasn’t much else she could do and nowhere else she could really go.

Slowly she closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest in defeat. Then tilted her neck all the way back to the ceiling. “Goddamn it,” she hissed to herself. Grabbing her bag, she walked swiftly back to her office. Maybe she would just sit there and stare at her computer screen until Harry finally fired her.

Niall covered the microphone with his hand. “Darling?” He asked curiously as the door to her office opened. “I’ll call y’back,” he dropped his phone back to the receiver and he hurried to her little space. “I thought—”

“I have no where to go,” she said curtly. Niall didn’t deserve her abrupt tone, but it was the only one she could give. This day was so awful, and she had nowhere to go except the one place she would most assuredly run into at least half of her problems. And that was her best option.

Without a debit card, she had no way to get to the hospital. Her apartment belonged to Harry and right now she didn’t want to be anywhere that was associated with him and the part of her life with him outside company walls. Her laptop was broken and even if she could use it her brain wouldn’t function.

“What are you talking—your apartment?” He reminded her with a question in his voice.

“You mean Harry’s apartment?”

“Love, all things considered, he wouldn’t kick you out or something... he wouldn’t do that to you. Not even on his worst day.”

She shook her head. That’s not what she meant but it was a new fear that twisted her stomach in knots on top of everything else. The tears flooded back into her vision. “I don’t want to talk about any of this Niall. I just want to work so I don’t have to think. If I have even a second to think about anything but work, I’m going to explode, and I can’t do that in front of you—”

“Sure, you can,” he said encouragingly. “Come on,” he said and tugged her out of her seat and into his office. She was too weak to do anything but follow obligingly. He gently guided her to the sofa he had in the room and hurried to his desk. He scribbled something, practically ran back to the door, and smacked the paper on the front before shutting it, blocking out the rest of the floor.

“What’s that?” She asked, curiosity getting the best of her as she looked at her hands in her lap.

“Says ‘Do not disturb. Meeting in progress.’”

“You’re going to get in trouble because of me,” she mumbled.

“Don’t worry, I know the boss pretty well.”

“That’s especially why.”

“He left for the day.”

She blinked. “What?” She asked softly. Other than being sick, Harry didn’t leave early. Ever. Most often he stayed late. The rest he left on time and not a moment sooner.

“He wasn’t feeling himself,” Niall said with a shrug. “Think you know why,” he was so casual about it. Her heart fluttered with worry despite how angry he was with her. How was she supposed to feel? She was in love with him. It didn’t matter. “Go on, then. Please tell me. I’ve been dying to help you as much as you help me.”

She shook her head. “I can’t Niall. You’re my boss—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, love. You’re also the love of my best friend’s life. Would you just talk to me already?” She looked at him as if she was really seeing him for the first time. She couldn’t believe he said that out loud. Now she understood why he put the note up. He wasn’t doing this as her boss. This was Harry’s best friend. If she could dream or hope about a future with Harry, he would be one of her best friends, too. “Pretend I’m not your boss right now.”

She apparently didn’t need much more encouragement for her already bubbling emotions to flow over. Poor Niall took it all in stride. Every word that exploded out of her, all the tears, everything. It wasn’t like when she talked to Harry, and it definitely wasn’t like when she talked to Louis. She told him all about the last twenty-four hours from Hell. She listed every inconvenience, every heartbreak. The debit card, the mean coworker, her dad, how her coffee tasted bad and got everywhere, her laptop was broken, and Louis and Eleanor were her only friends, and she couldn’t even go see them. “And of course, Harry hates me, so I didn’t get to see him last night,” she finished blubbering. She didn’t give lots of details on most anything, just the coworker since that was one of the only ones that she could see him dealing with. Not that she wanted him to.

“To be fair, I think Harry hates me, right now,” he smirked sadly.

“That’s almost worse,” she sniffled.

Niall rolled his eyes as he rubbed her back soothingly with the palm of his hand and watched her dab her eyes with the tissues he got from his desk. “He hates me because he thinks I’m stealing you away because you didn’t tell him any of that. And he’s mad that you didn’t want to tell him. He thought your relationship was evolving and you took like ten steps back without a word. Christ darling, I’m mad you for not saying anything about the harassment. That is not okay. You’re not plain, you’re lovely. She’s just jealous.”

She found it interesting that he agreed with Louis’s assessment. “That’s what Louis said, even before she talked to me.”

Niall shook his head. “She was extremely cruel for no reason, I’m so sorry, love. You did not deserve that.”

She shrugged awkwardly, defeated still. Even getting all of that off her chest. “I am plain. It’s why I was so worried about my... situation with Harry...I don’t...” she took a deep breath. “You’re not my boss right now?” She repeated his statement as a question for reassurance. He shook his head.

“Just a really good friend,” he promised. “I won’t tell Harry,” he added for good measure.

“I don’t even think he’ll want to sleep with me because I’m so ordinary and...” Despite his talk with Niall and that fact they were both aware of her relationship with Harry, she still didn’t like bringing it up. Plus, the untraditional details were lost on her, and she didn’t want to have to explain it to Niall awkwardly.

“Love,” Niall smirked. “Harry is...infatuated with you,” he promised. “You don’t have to worry about any of that kind of thing. He would—look I don’t want to say it because it sounds like locker room talk and I don’t want you to think he and I talk about you like that. We don’t, I promise—but that’s not something you need to worry about. I’ve never seen him like this about anyone he’s ever been involved with romantically one way or another.”

It made her heart hope, and she hated it. She was prepared for defeat. Harry wouldn’t be in love with her anymore. They wouldn’t get dinner on Mondays or watch movies on Thursdays. There would be no more little sleepovers where he would be sick and accidentally tell her he loved her and forget by morning. She shook her head. “Niall, I...” She swallowed.

“Please tell me you’re in love with him, I’ve been dying for you to say it almost as much as he has.”

The smallest pause. Niall wasn’t her boss. “Of course, I’m in love with him. How can you not be?” She asked, face blushing, as she stared at her hands.

Niall sighed. “You need to tell him what you told me,” he said.

She shook her head. “No, it’s not his problem. I’m a big girl and...I have to handle it.”

“But you don’t have to do it on your own,” he promised her. “I don’t know everything, but I see the way you work, and I know bits and pieces of what Harry is willing to tell me. I know you want to fix every problem that crosses your path for anyone that has one. If you walked into your office and spoke to the you that sits at your computer, how would you help?” He asked. “Would you tell yourself to keep it all bottled up or take a hike and deal with it yourself? Or would you, the person who helps everyone with anything they may need, help you?”

She took a deep breath. The first bit of clarity over the last twelve hours was finally reaching her ears from Niall. “I would help.”

“Then help yourself, darling. Please. Tell Harry.”

She closed her eyes and nodded solemnly. “I think I have to go to the hospital first,” she said to Niall. “But I don’t have a debit card or a ride.”

“Call Harry’s driver. He won’t care. Or I’ll take you, I don’t mind at all,” Niall reached into his wallet and pulled out one of his plastic cards. “I think this has a 25,000-spending limit,” he smirked. “I’d be impressed if you used all of it in one weekend,” he smiled. “Bring it back Monday,” he shrugged. “Definitely use it to get a new laptop when you have time.”

Sucking her lip into her mouth she awkwardly took the card “Please don’t tell Harry about...her...”

He frowned. “Darling,” his tone was so disapproving. It sounded like that was going to be Niall’s first call. Maybe second if he called the bitchy woman down to his office to fire her after the sweet girl left.

“He’ll fire her.”

“As he should! She harassed you!”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Please, Niall,” she whispered.

He sighed bitterly. If even one thing that happened to her over the last day didn’t happen, he wouldn’t have listened. But she had been through enough and he didn’t want to be the cause of any more of her anxiety. Besides, once he was officially forgiven by Harry, he would ask for front row seats to her exit interview. “Okay, darling. I won’t. Go to the hospital. Then you have to go to Harry’s.”

Harry’s driver was kind throughout the ride and didn’t ask her a single question about why she needed to go to a hospital. In fact, other than asking if she wanted to listen to a certain type of music, he didn’t ask any questions. “Won’t Harry notice?” She eventually asked.

“No,” he shrugged one shoulder as he passed towards the streets that used to be home. She lived an hour away now, but it felt like an entirely foreign country right now. “Probably not. If he needed me, I would probably send another one of the drivers from the company,” he said simply.

The remainder of the drive was silent. Her heart beating erratically with every closer turn to the town she left. “Do you need help?” He asked when they arrived at the hospital. She shook her head steeling herself for the horribleness she was about to endure in so many emotional forms.

“No... thank you,” she said gratefully. “And... if you have to leave... I understand. But could you please...don’t tell Harry.”

“Of course, Miss,” he smiled encouragingly. Taking her work bag with her, she stepped out of the car and headed into the hospital.

It was a little over an hour later that she left the hospital with one less parent in existence. Although, she hadn’t had two parents since before her brother died, she felt saddened knowing that it would never be amended. And for her mom, it would never be the same. She would always be alone, now.

Naturally, it didn’t seem to bother her mother all that much. “I’ll never forgive you,” her mom said with tears in her eyes. “You can leave now.”

When it came to her parents, there wasn’t much she could do but listen. Part of her wanted to appease them and hope that eventually they would love her again. So of course, after she said goodbye there was nothing left for her to do except listen to her mother’s request.

Her loss didn’t feel as sad as it should have. Probably because when her brother passed, she didn’t just lose her brother. She lost her best friend and her parents all in one swoop. Mourning her brother at age sixteen when her friends were buying prom dresses and going on college tours in hopes of meeting college boys was a tragedy that Shakespeare wouldn’t write.

There was nothing like mourning the death of people who were still alive and lived with you every day.

When she exited the hospital room, she called the driver once more who told her to wait five minutes and he would pull around so she wouldn’t have to wait in the cold. She stood outside anyway, for the full five minutes letting the cold wash over her. She was already numb. Everything that had happened in such a short amount of time was numbing her. The cold didn’t even hurt because she was already in so much pain.

All she wanted was to see Harry. Her chest ached at the thought of being held by him. It would cure her broken heart, she was certain.

She sniffled and a few stray tears spilt over her lash line. Without her realizing, she got more teary as she waited, only noticing when his driver reappeared. “Miss,” the driver said hurriedly. He was rushing over to her on the sidewalk reaching for her bag and offered her a tissue from his pocket. He placed a hand on her lower back to guide her up the sidewalk to the car. “Is everything alright? Are you—”

She shook her head, tears steadily falling down her cheeks. She opened the door herself as he looked on with worry. “I’m fine,” she whispered but her voice broke on the word fine. “Can you take me to Harry’s?”

The closer she got to his house, the more anxious and sadder she got. As he parked in the driveway, she strongly considered telling him to take her back to the apartment. However, she all but promised Niall she would come here. Maybe these tears would make him listen at least for a moment. Wringing her hands together, she sat silently, awkwardly in her seat before the driver even made a move after several minutes. With a deep breath, she swallowed and pushed the door out of the way. “Can you wait five more minutes in case he really hates me, and I need to leave?” She asked.

The driver chuckled dryly. “He doesn’t hate you, but I’ll wait,” he said.

She made her way across the path and up the steps to his front door. She knocked and was prepared to stare at her feet the whole time she waited for Harry to open the door. Maybe she even planned to stare at her feet if he was willing to talk to her. She was going to beg or cry (probably both) just for five minutes to explain everything. Five minutes to try and fix her broken heart.

“Can I help you?”

