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thedensworld · 10 months ago

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Ten Years| J.Ww

Pairing: Wonwoo x Reader

Genre: angst, established relationship, My Demon references

Words count: 2k

Summary: In hospital Wonwoo is a doctor, and back to house he is your husband. However, your sudden conditions make him choose.

Wonwoo had just finished attending to one of the recent patients who arrived at the emergency room with a fractured left leg. The chaotic atmosphere was a constant in the emergency room, with patients flooding in throughout the day. It had only been four hours into his shift, and Wonwoo had already cared for more than twenty individuals, each presenting a unique set of medical challenges.

Amidst the persistent hustle, another emergency call suddenly disrupted the relative calm around Wonwoo. As he stood near the phone, his attention was torn from the medical charts to the urgent message. It wasn't unusual to receive information in advance, but the unusual silence from the nurse prompted him to lift his head in curiosity. The nurse, her eyes widened, stared at him, seemingly struggling to find words. Wonwoo, sensing something amiss, mouthed a quiet "why?" before the distant sound of sirens slowly crept closer to the emergency room.

Before he could take another step toward the entrance, Kim Mingyu, his best friend and fellow doctor, halted him breathlessly. Wonwoo stood in shock, witnessing Mingyu's horrified gaze fixed upon him.

"Wonwoo, don't," Mingyu pleaded urgently, diverting his attention to the ambulance that had just arrived. Wonwoo, unable to discern the situation, brushed him aside; the patient's well-being demanded his immediate focus. He approached the ambulance determinedly, with Mingyu desperately chasing after him, attempting to impede his progress.

As the ambulance doors swung open, nurses swiftly mobilized to transfer the patient to the bed. Mingyu gripped Wonwoo, his voice strained. "Don't go closer, Wonwoo."

Ignoring Mingyu's plea, Wonwoo pressed forward. The harsh reality unfolded before him as he witnessed your bloodied form being moved onto the cart. Frozen in place, he struggled to comprehend the gravity of the situation, his best efforts to maintain composure slipping away.

"Ji Y/n, on her thirties, three stab wounds," a nurse reported clinically. Wonwoo's gaze remained fixed on you, lying lifelessly on the bed, the weight of the moment sinking in. The air was thick with tension and fear as the medical team rushed to address the critical condition before them.

Wonwoo struggled to process the unfolding nightmare. His wife, now in the hospital with three stab wounds, left him grappling with the unknown origin of the attack.

Mingyu, though visibly shaken himself, offered a grim explanation �� you had fallen victim to random acts of violence occurring in South Korea. In the midst of the chaotic emergency room, Mingyu assured Wonwoo that he would personally oversee your critical situation.

As Wonwoo, his hands trembling, tried to catch a glimpse of you amidst the medical flurry, Mingyu stepped up to provide much-needed support. "I'll make sure she receives the best care, Wonwoo. Stay strong."

With a nod, Wonwoo expressed a plea to the nurse team, his voice quivering, "She's pregnant; please be careful." His eyes remained fixed on you as they moved you towards the operating room, each step an agonizing moment for Wonwoo, who felt a profound sense of helplessness in the face of the unexpected tragedy.

In the tense confines of the hospital waiting room, the atmosphere was thick with worry as doctors assessed the severity of the stab wounds. Mingyu, amidst the chaos, approached Wonwoo with a grave expression.

"The stab wounds were serious, but we caught it in time. There's a chance of survival, but it will be a tough road ahead," Mingyu conveyed, his eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. Wonwoo's heart sank, his concern for you intensifying.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo couldn't shake the deep worry for both you and the life growing within you. The impending uncertainty surrounding the baby's well-being added an extra layer of anxiety to an already distressing situation. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, and Wonwoo found himself grappling with the fear of the unknown, desperately hoping for positive news.

In the midst of the turmoil, your parents arrived at the hospital, their faces etched with concern. The president of Jis University Hospital and his spouse, usually figures of authority and composure, now revealed the vulnerability of worried parents. They approached Wonwoo, their shared concern uniting them in a moment of shared anxiety.

As the hospital corridors echoed with the hushed conversations of doctors and the beeping of machines, your fate and that of the precious life you carried hung in the balance, leaving Wonwoo and your parents anxiously awaiting any sign of hope from the operating room.

Despite the stark contrast in your chosen paths, fate wove an unexpected connection between you and Wonwoo. You, the daughter of Jis University Hospital's president, embarked on a journey in law, deviating from the medical legacy of your family. Wonwoo, on the other hand, had been one of your father's standout students, carving his niche in the medical field.

The intertwining of your lives unfolded when both of you decided to volunteer at a Cancer Foundation. The shared commitment to a cause greater than yourselves became the bridge that brought you together. Wonwoo's dedication and compassion in treating patients mirrored your own passion for justice and advocacy as a lawyer.

Three years ago, just two weeks after your first encounter, a horrifying incident unfolded. A client, disgruntled by a legal outcome, attacked you, resulting in a fractured shoulder. Fate intervened, leading you to the very hospital where Wonwoo worked. He became your attending doctor, tending not only to your physical wounds but unknowingly laying the foundation for a deeper connection.

In those challenging days of recovery, Wonwoo's empathy and care became a source of solace. The hospital visits evolved into shared laughter, and a bond blossomed between patient and doctor. It was a turning point, marking the beginning of a relationship neither of you could have anticipated.

Fast forward to the hospital's 15th-anniversary celebration, where the spark between you and Wonwoo reignited. Amidst the festive atmosphere, you found yourselves engaged in conversation, exchanging subtle flirtations that hinted at the unspoken connection between you two. However, the celebration took an unexpected turn when Wonwoo was urgently summoned for an emergency surgery.