Her heart officially shattered. Her head snapped up to the beautiful woman’s voice and she gasped. It felt like someone wrapped their hand around her throat and was squeezing all life out of her. “Oh my God,” how could Niall suggest this? Did he know? Was Harry really that mad at her he would have Niall convince her to come over and see another woman and...? “I’m so sorry,” she whispered breathlessly. It felt like she was swallowing her tongue. She backed away, nearly losing her balance as she did. She wanted to be embarrassed about almost losing her balance but even standing upright she felt like she was swaying and the only thing she felt was betrayal and she had no right to feel that way.

“Whoa, hey,” the girl said reaching for her before she fell back off the steps. She regained her balance and felt like her stomach was going to heave up anything she had eaten—which wasn’t the time to remember but she realized she only had a bagel and a coffee this morning almost twelve hours ago.

Of course, Harry would find someone else. He was...him. He had money and he could have any girl he wanted. Someone beautiful. Someone who didn’t have all the baggage that she did. Someone who didn’t hide from him and someone who would do what a companion like her was supposed to do.

“Why are you apologizing? Is Harry expecting you?” She asked tilting her head curiously, trying to figure out who she was. Like this was normal for her to be answering the door and for her to be standing there. “Are you alright?” She asked gently.

She wished she wasn’t nice. It was making it harder for her to be mad. Seeing this kind woman opening the door to the house of the man she was in love with would have been so much easier if she could have been mad. But she was just heartbreakingly sad. “N-no...I...I didn’t mean to intrude, I’m so sorry,” she repeated hurrying down the few steps and nearly missed the last one tripping into the yard. So much so, she lost one of her shoes. Worse yet in her fit of non-embarrassment, just total shock, she left it there. “Oh my God,” she whimpered to herself. She was now truly worried she would throw up. She turned quickly and practically ran back for the driveway.

“Kitten?!” Harry shouted from somewhere in the house.

“Hey, wait!” The woman called suddenly.

“Fuck,” she heard Harry hiss as she hurried back to the car, tears falling quickly down her cheeks as she awkwardly limped without her shoe the path to the driveway. With her head start she thought she really might make it in the car and drive away before Harry got to her. But he had much longer legs...and he wasn’t bogged down by missing a shoe. “Goddammit! Love, stop!” He shouted running across the yard. She pulled the door handle quickly trying to get away from this house, but the door smacked shut at the same time. Harry’s hand pressed to the window while the other grabbed her arm right where it bruised. She inhaled sharply in pain and winced. Harry dropped her arm like a hot potato, he released a breath out of frustration. “Kitten, stop,” he was out of breath from his short run—but it wasn’t the run making him breathless but the thought of losing her at this moment. She wanted to look up at him and see those perfect green eyes, but she was so scared. “Look at me, please,” he begged. But her eyes stayed glued to the driveway. Harry was only in socks, and she thought that was cute. His feet in socks. It wasn’t the time, but her brain was operating on no sleep and way too much trauma for one day.

Her face crumpled in pain and she shook her head. She couldn’t look at him, if she looked all the pain would boil over and she would start crying and never stop. Why didn’t Harry deserve some woman that would be there for him the way she couldn’t be? Why wouldn’t he want someone beautiful and not plain? Someone who wasn’t so young that she was still in the internship phase. Someone who didn’t need his money or a job. Someone who was brilliant enough to help him with whatever his company and he himself needed.

“Hey,” the woman’s voice suddenly sounded beside her. It was gentle and out of instinct she turned to the direction of the woman that was currently amplifying just how terrible her day could get just by existing. It wasn’t her fault either. She really thought the girl was beautiful and lovely. She was kind to not sneer at her as a sniveling mess. She sniffled looking at her curiously. The beautiful girl handed Harry her missing shoe then stuck her hand out to introduce herself. “M’Gemma,” she said softly, apologetically in tone as she smiled at her with a terrible look of pity directed toward her.

Even though one of the only things she prided herself on was being intelligent this had to be the dumbest thing she had ever done in her whole life. She was speechless. Couldn’t even say her own name as she held her hand out awkwardly and (fortunately for her) instinctively for Harry’s sister to shake.

At the same time, Harry crouched to the ground and placed her shoe back on her foot holding her ankle so gently, like she might break. “I was just going, truly,” Gemma smiled at her sympathetically. “I’ve heard loads about you. I’ll meet you again sometime, yeah?” She asked quietly. Harry was silent throughout the interaction. His breathing erratic as he was hoping she wouldn’t leave. “Bye Harry,” she kissed him on the cheek and Gemma went to the other side of the car and gave the driver a wave before sliding into the back seat. The car drove away leaving her alone with Harry.

“Kitten,” he whispered softly.

“I’ve had a terrible couple of days,” she sniffled tears clouding her vision again. The fear of Harry finding someone else nearly ruined her completely. She was lucky that wasn’t the case. But she still had to have this talk that she promised Niall.

“I know y’have love, I just...Niall texted me...and Louis is worried...and... my love,” his voice was so gentle. It pulled at every string in her heart.

She started to say the speech she had planned in her head when she arrived. Before she saw Gemma. “I know you hate me, but I have nowhere else to go,” she whimpered, and it was all too much, and she finally let her knees give out as she melted to the ground. She covered her face and cried.

“No. Baby, I don’t hate you. Not at all. M’so sorry about everything,” he promised crouching beside her. “Let’s go inside...s’too cold t’have y’out here,” he lifted around her waist to help her stand. He wanted to scoop her up and carry her because whatever demons she was fighting right now had made her weak. But she seemed overwhelmed already and he didn’t want to add to that any more than he already had by not realizing sooner that Gemma was talking to her without her knowing who Gemma was. So, once she was standing again, he held her hand and pulled her back to the house.

Gemma had been extremely helpful in working through Harry’s emotions with him. “You really think Niall of all people would do that to you?” She rolled her eyes.

Harry felt like her little brother at that moment. He didn’t too often anymore because he was always busy with his company, and he was always busy doing things that he never really got a chance to just be the younger sibling and have Gemma take care of him like she used to when they were young. “I think I love her, Gem.”

“Ya think?” She rolled her eyes. Harry sighed. The pair of them were sitting on his sofa and sipping tea. They ordered out for dinner and were now chatting so Harry would calm down. Harry never left work early, but he was so distraught and angry that something had to be done. Gemma came right over, and he told her everything about the girl of his dreams. Unbeknownst to Harry, Gemma was thrilled that Harry cared so deeply about someone in this capacity. Like Niall, she noticed it was so different than anyone he ever involved himself with up to this point in time. She couldn’t wait to tell their mum.

After venting for almost two hours and working through what he needed to do next, Gemma chatted about herself and caught him up on her life. In comparison, it wasn’t much. Work was good and her dating life was good. There wasn’t much to report.

Her phone vibrated. Hey Gem. It was Niall. I know he’s pissed at me, but can you tell him to look at his phone? It’s an emergency.

Frowning, she responded to Niall while she called out to Harry. “Harry, look at your phone. Niall said there’s an emergency.” He was putting the mugs in the sink when Gemma gave him the directions. As he put the phone in his hand, his stomach dropped. He hadn’t looked at it in hours.

He had a message from Niall and a message from an unknown number claiming to be Louis. His chest felt tight. The only thought he managed was that something was wrong with her; and that was the worst kind of thought.

Niall’s said: Harry...you have to talk to her. It’s bad.

Then a second message: Really bad.

He frowned feeling worry for the sweet girl. He almost called her instead of reading Louis’ message, but there was a knock at the door, changing his plan as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts. He tapped on the message from Louis. “I’ll answer it on my way out, have a good weekend, Harry!” Gemma called cheerfully. He didn’t even respond because he was busy reading.

Louis’ message was a long one: Hey Harry, it’s Louis. I stole your phone number from her back in August without her knowing. She would kill me for messaging you, but we’re on a plane and... well... she said she was feeling poor and headed to your house. But El and I just figured out WHY she’s poorly. She’s ignoring her phone, or something... Can you please tell her to call me? She probably won’t even tell you, so she won’t be a bother, and I can’t tell you through a text message... I’m sure she doesn’t want to interrupt our weekend either, but... please have her call me back. Or you can when you have her in a stable place... Thank you for taking care of her... I don’t think I’ve ever said that before to you... I don’t trust her with very many people. So, thank you for taking care of my best friend.

It took him a moment to pull himself from the message and that the other voice outside was the sweet girl speaking to Gemma at the door.

“Why are you apologizing? Is Harry expecting you?” Gemma asked gently.

“N-no...I... I didn’t mean to intrude, I’m so sorry,” she stammered, and Harry shook his head trying to reach the fact that she was there.

“Kitten?!” He shouted. By the time he raced to the door, she was nearing the car. He wondered when the driver got there briefly, but he was nearly sprinting, almost pushing Gemma to the ground, to make sure he got to the car before she did. As she pulled the door handle open sniffling as she desperately tried to leave, he smacked the door shut immediately. He would not let her leave.

Something was wrong with her arm because when he reached for it, she winced in pain and Harry thought he would murder someone if they hurt her. The messages from Niall and Louis scrolling through his mind. “Kitten, stop,” he whispered as she tried to reach for the car again. “Look at me please,” he begged. It had only been a day, but he was a lovesick man. He missed her face and he wanted to see the beautiful eyes he loved so much, the little windows to her soul. Even if he just saw them for a second. But she kept her eyes to the ground. Fortunately, at that moment, Gemma introduced herself.

That’s when Harry put it together that she thought Gemma was some other woman. He didn’t even find it funny, although he wished he could have. He felt so terrible she thought so little of how much she meant to Harry that he would find someone else in less than twenty-four hours.

Now, they were inside. “Where do y’want to sit?” He asked. “The sofa or the bed?”

“I don’t—”

“Love. Please, where will you be most comfortable?” He whispered gently.

“The sofa,” she answered.

He softly nudged her to the living area, taking her coat off before she sat and then he crouched to take her shoes off. Lightly, he pushed the sleeve of her blouse up because he didn’t forget, and he saw the nasty bruise on her arm that made his heart ache with anger. “What happened?” His voice was short. He thought of the messages both Niall and Louis sent him. “Louis texted me. Said you’re ignoring his calls.”

She shook her head. “I don’t even remember the last time I saw my phone.” He frowned. He was glad she was here. If he tried to call her and she didn’t answer, he would have gone mad with worry. She sniffled. “Harry,” she croaked.

“M’here, kitten,” he promised, and he pushed himself to kneel between her legs and he placed his hands on either side of her face. It felt like fire to touch her like this. He craved it so badly. Not having it at movie night and not seeing her until five minutes ago...and knowing she was hurt? His heart was broken. “Tell me, please,” he begged. “I’ll kill someone if I have to.”

She sighed. “You have to listen to everything before you say something or I won’t be able to finish it all,” she whispered.

“Sure love,” he nodded obediently.

“And you can’t kill or fire anyone.” He didn’t respond because he wasn’t sure he could make that promise to her. Especially if someone caused that bruise. He pressed his lips together, knelt between her legs and held her face to keep her gaze. “It’s not going to make sense, so much went wrong so fast,” she told him.

“I can keep up,” he promised. There was a moment of pause as she collected all her thoughts trying to figure out how to begin.

She began her story. “Someone stole my debit card, and I don’t... As a rule, I don’t use my credit card... at least not right now. I have too many bills and worries to be using it. I can’t wrack up any more debt... So, I basically have no access to my account or money for a week,” Harry took a hand from her face to reach into his pocket for his wallet. That was an easy fix, and he was sad it started off so easy because that meant it was going to get much worse.

She shook her head. “Niall already gave me his, because I needed it to get to the hospital,” she said, stilling his hand from opening his wallet. She gave his hand a squeeze at the sound of Niall’s name. But he didn’t feel jealous. He did in the moment seeing his best friend holding the object of all his affections so comfortingly in his arms. He didn’t know what was wrong and he was irrationally angry that Niall wouldn’t say—even when he didn’t know at the time either. He wanted to be the one comforting her. That was all.

“Hospital?” He questioned his eyes falling back to her arm.

“I’m jumping ahead. It wasn’t for me.”

He frowned. Putting the wallet on the coffee table he would thank Niall later for offering his help while Harry was being an idiot. “Go on,” he said, and he moved to sit beside her. He stretched his legs out on the chaise section and pulled her over his body, so her legs laid over his lap. This way he could see into her eyes and still touch her. He kept one of his hands wrapped up in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“I was going to try and figure out how to transfer some of my money on my laptop to a temporary gift card or something… and maybe work on my internship reflection for school but... my laptop wouldn’t turn on,” she mumbled. “And then at the same time it occurred to me I can’t even buy a laptop because I don’t have a debit card.”

“We can go buy you a new one tomorrow,” he promised.

“S’not the point,” she mumbled. “You’re not supposed to interrupt,” she reminded him.

He squeezed her hand. “M’sorry.”

“The woman from the meeting who thinks I’m stupid because I’m an intern,” she whispered the description. “Do you know who I’m talking about?” Harry nodded, curious as to how someone he only saw at meetings had anything to do with this story. Harry almost forgot about her. She was right. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, he hadn’t even had a chance to debrief with her the wonderful job she did in person and to tell her not to worry about the woman from the meeting.

“You’re not stup—”

She continued without letting Harry compliment her. “She told me that you wouldn’t sleep with me.”

Harry blinked rapidly a few times, shook his head trying to clear it. Surely, he missed something to get to this section of the story. “What? I’m sorry...what do you—”

She looked at their hands held together. “She came to my office, unprompted, while I was sad about my laptop, and she just said I was stupid and plain, and you wouldn’t sleep with me because I wasn’t your type. I’m not special or smart and just because I had one good idea and I work well with Niall didn’t mean you would want me... an intern.”

He had no idea the condition to hear her story was not firing an employee was for the benefit of some cruel woman who was just so wrong. He felt speechless because everything in those two sentences was wrong. She wasn’t plain, she was so goddamn beautiful she haunted his every thought. Add in the fact she was so brilliant and kind. Harry couldn’t get enough of her, and the idea of sleeping with her...

Again, he if it meant he could have her there in his life forever, he wouldn’t care about being intimate. But otherwise, he would kill to be so close to her. “Kitten,” he whispered.He was so mad. The rage in his chest was consuming. She would be fired. For one reason or another. Harry didn’t care what he had to do. He wouldn’t let anyone speak that way to another employee. But especially not the angel seated beside him.

“It gets worse,” she mumbled.

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. He didn’t know how that could be possible, but he supposed he would find out. “Please continue, then.”

“She knocked my coffee all over my desk,” she said. “And it got all over my skirt, my laptop, the floor, my desktop, and then...I went to clean it and I slipped and that’s how I got this bruise,” she gestured to her arm. Instinctively, Harry reached out and brushed his fingers over it. Not only did he want to fire her, but he also wanted to kill her. The poor girl knew exactly what Harry would do under the right circumstances and that was why she made restrictions on hearing the story as such. She was good, Harry would give her that.

“That’s when you came in,” she mumbled. “I was so sad and heartbroken I couldn’t speak to even tell you what was wrong, and I knew how sad and hurt you were that Niall was comforting me... but Harry, I would never do that to you, ever. Especially with your best friend. Regardless of this... relationship we have... I would never... it’s a—”

“I had no right to be that mad,” Harry mumbled quietly. He had long since forgiven her. She didn’t even need forgiveness because she didn’t do anything wrong.

“And then you cancelled movie night,” she whispered brokenly. Somehow this sounded like it hurt her worse than the bruise or that stupid woman’s comments. Harry’s frown deepened and he rubbed his hand on the back of his head awkwardly.

“I was so sad,” he told her. “I shouldn’t have—”

“It gets worse,” she repeated. He was hoping she was done. The idea it could get worse...

Harry wanted to take her heart out so he could sew all the holes that she was opening and then give it back to her. And Harry couldn’t even sew but whatever he did had to be better than whatever wounds laid in her heart. “I was a total zombie today at work. Niall was avoiding me per you, I think. He told me to go home after lunch so I could... I don’t know I think he just wanted me away from him.” Harry frowned. That was what Niall wanted. It was all Harry’s doing because he yelled at Niall and accused him of things he shouldn’t have as his best friend. “So I was walking home—”

“Walking?! It was freezing out, kitten.”

“Can you... this is the worst part...” He was silent. But in his head, he was arranging for a car to follow her for the rest of her life and would be training a driver to somehow coerce her into the car if she refused in sub-arctic temperatures. “My mom called,” she said. Harry’s heart stopped. “I went to the hospital.” His eyebrows quirked up and he pressed his lips together. After another brief moment of utter silence, “my dad died,” she whispered.

“Kitten,” he cooed. “Baby, m’so sorry.”

This had to be one of the worst days in recorded human history. No wonder Louis’ message was so long. He was probably freaking out. “I went to the hospital...my mom...she won’t forgive me and...” she took a deep breath. “I had nowhere else to go and I just wanted you and I don’t even know if that’s fair after all I’ve put you through over the last day. So, I came here. I’m sorry for wanting you, I don’t want to—”

“Kitten,” he reached for her face and pressed his thumb over her lips so she would stop speaking and stop breaking his heart. She was here. That meant the story was over. Thank God. “I want you here. Always,” he promised. “I want you.” The relief on her face was somehow one of the most heartbreaking expressions she wore throughout the duration of her story. Harry wanted to cry at the thought. He pulled her toward him, face pressed to his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. One hand snaked up her back to hold the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, and he kissed the space of her forehead just by her hairline before closing his eyes completely content having her there.

There were so many things that needed to be addressed. She needed to call Louis. Harry wanted to call Niall...he wanted to call that terrible woman and fire her over the phone but that would have to wait until Monday. Harry would see to it that something about the funeral be figured out. Maybe he would send one of his lawyers to deal with her mum. Her bank account, her laptop, even the driver he was seriously going to have follow her... all of it needed to be taken care of for Harry to feel like he was helping her and making her horrible thirty-some odd hours end.

But for the next five minutes he was going to hold her like it was his one and only job. “M’gonna make it all better, kitten,” he murmured brushing his lips over her forehead again. “Promise.”

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estellan0vella · 22 days ago

Text

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Thirty Seven: You Deserve Everything SS: (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 4K Content Warnings: Discussions of death, dead bodies, abduction, injuries

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The private hospital room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the wall-mounted lights casting a gentle warmth over the sterile space. The constant beeping of heart monitors fills the silence, a quiet reassurance that life persists. Two beds occupy the room, one holding Seungmin, the other Hayun. Both of them are pale, their faces marked by bruises and cuts.

Minho sits slouched in the chair beside Hayun's bed, his hand wrapped firmly around hers. His head rests on the mattress, his hair a dishevelled mess, evidence of the two sleepless days he's spent in this room. Across the room, Jisung and Chan are stationed near Seungmin's bed, each with a cup of stale hospital coffee in hand. Changbin sits by the window, his arms crossed as he watches the city lights outside, lost in thought.

Seungmin stirs first. His eyes flutter open, the sterile brightness of the room making him wince. He groans softly, his throat dry and scratchy. "I feel like shit," he rasps, breaking the heavy silence.

Chan immediately leans forward, relief flooding his face. "Good," he snaps, his voice shaking slightly. "You were missing for three fucking days before we found you. We thought you went to Jeju, then your car was on the news. Do you know what that did to us?"

Seungmin blinks, trying to process the barrage of information. His gaze shifts to Hayun, who is still unconscious in the bed beside him. Her face is pale, her forehead wrapped in a white dressing, and her left arm is tucked into a sling. His chest tightens as he notices the cuts along her arms, each one neatly bandaged.

"How long... how long have we been here?" Seungmin croaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Two days," Changbin answers, his voice gruff. He turns from the window, his gaze sharp. "Minho hasn't left Hayun's side. Jisung got access to her phone records. That's how we found you."

Seungmin nods slowly, his body aching with every slight movement. "It was Ryujin," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "She's the one who did the doll at the university. Mr. Shin bricked the house on Boxing Day. Ryunjin killed Yeji, Mr Shin helped cover it up. They were both in the truck that smashed into my car. We didn't even make it to the airport. They were going to take us out of the country somehow. That was their plan."

Jisung exhales sharply, his grip tightening around the coffee cup in his hand. "Your shin and ankle are fucked," he says, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. "That's why you're in the cast."

Felix, who has been sitting quietly in the corner, adds, "Hayun has a fractured elbow. That's why she's in the sling."

Seungmin nods again, his expression weary. He looks over at Minho, who is still slumped over Hayun's bed, fast asleep but visibly restless even in slumber. The sight makes Seungmin's chest ache, guilt creeping into his thoughts. "He really didn't leave her side, huh?"

Chan shakes his head. "Not for a fucking second."

Before anyone can respond, Hayun stirs. The small movement is enough to jolt Minho awake. His head snaps up, his eyes immediately locking onto her face. "Hayun," he breathes, his voice breaking.

Her eyes flutter open, dazed and unfocused at first, but they slowly settle on Minho. A weak, faint smile tugs at her lips.

"You stupid, stupid girl," Minho chokes out as he leans forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. Tears spill down his cheeks, but he doesn't bother to wipe them away. "I knew you didn't mean any of it," he whispers, his voice trembling. "You're too nice to say anything like that."

Hayun's smile falters as she looks at him, her own tears beginning to well up. "Min..." she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

"I've got you," Minho says softly, his hand gripping hers tightly as he kisses her forehead again and again. "You're safe now. I promise."

Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin burst into tears at the sight of Hayun awake. Jisung drops his coffee cup, the contents splattering across the floor as he rushes to her bedside. "Yunnie," he sobs, his voice breaking. "You're awake. You're alive."

Felix follows, his own tears streaming down his face as he clutches Hayun's other hand. "Oh my God, Hayun," he whispers. "We thought... we thought we lost you."

Jeongin stands at the foot of the bed, his shoulders shaking as he cries silently. "You scared the shit out of us," he mumbles, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Hayun looks at all of them, her own tears spilling freely now. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Jisung shakes his head violently, his tears dripping onto the bed. "Don't apologize," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "Just... just don't fucking do this to us again, okay?"

Felix nods, his grip on her hand tightening. "Promise us, Hayun. No more running. No more hiding."

Hayun looks at each of them, her gaze lingering on Minho. "I promise," she whispers, her voice trembling. "I won't run again."

Minho presses his forehead to hers, his tears mingling with hers as he whispers, "You better not, princess. I can't lose you. Not now, not ever."

The night air is crisp and cold as Minho helps Hayun into his car, her movements slow and cautious due to the sling on her left arm. Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin pile into the backseat, their faces still pale and drawn with lingering worry. Across the hospital parking lot, Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin help Seungmin into their car, his casted leg extended awkwardly across the backseat.

As Minho drives, the car is silent except for the hum of the engine. Hayun leans her head against the window, her breath fogging the glass. Jisung glances at her from the backseat, his hands clenching and unclenching as if he's debating whether to say something. Felix is fiddling with the zipper of his jacket, and Jeongin stares at his lap, his usually bright demeanour muted.

When they pull up to Hayun, Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin's house, Minho parks and gets out, quickly moving to open Hayun's door. She looks up at him, her eyes wide and watery, and he offers her his hand without a word. She takes it, her grip weak but grateful.

The others follow them inside, the familiar warmth of the house offering some comfort. Minho doesn't hesitate; he leads Hayun straight up the stairs to her room, his hand never leaving hers. The others stay downstairs, giving them space.