As he excused himself, he locked eyes with you, a promise lingering in the air. "I'll meet you again after the surgery," he assured, his words carrying a commitment that surpassed the casual banter of the evening.

At midnight, a series of urgent knocks jolted you awake, only to discover a weary Wonwoo at your doorstep. "I asked Mingyu about your place," he mumbled, weariness evident in his eyes. The mention of your cousin, Kim Mingyu, left an air of mystery lingering in the room.

In a vulnerable moment, Wonwoo found himself torn when asked to sign a paper for your surgery. He wished to choose both you and the unborn child, but the harsh reality of the world intervened. The doctor overseeing your surgery delivered a grim verdict – a choice had to be made, and it was impossible for all two of you to survive. Your first trimester, still on a precarious edge, made the situation even more dire.

As you lay on the brink, losing precious blood that jeopardized both your life and the pregnancy, the doctor's solemn words hung in the air. "We need to sacrifice the baby, Dr. Jeon," he asserted, thrusting Wonwoo into a heart-wrenching dilemma.

For nearly two years, you and Wonwoo had fervently tried to conceive. Months before finally succeeding, you took a temporary leave from work, both of you eager and serious about embracing parenthood. That morning, you shared breakfast with Wonwoo, a newfound routine since leaving your job, radiating vibrancy. Little did you know, it would be the last carefree morning for a while.

During breakfast, plans for your day unfolded, with a lunch visit to a friend's bakery and a proposal for a cozy dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant. Wonwoo enthusiastically agreed, nodding his head in anticipation.

However, as the night unfolded, the joyous prospect of dinner turned into an unimaginable ordeal. Wonwoo found himself unable to fathom the idea of a simple dinner, haunted by the agonizing decision that awaited him at the hospital. Dinner plans shattered, replaced by the weight of an impending choice that would alter your lives forever.

Your condition deteriorated rapidly in the days following the surgery, prompting a transfer to the ICU. Wonwoo, seasoned in facing numerous medical challenges, found his usually steady hands clenched in despair. The grim reality unfolded – it seemed nearly impossible for you to survive in your critical state.

Mingyu, having discussed the delicate matter of abortion with Wonwoo, acknowledged the weight of the decision. He empathetically stated, "There has never been an easy decision from the first place," a reminder of the gravity of your precarious condition. Wonwoo, however, shook his head, unable to bring himself to make the agonizing choice.

"I just can't, Mingyu. I just can't," Wonwoo uttered, his internal struggle palpable.

"But you have to choose, Wonwoo. Do you want to put her in a more critical condition?" Mingyu pressed, emphasizing the urgency of the decision.

Three critical stabs had wounded your vital organs, and although the surgery was deemed successful, the unexpected internal bleeding cast a shadow over your recovery. The doctor who attended to you recommended aborting the baby, foreseeing the challenges it posed to your healing process. Yet, Wonwoo hesitated, unwilling to sign the abortion papers. He knew all too well that your instincts would align with his – a fierce desire to protect the unborn child, despite the grim reality that surrounded both you and your baby.

Lost in his thoughts, Wonwoo was startled when a stranger quietly took a seat beside him. Turning to face the unexpected company, he found the mysterious figure closely observing you through the window. "I can fulfill your wish," the stranger declared calmly, his presence sending a shiver down Wonwoo's spine.

Brows furrowed, Wonwoo questioned, "Who are you?" The stranger, with an eerie calmness, revealed, "I'm a demon. I can turn human wishes into reality." Wonwoo dismissed it, urging the mysterious figure to leave, suspecting a cruel game.

To Wonwoo's astonishment, the man produced a roll of paper, seemingly conjured from thin air with a spark of fire. As it unfolded, he offered a tempting proposition, "I can make the baby survive, and also your wife." The roll revealed contractual terms, symbolizing the gravity of the offer.

A smile played on the demon's lips as he proudly presented the conditions, "However, you could only live for ten years. You could only see them in ten years." Wonwoo, torn and desperate, shifted his gaze to you. In a hushed whisper, he asked, "Are they not gonna make it?"

The demon, seemingly unperturbed, conjured another roll, claiming, "Wait. Lemme check." As he read the ethereal text, he revealed an unsettling truth, "Your wife is going to have a heart attack in fifteen minutes. You won't be able to see her until tomorrow; she'll collapse." Wonwoo's lips tightened, wrestling with the weight of impending tragedy.

Seeking assurance, Wonwoo questioned the demon, "Can you really make them survive?" The man nodded, presenting the contractual sign. Floating in the air, it became a tangible representation of the choices before Wonwoo. Determination filled his voice as he uttered, "Please. Grant my wishes.

The demon, with a sinister smile, accepted, "Alright..." The unfolding events carried an air of impending consequence, as Wonwoo made a pact that would alter the course of his life and those he held dear.

Ten years ago, you made deal with the demon.

You have counting your life.

And the day is about to come.

To Wonwoo,

If you read this letter, I might not be here anymore. I just want to tell you that I love you, and I'm really grateful that I met you. It might be weird to you, but I did expect that I'm gonna leave first. So don't be too sad. Please continue your life peacefully.

I love you xx

02/11/2023

As the ink on the heartfelt message dried, the letter was consumed by flames.

The letter was burnt.

***

February 14th, 2013, marked a miraculous event at JIS University Hospital. The president, who had been in a coma following a massive car accident, astonishingly awoke. The hospital corridors buzzed with whispers of the inexplicable recovery, a twist of fate that left both staff and patients in awe. The air was charged with a sense of wonder and disbelief, as if a force beyond comprehension had intervened in the natural course of events.