Once in her room, Hayun sits on the edge of her bed. The moment she feels the mattress beneath her, her composure cracks. Her shoulders shake, and tears stream down her face as a sob escapes her lips. "Minho," she chokes out, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Minho kneels in front of her, his hands resting gently on her knees. "Hey, hey," he murmurs, his voice soft but firm. "You don't have to apologize. It's over now. You're safe."

Hayun shakes her head vehemently, tears dripping onto her lap. "I said such awful things to you. To Jisung. I didn't mean any of it, Minho. I was trying to push you away because I thought it would keep you safe, but I—" Her voice breaks, and she covers her face with her free hand, her body wracked with sobs.

Minho moves to sit beside her, pulling her into his arms. He's mindful of her injuries, holding her carefully but securely. "Princess," he says softly, resting his chin on top of her head. "I know why you said those things. I knew even then that it wasn't you. I don't blame you for trying to protect us. But you need to know something." He pulls back slightly, tilting her chin up so she looks at him. "You don't have to protect us alone. We're a team, remember?"

Hayun nods, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "I was so scared, Minho. They said if I didn't leave, everyone would get hurt. I didn't know what else to do."

Minho brushes a tear away with his thumb. "And now you're home, and no one's hurt. You're here, and that's all that matters."

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the small silver ring with the aquamarine stone that he gave her for Christmas. Hayun gasps softly when she sees it, her tears momentarily forgotten. Minho takes her hand gently, sliding the ring back onto her finger. "You gave this back, but I never stopped thinking of it as yours," he says, his voice trembling slightly. "You're mine, Hayun, and I'm not going anywhere."

Hayun stares at the ring, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "Minho..." she whispers, her voice breaking.

Minho chuckles softly, trying to lighten the mood. "Now, I also know you can stand up for yourself in a restaurant. Guess I don't have to return your orders for you anymore."

Hayun blinks at him, a small, incredulous laugh escaping her lips. "Minho, no," she protests weakly. "I can't return my food. You know that."

He cackles, the sound warm and reassuring, and he pulls her into another hug. "You're such a baby," he teases, pressing kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, and finally the corner of her mouth. "But you're my baby."

Hayun clings to him, burying her face in his shoulder. "I don't deserve you," she whispers.

"You deserve everything," Minho says firmly. "And I'm going to make sure you get it."

Downstairs, the others are sitting in the living room, the tension slowly ebbing away. Jisung is pacing back and forth, muttering to himself, while Felix and Jeongin are curled up on the couch, sipping tea that Jeongin made. The house feels quieter than usual, the events of the past week weighing heavily on all of them.

When Minho eventually comes back down, his eyes are red but his expression is calm. "She's asleep," he says softly, his voice carrying a note of exhaustion. "She's okay."

Felix stands up, his hands wringing together nervously. "And you?" he asks hesitantly.

Minho gives a small, tired smile. "I'm okay too."

Jisung stops pacing and looks at Minho. "You sure?" he asks, his voice gruff.

Minho nods. "Yeah. I'm sure."

Jeongin pats the couch beside him. "Sit down, hyung. You need to rest."

Minho hesitates but finally sinks into the couch beside Jeongin. Jisung sits on the armrest, his hand resting on Minho's shoulder. "We're all here, okay?" Jisung says. "For her. For you. For each other."

Minho nods again, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I know," he murmurs. "And I'm grateful."

Jisung knocks softly on Hayun's bedroom door before pushing it open, balancing a small tray with her medication and a glass of water. The dim light from her bedside lamp casts a warm glow over the room. Hayun is curled up under her blanket, her blonde hair messy against the pillow, her face peaceful in sleep. For a moment, Jisung hesitates, not wanting to disturb her. But then he clears his throat dramatically.

"Rise and shine, bitch," he whispers, stepping closer to the bed.

Hayun stirs, her eyes fluttering open. When she sees Jisung, a tired but genuine smile tugs at her lips. "Ji," she murmurs, her voice raspy. "What are you doing?"

"Medication," Jisung replies, setting the tray down on the nightstand. "Doctor's orders. Take these, or I'm calling your mom."

"I don't have a mom," Hayun teases weakly, sitting up with effort and using her good arm to reach for the pills.

"Exactly," Jisung quips, handing her the glass of water. "So that makes me your mom. And your dad. And your emotional support chaos gremlin."

As Hayun swallows her medication, Jisung sits on the edge of her bed, watching her with mock suspicion. "You're not gonna spit those out, right? 'Cause I'll shove them back in."

Hayun chuckles softly, shaking her head. "I took them, Ji. Relax."

Satisfied, Jisung exhales dramatically. "Good. I—" He doesn't finish because Hayun suddenly lunges at him, wrapping her good arm around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug.

"Hayun!" Jisung squawks, flailing slightly as she clings to him. "Hayun, you're choking me! I'm dying! Hayun!"

Hayun just squeezes him tighter, burying her face in his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice trembling. "For everything."

Jisung's arms finally come up to hug her back, albeit awkwardly. "Okay, okay, you're welcome. But seriously, you're cutting off my air supply, and I'm not trying to die tonight."

Hayun giggles, but she doesn't let go, holding onto him like he's her lifeline. Jisung gasps dramatically, pretending to choke and flail. "Oh my God, I went to a morgue for you, and this is the treatment I get? Choked to death by a tiny bitch with one good arm?"

Hayun finally loosens her grip, her laughter soft but genuine. "You're so annoying," she mutters, pulling him into the bed with her.

Jisung lands with a soft grunt, adjusting himself so they're both lying side by side. "Ooh, bestie cuddles! Let's go!" he exclaims, snuggling closer to her. "This is the shit I live for."

Hayun shakes her head fondly but lets him stay, her good arm draped over his shoulder. "What did you mean, you went to a morgue?" she asks, her tone curious but hesitant.

Jisung groans, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Right. So, here's the thing. We saw Seungmin's car on the news, total wreck, by the way, well don on surviving, and we all freaked the fuck out. Started calling hospitals, but nothing. Then Changbin, being the morbid genius he is, suggested morgues. So we called around, got a match, and went to see if it was you and Seungmin. It wasn't you obviously, but Minho started crying, so I thought it was you, and I started crying too. So, you know, a lot of emotional trauma. But it wasn't you, so all's forgiven."

Hayun bites her lip, her expression guilty. "Ji, I'm so sorry-"

"Nope," Jisung interrupts, wagging a finger in her face. "We're not doing that. No apologies. You're alive, so I forgive you. End of story."

Hayun lets out a shaky laugh, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "You're too good to me."

"Damn right I am," Jisung replies with a grin. Then his face shifts into a teasing smirk. "But don't think you're getting off easy. I know your arm has gotta hurt like a bitch, and every time you wince, I'm gonna laugh."

"Asshole," Hayun mutters, lightly shoving him with her good hand.

"Your asshole," Jisung shoots back, sticking out his tongue. Then he snuggles closer, resting his head against her shoulder. "Get some sleep, Yunnie. You need it."

Hayun hums softly, her eyes fluttering shut. "Thanks, Ji."

"Anytime," he whispers, his voice uncharacteristically soft. For a moment, the room is quiet, the weight of the past few days lifting slightly as they rest. And in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, the bond between them feels unbreakable.

Minho wakes with a crick in his neck, blinking blearily at the dim light of the living room. He's slumped in the armchair, his jacket draped over him like a makeshift blanket. Across the room, Felix and Jeongin are sprawled together on the couch in a tangle of limbs, snoring softly. Felix's head is tucked under Jeongin's chin, and Jeongin's arm is draped protectively over Felix's waist. It would be sweet if they weren't both drooling into the couch cushions.

Minho rubs his neck, muttering, "Fucking adorable and disgusting at the same time."

He stretches and stands, wincing as his back protests. Shuffling into the kitchen to splash cold water on his face, he wonders how the hell everyone survived the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days. Refreshed, he heads upstairs to check on Hayun.

Pushing open her door quietly, he immediately spots her. She's sprawled across Jisung, her head tucked against his chest, her fractured arm bent awkwardly out of its sling. Jisung is snoring loudly, his mouth open, and a small puddle of drool darkens the pillow beneath him.

"Seriously?" Minho mutters, stepping inside. His eyes narrow at the sight of Hayun's arm. "That's not right. What are you two, a couple of toddlers?"

He walks to the side of the bed and gently shakes Hayun's shoulder. "Yunnie, wake up. Your arm's gonna heal wrong if you don't—"

Hayun grumbles something unintelligible and burrows further into Jisung. Jisung's arms tighten around her, and he snorts himself awake for a moment, only to pull the covers over both of them.

"Hey!" Minho snaps. "You can't just ignore me. I'm serious."

From beneath the blanket, Hayun's muffled voice says, "Five more minutes."

"No," Minho insists. "Your arm's gonna be permanently fucked. Move, or I'm calling Chan."

"You wouldn't," Hayun challenges groggily.

Minho smirks, pulling his phone from his pocket. "Watch me."

He dials and waits as the line rings. A groggy but cheerful Chan picks up. "What's up, Min?"

"I've got a situation," Minho replies, glaring at the lump under the blanket. "Hayun and Jisung won't move, and her sling's all messed up. I need backup."

Chan laughs. "Of course. We're all heading over anyway. Seungmin's driving us crazy with his leg, so me, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Seungmin will be there in ten. Bringing breakfast."

Minho smirks, ending the call. "Help's on the way," he announces.

Hayun pokes her head out from the covers, her hair a wild mess. "You're the worst."

"You're welcome," Minho replies with a grin. "Now stay put, or don't. I don't care. Chan's handling it."

Hayun groans, tugging the blanket back over her head. Jisung grumbles, "Five more minutes," before pulling her closer. Minho sighs dramatically, leaning against the doorframe and checking his phone.

Ten minutes later, the sound of a car pulling up outside signals Chan's arrival. Minho heads downstairs to find Felix and Jeongin already up, groggily stretching as they shuffle toward the door. Changbin opens the car door for Seungmin, who has his crutches in hand, and together with Felix and Jeongin, they help him into the house and settle him onto the couch.

"Thanks, assholes," Seungmin mutters, adjusting his leg.

"No problem, grumpy," Changbin replies cheerfully.

Meanwhile, Chan and Hyunjin bound up the stairs, breakfast bags in hand. Minho is waiting outside Hayun's door, his arms crossed. "Took you long enough."

"Calm down, Nurse Min," Chan teases, handing Hyunjin a bag before entering the room.

Hyunjin pokes his head in and coos immediately. "Aw, they look so cute."

"Shut up," Jisung groans, but he perks up when he hears Hyunjin's voice. "Hyunnie?"

"Morning, Ji," Hyunjin says brightly, tossing a wink at him.

Chan walks to Hayun's side and kneels beside the bed, pulling out a hazelnut honeycomb frappuccino. He wafts the cup under Hayun's nose, grinning as she stirs.

"Extra shot of coffee?" she mumbles sleepily, her eyes still closed.

"Of course," Chan replies.

Hayun sits up slowly, blinking at him. She takes the drink with her good hand, sipping it gratefully. Minho steps forward, crouching in front of her as she drinks.

"Let's fix your sling," he says gently. Hayun nods, holding her drink in her lap as Minho carefully adjusts her arm. She winces slightly, and Jisung offers her his hand to squeeze.

"Easy there," Jisung mutters, wincing himself as she tightens her grip. "Damn, Yunnie, do you even know your own strength?"

"Stop whining," Hayun teases softly, though her face is pale from the discomfort.

Minho finishes adjusting the sling and steps back, satisfied. "There. Now try not to break yourself again."

"I'll try," Hayun promises with a small smile. She looks at Jisung, who's still clutching his hand theatrically. "Thanks, Ji."

"Anything for my bestie," Jisung replies, his grin wide despite the red marks on his hand.

Chan ruffles Hayun's hair. "Alright, let's get you downstairs. Breakfast waits for no one."

The tension in the living room is palpable as Hayun and Seungmin sit on the loveseat, both looking like kids caught sneaking out past curfew. Their injuries don't earn them any sympathy from the group standing in front of them like a jury ready to deliver a harsh sentence. Minho, Jisung, Felix, Jeongin, Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin loom over them, arms crossed, expressions a mixture of anger, relief, and exasperation.

Jisung is the first to break the silence, pointing a finger at them. "We've forgiven you two idiots, but just so we're clear, you're both about to get ripped new ones. So brace yourselves."

Hayun glances at Seungmin and mutters, "This is going to be fun."

Minho narrows his eyes at her. "Don't even try to deflect with sarcasm, Princess."

Seungmin raises a hand weakly. "In our defence, it was a solid plan. I mean, until, you know... my car got hit by a fucking truck, my leg and ankle snapped, and Hayun's elbow broke. That was the weak link."

"A truck," Minho repeats, voice low and deadly. "You mean the trap. The one you walked straight into."

Hayun shifts uncomfortably, but Seungmin keeps going, "We didn't see that coming. We thought leaving was the safest option. Someone threatened her into leaving Seoul, Minho. How was staying the best plan?"

"Not going anywhere was the best plan," Minho snaps, stepping forward, his fists clenched at his sides. "You think running would have solved anything? They still found you, didn't they? They found you, they nearly killed you, and they could've killed Hayun."

Seungmin holds up both hands, a peace gesture. "She wasn't going on her own, okay? I was with her."

"Oh great," Felix pipes up, throwing his hands in the air. "That makes everything better. You both just ran off without telling anyone, and you left us to assume you were having some great time solving a case on Jeju. Then your mangled car ends up on the fucking news, and we're all left thinking you're dead!"

Changbin cuts in, his voice rising. "And we had to go to a morgue! A fucking morgue, Seungmin! A morgue to look at bodies that might have been yours."

Hayun winces, but Seungmin stays defensive. "We did what we thought was best," he says firmly. "We were going to work the case from Jeju, solve it, and then come back. We didn't count on Mr. Shin and Ryujin setting up a trap. That's on us. Our bad."

"Our bad?" Changbin echoes incredulously, stepping forward. "You're telling me that your bad covers three days of us not knowing where you were, seeing Seungmin's car mangled on the news, and then finding you chained up in a warehouse covered in blood?"

Felix crosses his arms, his voice trembling as he adds, "You both looked dead when we found you. Hayun, you weren't even breathing properly. And then we had to wait for two days while you were unconscious in the hospital, not knowing if you'd wake up. But sure, 'our bad' fixes everything."

Jeongin gestures wildly at the loveseat. "I'm saying ankle bracelets for both of you. Or microchips. Like, immediately. You're both flight risks."

Seungmin looks down at his cast and shrugs. "I'm not going anywhere. I can't even walk properly."

Hayun bites back a smile. "I mean, I could run, but honestly, my arm would probably hurt too much."

Jisung glares at her. "Don't test me. I'm not above hitting wounded people."

Chan steps forward, his expression stern. "I'm not mad. I'm disappointed."

Seungmin freezes, his eyes wide. "Oh, shit. That hit harder than anything else."

Hayun snorts, trying to cover it with a cough. Seungmin joins her, and soon they're both quietly giggling.

Jisung slaps them both upside the head, glaring at them. "You're not allowed to laugh. You're grounded."

"Grounded?" Hayun echoes, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, grounded," Chan confirms. "Minho will be watching you at all times, Hayun. You don't go anywhere without him. And Seungmin, you're under my supervision until further notice."

"Supervision?" Seungmin repeats, frowning. "You make it sound like we're toddlers."

"Considering your recent track record," Hyunjin interjects, "it's a fair comparison."

Felix nods. "The two of you have lost all unsupervised privileges. Effective immediately."

Hayun leans back against the loveseat, groaning. "This is humiliating."

"No," Jisung retorts. "What's humiliating is finding out your best friend and your other friend decided to become detectives on a secret island mission without telling anyone."

"And nearly died doing it," Minho adds, his voice softer now. "Hayun, Seungmin, do you have any idea what that did to us?"

The room falls quiet, and Hayun lowers her gaze, guilt creeping over her face. "We thought we were protecting you," she murmurs.

Minho crouches in front of her, reaching out to gently touch her uninjured hand. "Next time, protect us by staying with us. Please."

Hayun nods. "I'm sorry."

"We're sorry," Seungmin echoes.

Jisung claps his hands once. "Good. Apology accepted. Now, no more solo missions, or I swear to God I'll invest in those ankle bracelets."

Felix leans against Jeongin and sighs dramatically. "We don't ask for much. Just that you stay alive and keep us in the loop."

Hayun and Seungmin exchange a glance, both smiling faintly. "Deal," Hayun says softly.

"Deal," Seungmin agrees, sinking back into the loveseat with a relieved sigh.

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

@heeseungspookie @smigcrazy @skzstannie @nightmarenyxx @beaann

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envyenvys · 1 year ago

Text

Stobin Mandalorian AU part 2

(aka s3 stobin accidentally acquire a magic baby)

[1] [You Are Here] [3] [4]

The car ride back to the elevator is not pleasant, Steve needs to stop getting into situations where his brain’s melting too much to stop the kids from driving. Aba doesn’t seem to like it much either, but as long as Robin’s holding her she won’t cry. They narrowly avoid hitting a bunch of barrels right at the end — thank god for Erica. Car crashes can not be good for babies.

Steve and Robin sit huddled in the corner of the elevator the whole ride up, because it isn’t exactly stable either and if either of them drops the baby Steve is going to die. Dustin and Erica won’t stop bickering, but it’s fine because they’re alive and Robin’s alive and the baby’s alive and Steve’s alive to enjoy them all being alive, and they’re finally leaving that stupid Russian bunker.

“What is wrong with you two?” Erica demands.

“They seem drunk.” Dustin frowns, crouching down over Steve. He grabs Steve’s face by the bruises and pushes his eyelids up, which hurts a lot, thank you very much. “His pupils are super dilated, I think they might’ve been drugged. Were you drugged, Steve?”

“No, but they gave us goop,” Steve says helpfully.

He’s seen drugs — Munson keeps a bunch in his lunchbox to sell at parties — and they definitely aren’t blue or goopy. They’re usually like, green and dry. Or white and dry. Or—

“They gave you goop?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he doesn’t nod because the last time he did that it was really not fun. “And now I’m blue. And my bones are soup. Soupy. Not like yours, you have strong bones.”

“They’re definitely drugged,” Erica says, looking down at them with a little too much contempt for a ten-year-old.

“Steve, this is important,” Dustin says, and there’s a tightness around his eyes that Steve would definitely be able to interpret if his brain wasn’t soup. “I need to know where you parked your car.”

“Um,” Steve says. His head is really starting to hurt again. It stopped when they got the goop but the elevator’s bringing it back. “Uh oh.”

“What do you mean ‘uh oh’?”

“Keys are gone.”

He’d turn out his pockets to show Dustin but that would disturb Robin which would disturb the baby, and he really doesn’t want to disturb Aba. She’s too small and tiny and perfect.

“What do you mean the keys are gone?” Dustin grits out.

“The Russians took them, like, forever ago.”

“You stopped to get a whole baby but you didn’t think to get your keys!?”

That’s not even remotely the same thing.

Robin shushes him very loudly, “No shouting, you’ll wake the baby.”

“She’s already awake,” Dustin says, rolling his eyes.

Aba blinks her big brown eyes up at Dustin.

“I can’t believe you two managed to find some random white baby down there,” Erica says, crossing her arms. “I deserve extra ice cream for having to put up with this.”

“The baby is where you draw the line?” Dustin asks, exasperated.

“I can deal with bodily harm and the threat of imminent death,” Erica says. Which, wow. Okay. “What I can’t deal with is changing diapers. I have standards.”

The two of them start bickering again, and Steve takes the opportunity to stare at Aba’s perfect little face. She scrunches her nose at him but smiles when he brushes a finger over one of her soft little cheeks, the way Robin did earlier.

He doesn’t think he’s ever loved anyone this quickly before. His heart feels like it’s about to burst, growing and growing until it fills all the hollows in his chest. It chokes at his throat and makes his bruised ribs throb, but he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

The moment passes and Dustin’s dragging them all up and out of the elevator again, but his heart doesn’t get any smaller.

Aba makes the tiniest, cutest little gasp when they get out into the fresh air, and he knows exactly how she feels because the air outside tastes wonderful. He’s never appreciated air the way it deserves to be appreciated.

The few stars already out are bright, and Aba stares up at them like she’s never seen anything like them before, and it hits Steve that she might not have. She’s only what, a few months old? How many opportunities would she have gotten to go outside? Was she even born outside the bunker or did they make her as a science baby under Starcourt?

It hurts to have to bring her back inside again. When this is all over, he and Robin are going to take her outside and they’ll spend, like, a whole day out there just enjoying the air, and the sun, and the stars.

Dustin tries to make them sit in the theatre but he barely even cracks the doors open before Steve backs up, shaking his head. Ow.

“Not in there, it’s too loud.” Movie theatres are horrible places for babies. And headaches.

Dustin makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl.

“Fine,” he says. “Just— sit out here, don’t move. I’ll be back in a minute. Erica, keep watch.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Erica says, but sneaks down to the hall to keep watch anyway.

Steve stares down at the baby again.

“Do you think Aba knows what flowers are?” he asks. Robin scrunches her nose at him.

“What?”

“She’s probably been down there for like, her whole life right? Would the Russians show her flowers?”

“That’s not—” Robin shakes her head, then winces. “What did you call the baby?”

“Aba?” He tilts his head. Robin squints at him. “It’s her name, see?”

He shows her the blanket, and Robin stares at the stitching for a long moment before her eyes go wide and then they go really sad.

“Steve,” she says softly, holding the baby closer, “that’s not her name, it’s a number. It’s pronounced dva, I think. It means ‘two’.”

“Oh.”

Dva. Two. Not Aba, not a name. Just a number, like Eleven.

But they don’t call her Eleven, do they? They call her El. A nickname.

“Abby,” Steve says decisively. Robin makes a questioning noise.

“She needs a nickname, like El, so she can be Abby.”

“Abby,” Robin says softly, looking down at the baby. Abby smiles.

[Next]

#stobin WOULD accidentally name their baby an anagram for baby #<— bold words from the person who also did this #only realized abby could be an anagram like three days after writing it lmao #also thank you so much to everyone who left such nice comments on the first part??#I wasn’t expecting the response it got but I guess we just all love stobin with babies #don’t worry steve WILL Hold That Baby I promise #stobin mandalorian au #the greatest qpr hawkins has ever seen #envy writes #stranger things #stranger things fic #stobin fanfic #stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley

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masivechaos · 2 years ago

Text

LOVE YOU THROUGH ETERNITY

remus lupin x fem! reader

Request: yes / no

see the request here!

Synopsis: When everything seems lost in the darkness, Remus is the light you need.

Warning/content: hurt to comfort, angst, canon war era & deaths, crying, kissing, my English

a.n.: 1.3k words- anon i hope i did justice to your quote

masterlist/ marauders masterlist / navigation / taglist

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.──

The current times were terrifying. The war was going as hard as ever and Voldemort decided to have as his principal targets the person you considered being your sister and her husband to get their child. You haven’t seen Lily and James for weeks now and you missed them terribly. You felt more than scared, not even knowing where or how they were.

You were staring out the window, eyes dry, you were not even able to cry anymore, too many tears had fallen already. You didn’t even react when Remus wrapped his arms around your waist, his chest against your back, too lost in your thoughts.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly, his lips resting on your temple. You didn’t answer, holding on to his arms, not wanting him to let go.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, snuggling as close as possible to him.