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sunboki · 1 year ago

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⎯ PAPER PLANES a Kim Seungmin fiction

🛩️ : Kim Seungmin x gn. reader

TROPE. friends to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff fluff fluff galore

WORD COUNT. 1.5k!!

WARNINGS. cursing

AUG'S NOTES. still crazy about this concept💀 … i wrote this in 30 minutes in complete silence.. the demons have possessed me��

SYNOPSIS. Life in the city has never been as interesting as this. More specifically starting the moment your newest neighborhood, Kim Seungmin, moved in next door.

or alternatively :

It was only a matter of time before those paper airplanes turned into something more.

City nights are your greatest escapade and your worst nightmare. When insomnia plagues you awake, it’s easy to turn off all your fans and just listen.

New York isn’t called the city that never sleeps for no reason.

Whether it’s the faint honking of a car or the nearest nightclubs obnoxiously loud stereo, 24 hours a day almost every day of the year this city’s eyes remain open, and in essence, it makes you feel a tad bit better about those sleepless nights.

There’s the buzz of your surroundings, but as for your apartment complex, things are pretty quiet.

Well, you did intentionally choose a very much elderly-occupied residency after all.

Until somebody else showed up, somebody who didn’t explain to you on a morning basis of how they’re deciding on their casket.

And he sings.

Headed back from work up the elevator was when you ran into him for the first time. A smidge taller than yourself, puffy hair hanging over his forehead.

Neither of you talked apart from the courtesy “Which floor are you going to?” followed by an equally courteous “Five”, and you realizing you were both headed to the same place.

Elevators are a dangerous place. Anything could go wrong, technical issues, you end up trapped, weird strangers, and a myriad of unfortunate events waiting to happen. What’s worse? The conversations.

Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned from the decades worth of elevators you’ve been on is that they’re either a place to never stop talking or never talk.

As for this discovered neighbor of yours, you spend a solid thirty seconds deciding the right course of action.

“So where’d you move from?” You pique, watching the numbers atop the door slowly increase.

“South Korea,” He responds, and out of the corner of your eye you notice him glancing at you, hands stuffed in his puffer coat’s pockets.

Mouth opening to speak, you immediately close it, evidently surprised. To think how hellish the flight must’ve been humbled you instantly, not to mention how he carried no accent when conversing.

But before you could ask any more questions the doors open and he wordlessly slips past you, leaving you to silently follow.

“Wait!” Calling out prior to him walking through the door, he stops, turning to you with a confused expression adorning delicate features.

“What’s your name?” You voice another inquiry, hand also fastened onto the doorknob.

He blinks, the action scarily resembling a puppy dog.

“Seungmin. Kim Seungmin.”

Seungmin.

Cute.

“Y/n, nice to meet you.” Nodding politely his way, he returns the gesture, a sudden unwelcoming awkwardness creeping further into your skin the longer you both stand there, staring at each other.

And of course your genius of a mind decides to open its big fat mouth.

“..I guess we’re neighbors, huh.”

No shit sherlock, You internally reprimand, wishing oh so badly to leap out of the nearest window.

Sucking his teeth, Seungmin hums agreeably, and you feel like the stupidest person in the world.

“Yeah well, bye!” Panickedly twisted the knob and racing inside to slam the door behind you, you sink to the ground, clutching your head pathetically.

“Y/n…” You whine, addressing yourself like a lunatic. There’s a heavy sigh, a leaning your head back, thumping against the wooden frame.

“…What the fuck is wrong with you.”

Nonetheless, the night you first heard his voice pitch through gleaming neon signs was one to remember.

Typing manically on your keyboard while a half-empty glass of watered down coffee occupied the space beside you, you squint, scrutinizing that same sentence at least a dozen times before ripping the headphones off your ears and raising up frustratedly.

This essay is definitely earning a rightful spot on your thirteen reasons why list, a close second to your first impression on Seungmin last week.

Stretching your arms above your head, you hear it. An entrancing, melodic tone sifting beneath your cracked window, decorating your bedroom in a decadent assortment of color.

Carefully tiptoeing to pry open the window fully, you crane, cheek pressed against cold glass.

It’s Seungmin. Face tipped to the side, lips halfway parted. You don’t know if he’s focused on something or what, but you know he’s the only thing that matters in this moment.

His vibrato, the way he perfectly slices notes into harmonious rhythm pulls you in like a hummingbird to nectar.

You find yourself aimlessly standing there, rocking back and forth of your heels, savoring the effortlessly sweet relief he fills your exhausted soul with.

Day after day he’d sing, voice never ceasing to calm your senses, as if supernatural, into a lulling drone. No thoughts, just him.

Occasionally it’d be a new tune, one familiar, one not. Over and over and over again you’d routinely wait for him, like a child rushing to see their favorite cartoon.

And as a result, Seungmin became one of your biggest sources of comfort without either of you knowing it.

Today is the day.

Reaching over as far as you can muster with the makeshift paper airplane held tightly, you attempt at reading the wind, trying to decipher the best time to launch this secret weapon of yours.

Well, not really secret (somewhat), and also not a weapon, but you get the picture.

This morning you’d taken tedious measures to ensure your innovative paper airplane note would successfully fly, especially since the note inside was just as innovative.

𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐. Was what it read, and you thought the compliment was pretty appropriate considering how often you’d admire his mellowed tunes in the eve.

Except, the first one was a fail, then the second one, and a third, and by the forth airplane you had paper-cuts all over your hands and a temper teetering on the brink of defeat.

Hey, at least three people today (almost four) would get a “I like your singing” note today.

Whoosh! Your note flies, and just when you begin to lose hope does it switch trajectories, successfully hitting his balcony’s screen door.