Remus held you a little tighter “What are you scared of, dove?”

You turned around and looked up at Remus. His hand stroked your cheek gently, inviting you to talk, allowing you to let it out for the first time in months. “Everything.”

You had never told him about your fears, you felt like there was already too much going on, and you didn’t need to add more problems to the already existing stack. You just bottled up everything. He saw you cry but you never could tell him what was happening inside your head. And today you couldn’t anymore, your mind was too loud to keep it quiet. “Tell me more,” he said, holding you close to him as your head found the crook of his neck.

“I’m scared for Lily and James. I don’t want anything to happen to them,” you let out a sob, terrified at the idea that they could end up hurt or worst. You tried to calm the torrent of thoughts that was running inside your brain by listening to Remus’ slow heartbeat.

Remus softly kissed the top of your head “They’re going to be okay. Nobody knows where they are, except maybe Sirius- he’s probably the keeper of the secret- but he won’t tell anyone.” He dropped another kiss, “They are safe, I promise you.”

You shut your eyes. You wanted him to be right. You wanted Lily and James to live the happy ever after she always told you about back in Hogwarts, you wanted Harry to live the wonderful life he deserved to have next to his parents. You tried your best to believe Remus.

He promised.

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Your vision was blurry, eyes filled with tears. You couldn’t speak, the lump in your throat was stopping you from saying anything. You held Remus’ arm so tight you were sure you were going to leave bruises on his skin. You didn’t even remember how you got their address, there were some things so much more important at the moment.

James and Lily’s cottage was a mess. There were pieces of glass everywhere, shattered wood on the carpet floor and even more chaos displayed here and there. But it wasn’t what you cared about, your eyes were locked on James’ dead body.

Horrified, you couldn’t detach your gaze from your friend. After what felt like an eternity but were a few seconds, Remus’ hand covered your eyes. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered, voice far away from your ears, as if his soul was far away from his body.

“B-but Lily,” you choke, feeling the pain stabbing your chest, your heart bleeding inside your body.

Remus looked up the stairs, was must be Harry’s room seemed to be in complete disaster “It’s over, love… it’s over…” You weren’t the first ones to come to the crime scene, Harry was saved and outside, if Lily were alive she would have been by his side.

Even more tears ran down your face “I have to check- I- I-”

The small amount of energy you had left your body and you collapsed to the ground, unable to breathe “Tell me it’s not true,” you sobbed. You grasped Remus’ shirt, almost tearing the fabric in the distress you were feeling.

Remus held you tight, crying silently as you tried your best to break the embrace, you wanted to see Lily. After a minute you gave up, letting yourself break down in Remus’ arms.

Everything that happened after this was blurry in your mind. Sirius and Peter came here too to find the tragedy that was now the Potter’s cottage before aurors accused Harry’s godfather of betrayal. You didn’t know exactly what happened only that Sirius ended up in Azkaban and Peter was dead but for the rest, your mind decided to erase any other memories from this awful night.

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Your chest was empty if it wasn’t for the melting of fear and anger that was stinging your heart everyday. You were still with Remus, you needed each other to not drive yourselves insane but you both were acting like ghosts.

So as you were laying with your head on Remus’ chest, you absently traced shapes on his arm, eyes filled with tears.

You had no one except him. Lily was dead, James was dead, Marlene was dead, Dorcas was dead, Peter was dead. Mary didn’t talk to you anymore to cope with grief as much as she could. Alice and Frank were alive but not living. Sirius was in Azkaban and a betrayer.

You tried your best to hide the sound of your cries but Remus heard, of course he did, wolf hearing and all. “Love,” he whispered, his own voice was broken, he was probably crying too.

You snaked your arms around his torso, burying your face in his chest, letting your tears stain his sweater. “Why are we still here?” Being one of your only friends to be still alive was a feeling you couldn’t explain. You felt pain and anger and remorse and guilt eating slowly everyday.

“I don’t know,” he said before holding you a little closer to him, he couldn’t believe that even with all of this he didn’t lose you. He wouldn’t call himself lucky but some days when he woke up by your side, he was telling himself that maybe everything didn’t seem hopeless.

The silence settled in the living room again. You knew the war was over, Voldemort was gone, but something in a corner of your mind was telling you that maybe it wasn’t. Maybe something horrible was going to happen.

You were terrified at the idea of losing Remus. You couldn’t. If he ever died, he was going to carry the last pieces of soul that existed inside of you with him. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me.”

“I love you, Remus. And I’m scared I won’t be able to love you anymore if anything happens,” you said as more tears fell down your cheeks. Remus cradled your face between his hands, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t want you to die, I want to love you until we’re old and we die.” You cleared your throat, “I want to love you and I want you to stay alive.”

“Our souls belong together, dove,” he smiled softly, “when I can’t love you in this lifetime anymore, I will find you in another and love you then, I’ll do this over and over until I love you through eternity,” he said, looking into your eyes, holding your hand tightly.

Your heart throbbed in your chest, it was the purest form of love confession you ever heard and it turned you into a puddle. You were melting between Remus’ hands. Remus kissed your lips tenderly, “I’ll love you through eternity, Y/n. I promise you.”

Remus kept his promise. He loved you every day. He stayed by your side and both of your souls healed together, slowly and softly. Remus was the light you needed through the darkest times.

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.──

⋆ ★ remus lupin taglist: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @sw34terw34ther @cauliflowertree @madison-rebel @moonlitmeeks @rhydianissuperior @loveeharrington @mad-elia @jackys-stuff-blog @elenatries2write @princess-paramour @juneberrie @faeriieblush @gilmore-angel @heartfucks @sparklenarniawizard @songs4themoon @moondemon123 @mystic-writings @siriusblackstwin @natashxromanovf @violetteshoneybee @unadulterated-syd @goodoldfashionedluvergirl @garfieldsladybird @kidcuisinesvcks @percy-the-hufflepuff @fairydxll @spookydarkwitch @imshiningjustforyou @vancitycharlie @doyouknowwhoyouare13 @venussflytraps @diorgirl444 @oncasette @locke-writes @dori-and-gray @itsarajr @maddipoof @starconfettii @widowbf

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dreamersbcll · 1 year ago

Note

Sam has to watch Christina killing tara

“You missed my heart”

she got me good, i knew she would

——————————————————————————-

Sam doesn't know what happened.

That was a lie. She knew what would happen if she left. Through all the drugs and alcohol in her bloodstream, she knew all too well what would happen the minute she escaped the lion’s den.

Christina Carpenter was starving for something to sink her teeth into, and Tara was there, ripe for the taking.

And yet, Sam left. She escaped into the darkness on the eve of her eighteenth birthday and ran far, far away from the town that raised her. She escaped by the skin of her teeth, a permanent scowl etched on her lips, and never looked back.

Or at least she tried.

Somewhere around her twenty-first birthday, Sam could feel it there. A gnawing, aching pain in her stomach, a pus-filled that sat there and festered in her gut.

Guilt.

She knows well that her escapade into the night was just signing the death certificate for her little sister. It was the last chess move, the one that stopped the game of chicken she had been playing with her mother ever since Tara learned to walk.

Sam saw how her mother watched Tara. Predatory. Christina was constantly sizing up the small girl, drinking in her strengths, capitalizing on her weaknesses.

The difference between the sisters was simple, besides the height, of course. Sam was a Loomis. She knew how to fight, how to live on scraps, how to defend herself. Tara was a Carpenter; she knew how to run, how to hide. All would be well if their mother weren’t a combination of both.

Christina fell in love with Loomis first, after all. It was only a matter of time before she attacked the thing about herself that she hated the most—the Carpenter name.

Sam would kill her if Tara had let her. She was itching, always itching to take out the woman who stared down her little girl like she was wounded prey, ripe for the picking. Even while inebriated, Sam knew that she had to be ready for the fight that would eventually come.

And the fight did indeed come, later than Sam thought it would. It was the night of Tara’s sixteenth birthday; while Sam was lighting the candle of the little cupcake she bought at the grocery store where she worked, she received a text.

Tara: SOS. mom

It took Sam an hour flat to pull her car into the front yard of the home that she once lived in.

She flew out of the car, not even bothering to wear a seatbelt. In one hand, she clutched her phone, the other a rusty hammer she found in an old toolbox at work.

From outside, she could hear screaming. How none of the neighbors heard it was a mystery to her. But it didn't matter. Sam was here. And she was hungry for blood.

Sam threw open the front door, following the screaming to the kitchen. There, she saw a sight that would be forever burned into her mind: one that would keep her up at night, rip her awake from her sleep, screaming and clawing at the skin she lived within.

Christina had Tara pinned to the ground, bloody hands wrapped around her little sister’s throat, pressing down hard. Tara’s eyes were bloodshot, and her nails dug into Christina’s hands, clawing at the skin that took away her breath. Gasping and shaking, Tara was trying to fight back, black bruises blooming across her cheek, dried blood staining her nostrils.

The hammer in Sam’s hands shook, her body frozen in shock. She wasn’t sure what was worse- the fact that Tara couldn’t see Sam was here now or the way Christina looked up at Sam’s frozen body and grinned at her. As if she was sure that her firstborn would turn around and run away again and let the lion take down the prey it deserved.

But Sam had already promised herself that she would never run again. And that the hammer in her hands wasn’t going to leave without blood caked onto its cold steel.

Within seconds, Sam ripped Christina off of her sister and threw the woman across the floor, relishing in how she skittered across the tile like a loose penny. Sam reached down and pulled Tara up by her armpits, forcing the girl to her feet and shoving her down the hallway, leaving the girl to catch her breath on her own. Choking but alive, Tara stumbled away, her eyes shining with something close to relief and joy.

Satisfied that her sister was out of the way, Sam returned to her mother, teeth bared. Her mother was already up and on her feet, her eyes darkening at the sight of her vengeful firstborn. Christina’s eyes flitted down, briefly taking in the weapon in Sam’s hand.

“And so she returns,” the woman sneers, her voice cold.

Sam smiled a vast, unforgiving grin. “I heard you were missing a Loomis in your life. Too bad the first one died like a little bitch,” she retorted.

Her mother sneered. “Say hi to him, won’t you?”

And the two collided.

Luckily for Sam, dreams do come true. Sam did get to kill their mother. She took it slow. Each movement was drawn out, careful calculations to inflict the most pain. Dull thuds of a hammer could be heard, blood spattering the kitchen and skin of the daughter Christina Carpenter loathed. It was over in an hour. Two tops.

After her mother’s body finally hit the floor with a splat, Sam pulled away, breathing hard, admiring her work. If she weren’t so enamored with her bloodlust, she would’ve noticed her little sister creep back into the kitchen, gasping at the sight.

Shit.

Tara pressed herself against her big sister’s side, seemingly ignoring the blood that dripped down Sam’s forearms. Both sisters stood in silence, looking at the body that gave them life, now dead on their kitchen floor.

Sam wasn’t an idiot. She could feel Tara’s breaths picking up, the guilt of not being strong enough consuming her. The shame of losing another parent because she just wasn’t worth it.

Fuck that. Tara was always worth it to Sam, even if Sam ran away, too.

Sam glanced down at Tara, the adrenaline in her body fading as she saw the sadness in her little sister’s eyes. Her fingers twitched, one hand still grasping onto the bloody hammer. All she wanted to do was cup her little sister's face between her bloodstained hands and whisper,

We’re connected to her by pure coincidence. It’s by blood, but it’s all relative. She is not you. You are not her. I won’t let you become her. I promise.

Instead, Sam lays her free hand on Tara’s shoulder, ignoring how her girl flinches a bit at the action. She gently squeezes Tara’s shoulder and softly repeats the same chant repeatedly. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here, I’m here now.”