To say you shouted was an understatement. Hell, the entirety of New York likely heard your chanting, yelling, and the entourage of oddly proud noises in between.

Noises of which were quickly muted upon said screen door opening, to where you frantically drop down, peering between the chair’s legs to observe his reaction.

Seungmin glances around repeatedly, curiously, prior to peeling back paper folds.

You inhale sharply.

His eyes graze over the sentence, investigating his surroundings again.

No reaction.

You initially deflate, grumbling to yourself defeatedly.

Until a tiny sliver of hope peeks through dark curtains.

Seungmin smiles.

He covers his mouth (an action you don’t understand but start to considering how dazzlingly bright it is), and laughs. A soft laugh that has his shoulders shaking, corner of his eyes wrinkling into charming crescent moons.

You swear there’s a ring of sparkling light outlining him, like something out of a K-Drama.

His smile could (and should) win an award, you’re convinced.

And just like that he disappears back into his apartment, and you chant a nonstop “Oh my god!” a good thirty-six times, unable to contain the feather-light feeling spreading from your fingertips to the very tip of your toes.

Cute. Kim Seungmin was so, so cute.

From the sheepish grins he gives you each time he’s seen you since, you have a hunch he knows it was you who sent the note, but you choose to act oblivious.

Oblivious, before you received a note of your own.

Of course, Kim Seungmin’s paper airplane is perfect, aerodynamic and probably arrived on the first throw unlike your consecutive sacrifices.

Slowly shuffling open the response, you peek through hesitant fingers, slapping a hand over your gaping mouth upon witnessing his obviously perfect handwriting.

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 :) , It reads. Something so mundane and proper there’s no reason you should be losing your mind, but you are, and the rattling of your heartbeat serves the best explanation.

You make sure to hang the note up afterward, right above your laptop.

So over the next few days, the both of you become more daring, more adventurous. Two paper airplanes turn into four, four to eight, eight to eleven. By now there’s not enough room to hang all of them up.

Meaningless conversations. Asking about dinner plans, what you’re currently doing, what your favorite hobbies are, favorite songs. But yet, they mean so much to you.

Your own, childish way of communicating even though the mature, adult reply would be to knock on his door.

Although, he seems to love it as much as you do.

𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝? Is scribbled on the airplane he’d sent a few minutes ago.

𝙽𝚘, 𝚠𝚑𝚢? You write quickly onto one, hands nimbly constructing the shape after sending so many. Routine.

Returning to stirring the pot of boiling water in front of you, a familiar tap alerts you, padding over to grasp his letter.

Strangely, a part of you grows more and more excited, plopping down into your chair to gradually take apart his craftsmanship.

Your legs move before you can even register your own feelings, scrambling outside.

Seungmin’s there, breathtaking smile as brilliant as ever despite such dim lighting.

There’s no need to admit you’ve been sending them now. Especially not from the way he gazed at you, the words inscribed on that paper airplane.

𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

He bites back an even bigger grin, cheeks dusting rosy pink from the cold air.

Yes.

Absolutely yes.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

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not-so-lost-after-all · 22 days ago

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Final veil

Chapter Word Count: 6k

Fic Summary: The world can be a cruel, especially to children. But maybe, just maybe, the gods smiled at her for once. Buckle up because this isn't exactly a fix it fic but Jaehaera Targaryen gets a shot at happiness. Or, how I wanted to give the little queen a voice.

Taglist: Jaehaera Targaryen x Aegon III Targaryen, alternate universe - canon divergence, angst

Warnings: canon typical violence, character death, pregnancy, blood, incest, you know the drill

***

It happened so fast that, in the darkness, she almost failed to notice that the man had some stripe tattoo on his face. She only caught a glimpse of him for a fraction of a heartbeat when he jerked her out of bed, fully waking her up. He pulled her back against his chest and covered her mouth with his hand to keep her from screaming. She kept biting his palm persistently as he pulled her to the open window. It was no use, because she was only a girl, and she'd always been small even for her age.

At that moment the old fear began to paralyze her but it was mercifully brief. When the man was thowing her from the window of Maegor's Holdfast into the cold rain, fear was replaced by a sense of disbelief. It's just another nightmare, this time about her mother Helaena and she'll wake up before she hits the surface. She only had time to scream once.

When she hit the spikes down there in the ditch, she couldn't scream anymore. She could hardly breathe and her mouth was immediately filled with blood. She saw several bloody spikes sticking out of her stomach and chest, one more piercing her left thigh. Her whole body seemed to throb with pain, not just the individual wounds, and she began to jerk in spasms. She was fleetingly aware that she peed herself but didn't care. She wished it would end right here, that she can already be with her mother and father and brothers.

Several people were running around and she could hear their voices, but she couldn't focus on them. After an interminable amount of time, many hands removed her body from the spikes and placed her on the ground. Then Grand Maester Munkun bent over her, turning her head to the left, ordering her to spit out blood. He gave her poppy milk to drink, she could tell... and she gulped it down greedily, though with effort, until Munkun pulled the bowl with the red lip imprint away from her mouth. Then at last came the nothingness. Until the last moment Jaehaera had no idea if it was death or unconsciousness, but at that moment she didn't even care.

***

She survived the night. And the following day. Was later told that whenever she was conscious she screamed. She screamed even more whenever anyone as much as touched her. Munkun opened her body several times to fix what he could. During one such procedure, she regained consciousness and saw a piece of something shiny, dark, and bloody on the table next to her, something he had taken out of her. It was then that she first heard the Grand Maester curse. She never told him that she remembered the gruesome image.

By the middle of the second week, she was able to remain conscious for several hours each day and able to tell what had happened. She described it to the Hand, Lord Peake. Described the man who had tried to kill her, his strange tattoos and the smell of unwashed sweat. The Hand told her that Tessario the Tiger had been found in his room the morning after her accident, with his throat slit. Apparently he killed himself to avoid torture. Peake nodded at the words, obviously pleased with himself. She felt nothing.

Her husband did not visit her, but resented the dereliction of duty committed by Ser Mervyn, who was to watch her bedroom door. Despite the Hand's protests, he ordered Mervyn to be flogged with thirty lashes, from which the knight never recovered and died two days later. Perhaps someone helped him to his grave, and perhaps the Seven themselves were just angry with him.

So Jaehaera Targaryen survived. Some others... did not.

***

When she was able to get back on her feet after five weeks, she was finally able to return to her room. This time she was accompanied by two members of the Royal Guard who would remain at her door until further notice. Waiting for her in her bedroom was her companion, Lady Cassandra, who immediately rose from her bed and bowed.

"My lady, I'm so sorry..."

"Yes, yes. If you were so sorry, you should have come and see me."

Cassandra Baratheon pressed her lips into a tight line. "Whatever anyone was telling you about why I didn't come, it was simply because they wouldn't let me see you."

Jaehaera didn't know the truth and didn't care. Instead of answering, she walked over to the wall where her collection of dolls was propped up with their tiny backs. Taking an armful of them, she walked over to the window and one by one, she tossed the dolls down into the gutter where their heads shattered. They offered her no comfort any more.

"If there's anything I can do for you..."

"Hmmm? No, I don't want anyone's company. I just wish you'd leave and never come back."

"As you wish, my lady."

A sigh of relief escaped Jaehaera's lips as Cassandra disappeared, leaving her all alone.

***

She hadn't seen her husband for two months before he invited her to dinner with him. She didn't want to leave the room but knew it was an order and after all, she should leave her only room after so long. The maids put on the red dress Aegon had sent her and the knights escorted her to the table.

Aegon was already waiting for her, a tall boy with white hair and dark eyes. He wasn't looking at her though, he was rummaging through a pork roast with apples, his face serious. She knew that, just like her, he found little pleasure in eating.

He gestured with his hand to the seat across from him, but still didn't look at her. When she sat down and her food was brought to her, Aegon started eating for real. After a while, he noticed that Jaehaera was just sitting there over her full plate.

"You don't have to worry, all our food is given to the tasters in advance. Just like the ones they bring to your room."

Simple "Oh," escaped her throat. There was no warmth in his words, nothing comforting except the truth behind them. For too long, she didn't know what to say. "Thank you," she finally blurted out.

They ate in silence for some time before Aegon surprised her with a question. "What are you doing alone in that room all day?"

She looked up in surprise to find that this time her cousin and husband was actually looking right at her. At first she stared at him with her lips parted and blinked, but then she organized her thoughts and told him the simple truth. "I'm not alone, I have kittens. And I think I've just borrowed maybe a third of the books from Grandmaster Muncun's library. He's teaching me how to read and write. Mostly I read about our ancestors, sometimes stories about knights, but sometimes Munkun makes me learn numbers in vain."

A fleeting smile crossed Aegon's lips.

"But why do you ask?"

"Because I'm often alone too, and nothing I can do will keep me busy for long. I've been wondering if you knew any secrets."

This time she lifted the corners of her lips. He was obviously expecting a witty answer now, but she didn't know any secrets, so she just shook her head. Neither of them spoke again and only the clinking of cutlery echoed in the room. Once, when she unconsciously touched his arm fleetingly, she noticed that his fingers twitched and he withdrew it.

Oh, they could talk about a lot of things. About how her father had his dragon kill and eat his mother. Or how his father had her brother murdered in front of her. But neither of them ever talked about those things. Their dinners were a pain even without such burdens.

***

When Aegon's lost brother Viserys returned, his queen was of course to be among the first people to greet her brother-in-law. She understood that this was one of the few occasions when she was actually expected to show himself to the subjects, and she didn't want to fail.

A few days before, she had tried to walk down from her bedroom to the courtyard and back once again, accompanied by Munkun, with the Grand Maester patiently walking two steps behind her. Jaehaera eot gasping for air the entire time, her hand pressed against the right side of her chest. It was as if a red-hot needle pierced her lung.

Below, the Grand Maester stood silently beside her. "You are doing fine, my lady."

She didn't move a muscle in her face. "Will it ever get better, Munkun? It's been so long and I still nearly faint at the slightest exertion," she asked bluntly.

A sigh escaped the Grand Master. "No. I don't think it will ever get better. If you were stronger, it would help a little, yes. I understand you don't want to hear it, but I'm not going to lie to my queen."

But how could I get stronger if I can't swallow more than three spoonfuls of food at a time? She couldn't tell him that, she just continued to stare vaguely at something in front of her. But inside she felt a bitter frustration.

"They can carry you to the harbour in a litter if you like," the Grand Maester suggested in a kind voice.

She turned her head sharply towards him, and he finally remembered how her father had died.

"I won't walk, I won't be carried there, and riding a horse would probably kill me."

So when the day came, she just watched from the window as Aegon walked across the courtyard surrounded by courtiers dressed like birds hungry for admiration. He glanced once in her direction and his tense face tightened even more. Was that disappointment?

But then she took another look at his flamboyant company. No, it would still be safer if these snakes and their subjects did not see their skinny, pale queen, who could hardly stand on her two feet. They remembered the pretty little girl from the royal wedding, but they did not know that what they thought was a sign of bravery was only a dazed mind.