“She’s dead,” Tara breathed, her voice cracking with emotion.

Wincing, Sam nods. Their mother was nothing but a crumpled corpse on their kitchen floor, her blood painting the tiles that still had the sisters' blood caked onto it. History repeating itself. Blood of the mother returning to her daughters.

But Sam couldn’t dwell on that now. Christina was dead. Tara was battered and bruised but alive. Sam was back. It was time for her to take her little girl away, far away, from this town and the blood they spilled in it.

Clearing her throat, Sam squeezed Tara’s shoulder particularly hard, forcing the girl to listen to her. “We’ve been in her fists ever since we were little kids. But we don’t owe her shit. Not anymore. Not ever again,” Sam paused, looking down at Tara’s stunned face.

Dropping the hammer to the ground, ignoring the dull thunk that echoed throughout the quiet house. She got down on one knee, cupping Tara’s face, pressing her forehead against her little sister’s.

Sam breathed in and out, her adrenaline fading. “She won’t ever touch you again.”

She pressed their foreheads together hard, trying to force that truth into Tara’s head. She knows her little sister. Sam knows that Tara is wondering, wondering what if Christina gets up and finishes the job? What if she comes alive before their eyes? The devil can’t die, can he?

Sam can see it all in her little girl’s eyes. And it kills her.

Tara swallowed hard, one hand shaking up to touch the ring of bruises strung across her throat. Sam winced at the action, her heart straining. If only she were quicker. Then maybe, just maybe, Tara wouldn’t have to witness the carnage that came after.

But it didn’t matter. Her little girl closed her eyes, her eyelids fluttering in quiet solace. Softly, Tara spoke, her voice still. “Promise?”

Sam breathed out, a little smile creeping across her face.

“I promise.”

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #fuck christina carpenter club #scream vi #AU: i’ve got blood on my hands

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blackheart1454 · 1 year ago

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We own you (Yandere!Creepypasta x Abused!Depressed Reader) Chapter 1

Warnings!: Abuse, violence.

Minors get the fuck out of here! 🔞+

Hello everyone! This is my first Creepypasta x Reader fanfic, I hope everyone enjoy it! I must apologize if the fanfic have grammar and spelling mistakes, english isn't my native language, but I'm trying very hard!

Thanks and enjoy the story

Chapter 2

I was panting heavily, feeling the blood staining every part of my body. I was chained against the wall. Naked, cover in boiling water burns, cuts, cigarette burns and bruises. Why I am here? Let me tell you my history. I used to be a happy girl with a normal life. I had two lovely parents, that were worry about me and always made sure that I had everything I need. My mom was a nurse and my father a journalist. I barely remember my mother, she was always busy at the hospital, she worked the whole day, and when she didn’t, she came home pretty late and, in that circumstance, my father was my best friend. He used to look after me, he used to take me to school, he used to listen to my problems… he used to love me.

One day, my mother got terrible sick, and my father did everything to cure her, to find a treatment… but as time passed, my mother’s illness became increasingly worse. She died one Friday at 12:00 am. From that day, dad started to act weird. He started to avoid me in every way, like I never exist. I never see him until night, but he was passed away on the coach with a smell of alcohol. That routine continued for 2 months. I knew he was having a hard time by dealing with mom’s death, I was waiting for him to recover, to return to the lovely father I knew, but I was wrong. So wrong.

Who knew that my life would become a nightmare overnight? First the insults began, then the beatings, finally the torture. I never knew what I did for deserve this, the only thing I was sure, he was always blaming me for mom’s death. I had to deal with the pain every second. There were days that I was bruised so bad that I hardly had the strength to stay awake. I never told anyone about this, he treated to kill me if I did… because of that I never had friends.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here.”

I was so focus on my thoughts that I didn’t notice the man entered to the room.

“Did you sleep well you little shit?” he whispered in my ear.

“Y-yes..” I said. I could barely talk, my throat hurt from screaming and I hadn’t drink water in days.

“Yes, what? And look at me while I’m talking to you!” he pulled my hair to face him clearly annoyed.

“Y-yes.. s-sir” I replayed softly.

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” he shouted angrily.

“YES SIR!”

“That’s better” he said pleased while unlocking the chains. “Get dress, you have 5 minutes and don’t keep me waiting.”

“Yes sir!” I said, and immediately ran to my room. I open the closet to put the first things that I found. I was kidding, I didn’t have a closet. I didn’t have furniture at all. That man sold most of the things of my room to buy alcohol and cigarettes. The only thing I had was an old futon that I used as bed and my cloths that were throw to the floor. Most of the were rip apart by the man when he was in bad mood. I only have simple t-shirts, sweaters, hoodies and jeans. I picked up (f/c) sweater, a (f/c) t-shirt, black ripped jeans and black combat boot. I took my bag pack and ran out of the house. My father was already waiting in his black car, with hesitation I approached it. Lucky for me, he didn’t say anything and started the car. It took around 25 minutes to arrive to school, the ride was uncomfortably silent. It was the same routine every fucking day. Waking up, dress up, go to the hellhole which is call school, return to home, eat a half bread, do the homework and the beating sections. I got out of the car and enter the building.

“Hey look the freak is here.”

“What a slut.”

“She looks like a mummy with all that bandages on.”

“Emo freak.”

“Why the hell is she still coming here?”

Same day, same routine, same idiots who don’t have anything better to do, it didn’t matter anyways. Since my father started to abusive me, nobody approached me because of the horrible bruises I have and they got me nicknames like the “emo freak”. Just keep going (Y/N), and let the idiots be idiots. I entered to the classroom, that was empty and wait for the teacher. I put on my headphones and listen to (f/s) while sketching on my math’s notebook. Little by little, it was filling up the people. A little later the school’s bell rings, the teacher followed by enter the room.

“Good morning everyone” the teacher said.

“Good morning” everybody replied, except me.

“You have a pop quiz, so take out your pencils and keep everything away.”

Everybody complained and the teacher just ignore them. Lucky for me I have nice grades on (f/s). While doing the quiz, I couldn’t help but notice that there was something or better… someone watching me outside. I looked thought the window and saw what it looks like a monochromatic clown, and he had an evil smirk on his face.

“Miss (l/n) is there something wrong?” the teacher interrupted me.

“Eh… w-what?”

“I asked if there is something wrong?” the woman said annoyed.

“Eeehh… n-nothing miss” I murmured.

“The hurry up! You only have 20 minutes to complete the quiz!” she said while the others start to complain again.

I looked thought the window again, only to notice that the creepy clown was gone. What the hell was that?

??? P.O.V

-Soon. Very soon, just wait dear (Y/N), we will come for you. We will end your pain, you will be happy with us, you will love us…. Because you don’t have choice.-

----------

This fanfic is also published on Wattpad, Quotev and Archive of Our Own, my user name is the same.

Please consider supporting on my Ko-fi account.

#creepypasta #yandere #yandere x reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta x female reader #jeff the killer #slenderman #ticci toby #masky #hoodie #eyeless jack #laughing jack #creepypasta fanfic

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peggy-sue-reads-a-book · 1 year ago

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The Garden of Innocence

Dionysus x Ariadne | Greek Mythology | Teen+

Summary: Theseus is Edward Cullen a real piece of shit.

Illustration panels: (x)

Chapter 4

The truth was, Theseus was an excellent sailor. He was a novice, however, at killing monsters. He looked like an athlete, sure. But it was from frequent jogging and press-ups. Swords weren’t really his thing. He had not expected to survive the labyrinth.

He was twenty and had gotten lucky. And he loved Athens.

That, and he was the last, obviously, to find the Minotaur. He successors at been a series of Athenian youths as strapping and good looking at himself. The death blow to a creature with weak eyes and a bruised head. The real monster had been stench of the pit. And the darkness. Then there was the crunch and clatter underfoot. And worse, anything warm.

The thing had charged him. As it did, he skewered it through the eye with a rib snapped from the litter on the floor. It was just enough longer than the monster’s horns. And after it fell, he stabbed it again. He even opened its dead mouth, rammed the splintered rib through the back of its throat and left it there. No longer was he thinking of Athens. He was thinking of his back, and the fear of turning it to run.

That is what happened. That is how the Minotaur died. And after, Theseus followed nothing more substantial than a silk thread to find his way out again. It was an evil place. Even with the monster’s death-rattle behind him, the maze still breathed. When he returned to the light of Knossos, he was sweating and white as with fever.

Ariadne was so beautiful. Overjoyed to see him, never minding his drenched hair and shaking hands. He sunk to his knees, hid his face against her. Clinging to her as a suppliant— this beautiful girl he never expected to see again. What’s more, her things were packed.

He couldn’t just leave her.

The ship seemed so empty. There was not one surviving tribute besides himself. Would he return home a hero? Or merely a guilty survivor? He needed time to think. And the voyage from Crete to the mainland was short. He felt terrible for tricking her. He really did.

But she believed him so easily. Where was the hurt?

Their second night on Naxos, he build her a fire of blue and green. They gazed at stars and she fell asleep with her head in his lap.

He nodded off only a few times, his chin dipping to his chest just before he startled awake again. His legs and lower back cramped from the rigid stillness of that night. He knew he deserved it. There was sand in his ass. He deserved that too.

He would not wake her. The little movement he allowed himself was to touch her curls. It was a pleasure. “You’re so soft,” he whispered, trailing his fingertips along her cheek, down her neck.

The dark ocean was loud, almost menacing. The earliest light turned it purple— like wine. Every groaning tree, even the little frogs that peeped made his neck prickle. Some hero, he thought.

As the sky yellowed, Theseus could not bear it any longer. “Princess,” he said giving her shoulder a squeeze. When she only stirred a little before falling back asleep, he spoke louder. “Ariadne.”

“Hmm?”

She blinked up at him and yawned.

“I need to talk to you.”

The way she looked a him. No longer with guileless fawning, but caution. Like a startled animal when a twig snaps.

She sat up, inching to the very edge of his cloak. For a moment no part of them touched. Then she lay a hand against his thigh.

“Yes?” she said.

He rubbed the back of his neck and gulped. “The wind is right today,” he said, “I could probably reach home by dusk.

Her face brightened. “We’re going to Athens! Oh!” Her hands found both of his.

He looked just past her, at the lonely ship bobbing in the rising tide. He tried to let go of her, but found himself gripping her fingers all the tighter.

“You can’t go with me,” he said at last.

“What?”

His breath shook, “Ariadne, I can’t marry you.”

Tears sprung in her eyes. She jerked her hands out of his. “Well, that’s too bad because you’ve got to now. I’ve been alone with you for days and Minos would kill me before taking me back!”

He looked away, reddening. “I have not taken your honor,” he mumbled.

“As if that matters!” She stood over him, her voice rising to an angry screech.

Something in the pitch of her voice annoyed him. “A priest might still confirm your purity,” he said harshly. There was no cause for her to make a spectacle of herself. He had expected a delicate reaction: weeping, perhaps.

“Theseus, what are you saying? I thought- I thought-“

“I do love you,” he said, “But I can’t bring you into Athens. You might not even be safe.”

“Why not?” she cried.

“Think about it,” he raised his voice, tears now in his own eyes, “Every year since you can remember. Your parents—“ His words were brittle with sudden anger, “Do you realize what they levied from us? A ship full of - of-“

“Of course I do,” she said, “I helped you to kill my own brother.”

“Your brother? How can you call it that?”

The dull eyes. The grinding teeth. Hot breath in the dark.

She held her up to look him sharply in the eye. “We have the same mother. You already killed him. What does it matter if I show him a little dignity?”

“I could ask you the same thing! It eats fourteen children every harvest and you’re concerned with its dignity?”

He was flushed, shaking in his anger. She was frightened.