***

One, two, three, four years have passed. Aegon spent most of his time with his brother. Her only company was usually Grand Maester Munkun when he taught her. He was patient with her, and she slowly moved forward. Sometimes he seemed to be amused by her conclusions and would quickly correct her, and Jaehaera always gave him a confused look before he moved the conversation elsewhere. When she turned fifteen, he had to admit to himself that her mind has its limitations. Jaehaera would never be able to enter the Citadel, but if nothing else, he had raised her to be a decently educated young lady, despite everything going against her - he acknowledged that proudly.

As with everything else that concerned her, she blossomed into a woman late in life, at the age of fifteen. And it was Munkun again who suggested to Aegon that he might take her to bed, it was their duty, in fact. Those were his exact words. The icy shell around her lungs only tightened at how formal it sounded, at what the words mean.

She had to admit that Aegon's answer didn't surprise her much. "Let us be clear on that matter, Grand Maester," he said almost ceremonially. "She's just a thin, quiet little girl. I don't like her from the front or from the back. There's nothing tempting about her. This is no wife of mine, not really. Maybe we should stop fooling ourselves."

Jaehaera and the Grand Maester kept staring after him as he immediately left. "You meant well," she finally said. Munkun knew that she and her husband had lost parents and siblings in the war, and had been forced to undergo a hasty escape as well as watch someone close to them die. He had no illusions about either of them, but he probably thought that, as two broken people, Jaehaera and Aegon could help each other grow. But she and her husband had long ago come to some unspoken understanding. Aegon is like a piece from a different puzzle - he was broken just like her, but in a completely different way.

The memory of grandmother Alicent was now forcing itself back into her mind. How her grandmother had begged her with wild eyes to slit Aegon's throat one night. She squeezed her eyelids tightly against the rush of tears and forcibly pushed the memory away.

And so she accepted this as the best solution. If their rare times together during the day were a misery, their nights would be a disaster.

Later, much later, Aegon did find a mistress. Daenaera Velaryon occasionally kept her company on walks to the Godswood when Jaehaera was having one of her good days. On one such occasion, the younger girl told her what was happening. It was, of course, the idea of the king's sister Baela, who had taken Daenera in since she was an orphan.

"Does that bother you, my lady?" the girl asked cautiously.

Jaehaera just shrugged. Why should she care? It wasn't going to threaten her.

In the end, Munkun warned her that she might actually be in danger, but it was too late to defy the king's wishes. Since then, Aegon was seen accompanied by Daenera much often than his wife at social events. Sometimes she saw them together, Aegon all in black and Daenaera in the blue-green of her house. The cheerful girl brought him more happiness than she ever could, but Jaehaera was only aware of that as if she was looking at her own distorted reflection in a mirror, a reminder of her own inadequacy.

Next to him, Daenaera Velaryon was charming and articulate, while the best people would say about the queen was that she was... kind (useless). Round where Jaehaera was bony, with quick feet and a quick smile. And she was half a head taller. She had porcelain skin and silver hair streaked with gold, while Jaehaera's skin was pale in an unhealthy way and her hair was more grey than silver. Daenaera liked to touch people, and Aegon tolerated her touch where he would have pushed the hand of his wife away.

It should probably fill her with bitterness but she mostly felt relieved. Once, when Jaehaera wanted to hold her husband and the other woman's newborn son, the child in her arms immediately began to cry, so she hastily handed him over to the nurse and fled in dismay.

***

The king received Arwyll, the castellan of Dragonstone, in modest company, just as he had requested. There was only the king, his brother, the members of the small council, and Jaehaera herself, whom Arwyll, for who knows why, wanted in the throne room as well. The castellan bowed to Aegon and Jaehaera and had a huge metal crate brought in. A surprise, he said. That was the only thing he had let them know beforehand, nothing more. An angry scratching sound came from the inside of the crate.

"I'm not sure His Grace will be pleased with this find but he should be among the first to know, whatever he decides."

When Jaehaera looked at Aegon at that moment, she realized that he has the same idea concerning what just might be in there, because he drew in air sharply several times. He nodded. The men from Dragonstone hastily removed the lid of the crate and a drawn out hiss echoed through the hall. Aegon tensed all over again but eventually made his way to the precious find with slow steps, with the others in tow. He showed interest in just a few things but dragons, oh just the mention of them he did not take well at all.

"Arwyll," he said sharply as he stopped moving, still a safe distance from the crate, "I think you know my answer. You needn't have bothered, and you might as well have put the dragonling down."

"The spawn may be useful," prince Viserys countered. "His Grace may not see it at all if he doesn't want to."

"You should probably know one thing about this dragon before His Grace makes up his mind. That's why I wanted you to see it with your own eyes." That was the castellan of Dragonstone.

Jaehaera who was ignored the whole time had reached the crate in the meantime. A low chuckle escaped her. "It's no whelp."

"What?" Aegon turned to her.

"I say it's not a whelp," she raised her voice this time so that the others would finally notice her. A light green dragon was spinning around in the box in annoyance, sparking fire furiously. It was too small, no bigger than a full-grown dog, strangely crooked and with stubby wings. Undoubtedly, though, it was an adult dragon. Jaehaera laughed in delight, the first time she had since childhood.

"Well, in that case, there's no reason to keep the creature at all, because it won't be very useful at this size, if I'm not mistaken," Aegon said through his teeth.

"It's the last dragon," Viserys reminded him. That was true, the dragon called Morning who bonded with the king's sister Rhaena had died three years ago.

Jaehaera reached out and gently touched the head of the little dragon. The creature sputtered, but eventually closed its eyes and buried its head in her palm. Something akin to a contented purr escaped its throat.

"I want it. If it doesn't grow anymore, I can take care of it."

It took the breath away from the men present. Aegon finally waved his hand. "That creature will die. Surely my lady can find another toy."

"I insist," she gave him a hard look. "I've never asked you anything and I never will again, but I want that dragon."

Aegon tilted his head to the side and let her demand run through his head for a moment. "I have no idea what you're trying to accomplish but have it your way. Keep the bastard dragon before he perishes in a dark corner somewhere."

Jaehaera clapped her hands and the little dragon leapt out of the crate. By the time Jaehaera headed for the door, he was following her faithfully.

***

The last dragon was still at her heels, really like a big dog. He clearly enjoyed her presence, even if he had gradually learned to accept the presence of other people.

As for herself, the dragon gave her courage. Taking care of it brought her her first real joy, as if it were her life goal. Mostly she still spoke only to Munkun, sometimes to Aegon or his brother but she had gotten used to walking around the Red Keep on her own, and for the first time she gave orders without hesitation. She thought long and hard about what name to give him. The dragon she had lost as a child was named Morghul but she had not chosen that name for him. So she began to call her last dragon Aenar.

When Aegon once asked her at dinner why she was so attached to that creature, she didn't hesitate.

"He's like my child. My first and my last."

Was it her imagination, or did he really flinch as if he was uncomfortable? Jaehaera, on the other hand, smiled to herself. He watched her warily, as if seeing her for the first time, and it took so long that she blushed all over. But they both knew she had just played him. He would never take that dragon from her. He already had four children he had legitimized without her, as his wife, raising a word of protest. Munkun had once claimed Aegon was dead inside but Jaehaera knew that wasn't true and her husband did not have the habit of being unnecessarily cruel.

***

Her dragon was not a dragon but a dragoness. So Aeanara...

Once the dragoness had laid a clutch of eggs, the queen had Aenara moved from her chamber to the largest room on the second level of the dungeons under the Red Keep, which was a safer place. However, she couldn't bring herself to keep the dragoness locked in that cell, so the door was always left open. Aenara slept patiently curled around her clutch, but she herself seemed increasingly agitated. Her beautiful eggs, however, were still as hard as stone after several months.

In fact, here in the underground Jaehaera was losing track of time and often forgot to eat. She was kneeling next to the dragoness, carefully placing her palm on one egg after another, when Aegon appeared.

"You missed our dinner. One would think it is such a rare occasion that you'd remember," he snapped. She heard the annoyance in his voice and didn't care.

"One would think you wouldn't mind, my lord," she replied without raising her head.

"That's not what I said."

"You came all the way here. Don't you have anything better to do?" After all, this was one of the last places he should be going.

She heard him take a few reluctant steps closer behind her back.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of this poor girl. It's a twisted animal with stunted wings that has never hurt anyone before. Is that what you're afraid of? You should feel sorry for her."

"It still has teeth and claws and spits fire. She's definitely not defenseless," Aegon grumbled, but knelt down beside her anyway to examine the eggs.

Jaehaera finally looked at him. He watched the scene in front of him with his eyebrows drawn together. "I'm going to have the eggs destroyed anyway but you already know that. I don't want any more... freaks around."

"They won't hatch," she said with conviction. "She's beginning to suspect it, too." At this, her husband just nodded in satisfaction.

"But don't you at least want to touch her while you're here?" There was a certain playfulness in her voice now. For a few moments he even glanced at her lips.

"I'd rather touch a corpse," he started to get up.

Jaehaera grabbed his forearm tentatively and didn't let go when he jerked it. Before he could realize what was happening, he had his palm pressed against the warm scales on the dragon's neck. Aenara opened her eyes at that moment and lazily sniffed the stranger's hand.

"See, it wasn't that bad."

She put her palm on his own and this time he didn't flinch.

***

When the visit of Magister Nevius of Pentos was imminent, everyone expected the king to meet him alone or to be accompanied by his mistress. But this time, Jaehaera wanted to play the queen for once. To prove that she is the blood of the dragon after all.

She came to the feast accompanied by a bevy of noble ladies, as expected. She had chosen a velvet dress in Targaryen colors, and her hair had been combed and arranged in a hair net decorated with rubies by these ladies, most of whom she did not even know by name. She was immediately the target of surprised glances, and her throat tightened in horror. But almost everyone immediately turned their attention back to their respective companions, and the music again drowned out the conversation. As she sat down beside the throne where Aegon was already seated, she thought it foolish to ever be afraid of something so mundane and lightly chuckled.

She rarely spoke to anyone but twice she danced briefly with Nevius himself, who considerately interrupted the dance when she ran out of breath. Once she was asked for a dance by her brother-in-law, who accidentally stepped on her foot. But Aegon never danced, and today he seemed particularly silent and withdrawn. When he looked at her, she had no idea whether she had pleased or offended him with her actions. As the evening progressed, she noticed that they were both drinking too much wine although neither was usually too fond of it. With every passing hour, she drank to endure the buzzing of the maddening swarm.

When she left the hall with Aegon, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. With a strangely light head, she realized that she'd never actually seen his bedroom before. She even slipped out of her dress with ease, though she was usually embarrassed by her scar-filled body. She desperately wanted to say something, anything, but it was as if even her tongue had gone soft. Aegon kissed her gingerly at first, as if she were made of glass, but she stood on her tiptoes and deepened the kiss with her inexperienced lips to the best if her abilities, which wasn't much of anything.

Her body was cold andv her cheeks hot when she moaned during that unfimiliar wave of searing bliss, pressing him to her as he began to pull away. "I didn't mean to cry out," she giggled. She turned away, more out of pride than shame. "If I weren't your wife, I'd be embarassed." Instantly, her face turned into silent shock. The fact that she had even said those words...