“He is my brother. You have my loyalty which is all I can give. I cannot change blood and nature and history to your liking.”

Theseus looked very near to striking her. She held rigidly still. She would not flinch from him; she had already given enough.

“It is as I have said.” He frowned deeply, but appeared to have mastered his temper. “You are not a fit bride for Athens.”

“But what about you? I love you.”

“I know,” he softened at last. “But I am not my own person. I came to Knossos ready to die for my city. I will not lose what I have fought for over an imprudent marriage.”

“You sound like a king,” she said.

“I will be a king. And Athens and Crete are still enemies. Can’t you see what will happen?”

She could, but was too offended to relent.

He took her silence for ignorance. “If I take you to Athens, your father’s fleet will be right behind us. His wealth is in gold and ships. If he plunders us, he could afford the mercenary forces necessary to move further into the mainland.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” she answered sharply, “I betrayed him. I’m not worth the ships it would take to recover me.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she cut him off. “I know him better than you do.”

He looked away from her. “Fine. Say he didn’t follow us. It’s still not acceptable. My father will arrange a marriage for me that will credit him. You will not.”

“But you love me.”

“Not enough to lose wars for you.”

She backed away from him, an angry knot in her gut. “You used me.”

“I did not mean to— I didn’t think of it—“

“You should go.”

“Ariadne, you have to forgive me—“

“I don’t have to do anything.” For a moment she seriously considered spitting at his feet.

“I didn’t think I would live — I thought you were the last girl I’d ever see. I shouldn’t have—. Ariadne, I’m sorry. I have wronged you, I am wronging you now, but—“

“Theseus, go.”

He reached for her, but she turned her face away. His last kiss landed awkwardly on her ear. She flinched in annoyance.

“The gods keep you, princess,” he said.

“Take your cloak. I don’t want it.”

She neither replied nor turned away. But she watched him all the way to his boat. Only once the vessel was free of its mooring did he realize she was gone. He had not seen her run. Theseus squared his shoulders, calves straining to push the hull through the sand. He could be home by dusk if he kept focus. A humid wind filled his black sail, and he jumped aboard.

@dionysian-daydream @hycinthrt @withlovefromolympus @kebriones @margaretkart @lefty-scissors @human-still-developing @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @silly-billy-the-bunny @shitfacedalways

#greek mythology #in your paradise #dionysus diety #dionysos #dionysus #dionysus x ariadne #ariadne #angst

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sunshiline-writes · 1 year ago

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A Rose Amidst Thorns #13: A Promise Amidst the Nightmare

okay so.. imma be real this took me so long and im still not super happy with it. But if I don't post it now I never will so.. enjoy.. CW: lady whump, poc whump, mentioned minor whump (just barely), choking, mentions of historical slavery (please don't kill me), gore, hanging, torture, dehumanization, fear of death, fear of witnessing death Whumpee referred as a dog a lot idk man, toxic relationships, past abusive relationship, past toxic relationship, complicated character dynamics, fade to black noncon, thoughts of murder I THINK that's everything, let me know if I missed anything. Previous | Masterlist | Next

There was blood on the floor. Solomon’s blood. It scattered on the wood, drops staining it. Henrietta had already cleaned the broken plate, now she was working on the blood. She was cleaning her friend's blood from the ground. Xavier had beat him until he was almost unrecognizable. His eyes had swollen, his skin had turned red and purple. His lips swollen and split. He barely even looked human. Solomon was unconscious by the time Xavier dragged him upstairs.

She was ordered to clean the blood. No matter how much she scrubbed and scraped, the blood wouldn’t come out of the wood. It had stained it, become one with it. They had waited too long. Her knees hurt from being on them for so long. Her hands were dried and cracked from the soapy water and cloth she had used to try and clean. Everything frustrated her, the stains in the wood, the stains on her dress. Her nose was still throbbing from its earlier assault.

Henrietta pressed her forehead against the ground and sighed. The pressure of the ground against her was nice. She took deep steadying breaths, trying her best to calm her racing heart. When she opened her eyes, there was still blood.

“Get up.”

Henrietta pushed herself to her knees, staring up at Xavier. Tears welling in her eyes. There was no warmth in Xavier, all she felt from him was the cold rage. He grabbed her by the arm when she didn’t get up fast enough, pulling her forward, dragging her with him. “Just wait.. I-” Henrietta started to say, but she was cut off by a short growl. Xavier continued to half drag, half walk her out the door of their house. Their house, she still called it their house. It was hard to break that habit. It was his house, now she was just living in it. She knew that she was being taken to the barn. How could she not know? It was right in front of her, getting closer with every step.

“Xavier, please..” she whispered as he threw the door open. What was she begging for? Henrietta didn’t know. His grip only tightened on her arm, bruising. One more to add to the array on her body.

“Just shut up already,” he growled, shoving her forward.

She stumbled forward and tried to avoid falling on her face. When she finally looked up, she gasped. In the middle of the barn lay Miguel. Rope around him that had recently been cut. His legs were still tied together. There was a noose around his neck, though the rest of the rope hung off a beam in the ceiling.

“Xavier what did you do?”

“Nothing he didn’t deserve. There’s a chair on the other side. Go sit in it,” he said, voice low and rough.

“Xavier I don’t understa-”

His hand shot out and he grabbed her by the throat. Squeezing and shoving her backwards. She stumbled back instinctively, eyes going wide and mouth opening in an attempt to get some air. Xavier walked backwards until her hind legs hit the back of the chair and he shoved her down to sit. Hand still wrapped her throat, he squeezed. Her lungs and throat burned. Everything was blurry and her vision went dark around the edges. When she started to slump, he let her go. She gasped, taking in lungfuls of air.

“Stay there,” he growled, “I want you to watch.”

Henrietta was too busy sucking in lungfuls of air to really grasp what he was doing. She couldn’t get enough air. When she finally could breathe without her vision fading, she looked up. Xavier’s hands were on the rope. The rope that hung loosely over the beam in the ceiling, the one connected to the noose around Miguel's neck. Xavier’s eyes connected with hers. Then he pulled on the rope.

“Xavier stop!” she screamed as choked sounds came from Miguel. His feet slid on the wood and his hands clawed at the rope around his neck. “You’re going to kill him!”

“Why shouldn’t I? Would it really matter if I did? He’s just a dog.” Xavier’s eyes were wild, unhinged. He looked as if he really would kill Miguel, right here, in front of her.

Henrietta improvised. Trying to take the attention off the choking boy in front of her, who was turning blue. “Xavier. Please. Please don’t do this. I’ll never forgive you. I’ll kill you.”

He released the rope and Miguel fell to the ground with a dull thud, gasping and choking for air. Miguel was crying, shaking and sobbing. When had Xavier put on the blindfold? Henrietta didn’t recall. Her memories were flooded.

“You’ll kill me? Over a mutt?” Xavier asked softly. Releasing the rope from his hands. “Didn’t you ever love me?”

Henrietta’s eyes widened. She did once. A long time ago. Before Xavier was all rage and hatred. He wasn’t always like this. Or maybe he was, she was just blind to it. In her youth, she was blind to a lot of things. She was blind to the way he was built, all hard stone and jagged edges. Darkness surrounded him and perhaps, just for a little bit she was attracted to that darkness. She thought she had needed the darkness. Henrietta hadn’t realized that Xavier’s darkness was all consuming, destroying everything in its wake.

Her parents had grown up in darkness. They had been freed from slavery by their masters paying for their papers. They earned that money playing music for people. Their masters had claimed their talents were wasted as slaves. So they set them free. How strange some people were, seeing a beautiful thing and instead of wanting to keep it, they wanted to see it flourish. Henrietta had grown up free, by the time she was four or five, slavery had been abolished and her parents had danced and drank. Her mother sang loudly, more loud than she had ever heard her sing. Her father’s violin had never sounded so happy. It was her most fond memory of her childhood.

When she had seen Xavier for the first time, as a young woman, she was attracted to his calm outer shell. The way he was so confident and the way he tried to charm her. She liked the attention. Was that what caught her in the snare? The attention?

She had always liked the love of the crowd. When they laughed and jeered it fueled her. Made her want to prove them wrong. She always proved them wrong. Her mother always said that spite would get her in trouble. After she married Xavier, it always did. She liked the fight, liked the way he would get frustrated and try to control himself when she did something particularly spiteful. Henrietta had enjoyed it, she had loved it. She loved him once.

Henrietta had slowly fallen out of love when his anger became more and more uncontrolled. When every slight thing sets him off. He never hurt her, not really. It was the words that cut deep and true. The slow effort to control every aspect of her life. The last straw was Miguel.

When he had brought him home, she had asked what he was going to do with him.

I just got myself a new dog, I think, was the response.

It wasn’t until a few years later though, after a particular conversation with Miguel and Solomon that sealed the deal. That made love turn into hate. *

“What's the book about?”

“Anger.”

“Anger?” She repeated the sign, unsure of what it meant. The boy spelt it out for her. “Anger.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Captain. He’s so angry all the time. He gets so angry he forgets about his crew and he’s focused on killing the whale.”

“Oh. Did you like book?”

“No. Everyone dies.”

“Not everyone.” Solomon gently corrected, Miguel shrugged. He was fifteen at the time. And the shrug had become a common response. It was the only time she saw his real personality come out. Slightly sassy, and intense.

“Ishmael lives,” Solomon continued.

“You remind me of Ishmael.”

“Oh? What about Hen?”

Henrietta gave him a small smile.

“The Captain.”

Henrietta’s smile faded. No one expected that response. Solomon gave a nervous chuckle.

“Oh. Well.. what about you? Who are you in the story Miguel?”

His expression turned sour. Shrugging again and signing his next words with practiced ease.

“There are no dogs in the book.”

There are no dogs in the book. *

Xavier had made him believe that he was not a person. He was not a character in the book. He was just a dog. Nothing more than a slave. It reminded her of the stories her mother would sing about being a slave. It was the thing that broke her. “I did love you once. But you became a monster.”

How easy it was, for love to turn into hatred. They weren’t all that different. Two sides of the same coin. Both such passionate fiery emotions that could tear the world apart if used correctly.

Xavier grabbed her by the throat again, growling and hissing something. She couldn’t even help the choked laugh that escaped her. The fire that was growing in her chest. The hatred that poured from her, from him. The love that used to reside in that space between them had rotted and twisted into that hardly distinguishable hatred.

Henrietta preferred the hatred.

Xavier was her white whale.

He stopped choking her, looking into her eyes, searching for something. Slowly, he stepped back. There was a chasm between them. It was a relief and it broke her heart.

“All of this over a fucking kid.”

“He’s not a kid anymore.”

“You’re not my wife anymore.”

Henrietta stared at him with a sense of indignation. “I haven’t been for a long time. We both know that.”

Xavier smiled at her, cruel, unforgiving. “Yes. You’re right,” he lifted his hand to rub his face. “On your knees.”

She didn’t move. It was always going to end like this. With him throwing her to the ground, wrenching her on her knees by the hair. His grip stayed firm in her hair as he undid his belt. Henrietta was going to kill him. She was going to kill him and use his own spurs to slit his throat.

This was a promise. __

Taglist:

@demondamage @burntcoffeewhump @angst-after-dark @just-a-silly-little-whumper @tictac-murder-spaghetti @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @whumpifi-reads

@flowersarefreetherapy @badgerwhump @whumpbees @whumplr-reader

ask if you'd like to be added or removed!!

#whump #whumpblr #whump blog #sunshine writes whump #poc whump #lady whump #choking #toxic relationship #past abusive relationship #past abuse #Dehumanization #historical mention of slavery #hanging #everyone is suffering #hen is in the worst mental shape but best physical shape lol #uh..#yeah I might rewrite this chapter later down the line but alas

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