He laughed at her remark and expression, and she blinked in surprise. "You have a nice laugh, though you're certainly not using it often," she ran her smooth fingers over his right cheek.

He removed the arm that hung around his neck, smelling faintly of sweat and bitter like almonds, and pressed a kiss into her palm.

When she awoke from her light sleep a little later, she still remembered apologizing to grandma Alicent in her dream. She found out that Aegon had not yet closed his eyes. This dark room, decorated with gold, reminded her of a story her grandfather had once told her about some greedy gnomes and so she took Aegon in her arms, and for perhaps whole hours she babbled similar nonsense. Her voice finally lulled him to sleep, and he never learned what happened to the gnomes.

***

The Red Keep was attacked by ropes of rain from the blackened sky. It rained through the night until noon, so the water stood on the streets of King's Landing, not draining away, and children sent paper boats down the muddy torrents.

"I don't need bodyguards all the time, Gyles. Shouldn't you be sharpening swords or something?" Jaehaera spoke gruffly but she wasn't actually angry. Seven knew she was used to Gyles and his comrades. That didn't mean they didn't drive her crazy at times, though.

"It is my duty, my lady. And our swords are being sharpened by a blacksmith." Gyles kept pace behind her. There was no other way. The courtyard looked like one big muddy puddle, and narrow planks were laid in every direction for walking on. Here and there a huge wet snowflake drifted through the air, a harbinger of winter to come. One of them just landed on Gyles' eye and he cursed.

Her own heartbeat rumbled in her ears like the sea. For a single moment of fleeting time, she caught a glimpse of a fair-haired boy with features she knew from the mirror, just standing there in the kitchen doorway. His eyes were cloudy and blind, but he was smiling right at her. She quickly closed her eyes and breathed the cold air in. The world was spinning. Cold sweat broke out on her hands and her breathing was surprisingly shallow. The pressure in her head intensified for a moment until it was almost unbearable. It was like falling down from a tower...

The impact didn't come, darkness came instead. Not the dark grey interspersed with streaks of light and the darkest shade in the corners of the room but pitch black darkness. She was standing in something sticky and wet and felt cold surface underfoot.

Growl. And close. The first sound here sans her own breath. She heard no movement in the water, no taping on the surface. She cried out as a sharp stabbing pain shot through her left arm, and stumbled a few steps away. She could have sworn something had torn the skin down the length of her arm. But the touch of her other hand said no such thing had happened.

The beast drew breath into its lungs and snorted loudly. As she tried to move away, Jaehaera tripped over something bony and fell down into the cold liquid. She skinned her left palm and only now realized what the rancid smell she had been smelling all this time. Up close now, she could clearly tell that it was decomposing blood - a mixture of damp underground, fish and rotten flesh. She jerked the hand she was using to support herself as a couple of small, slippery creatures scurried underneath it.

It was quiet around again. When she remained completely still, strange ideas flooded her mind. What she saw was a little frightening at first, but it was as if she had experienced it herself... the fire, the screaming and the smell of burning flesh... the flesh she tore with her teeth from the human torso, the heart that looked like a bloody fist... her own saliva dripping into the open skull that still throbbed with life inside. All of this was gradually replaced by a quiet sound that she couldn't relate to anything she knew at first. Only after some time, She recognized the kind of strange babbling that children who can't yet speak make.

The moment she realized it, a light appeared. Lots of outlines of animals lit up around her, just strokes a child would draw. Several times she had to dodge a flying butterfly or a cat brushing against her legs.

She backed up, tripping again. She heard a child's laughter, but by then she had already hit the wall and the wall parted and she fell onto a layer of muddy snow.

She was awakened by a palm falling on her cheek. She jerked and opened her eyes.

"You have fainted, my lady. A few hours ago," Munkun smiled apologetically.

"I'm with child," the slightly irritated words came out like a shot. It was actually too soon to be sure, but... she was sure of it.

"Congratulations," Munkun summed up, bowing his head slightly.

"No. The child is not well." She knew it, she felt it. How could a woman like her have a child other than some little deformed creature?

"If I may give you any advice," the Grand Maester rose to his feet, "you must trust the child a bit more. If you get rid of it and never have another, you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been. And believe me, it's not a life worth living."

She said nothing and just watched him with a blank stare as he turned back at the door. "But if you do decide to get rid of it anyway, don't tell the King. Ever."

"He still hasn't quite come to terms with the idea of cheating on his mistress with his own wife."

"I'm certainly not going to tell him." He gave her a strained smile. Jaehaera preferred not to inquire further as to how many of the ladies at curt he had helped in that particular way had been given a gold necklace by their husbands to ease their supposed grief.

***

She had a strange feeling that day, her instincts warning her of something, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. It was like a word that kept itching on her tongue. She decided to visit Aenara, and at the upper entrance to the dungeons she ordered Gyles to stay there. The dungeons were empty, after all.

She'd never gotten used to the stuffy atmosphere underground, and the faint smell of smoke from the torches made her stomach churn. Aenara hissed weakly when she saw her and slowly approached Jaehaera. Ever since the clutch had been taken from her, she had shown remarkable indifference to everything going on around her. It was for the best though, because after so long it was clear that her eggs were nothing more than strange precious stones.

Jaehaera put one hand on her protruding belly and the other on the dragoness's snout. "You'll accompany me again, what you say?" At that, Aenara let out something akin to a satisfied huff. Seven knew the two needed each other. "The little one will adore you too, I'm sure."

At that, Aenara stiffened and hissed at something behind the woman's back. Jaehaera seemed petrified and her thoughts immediately froze. So her hunch came true after all...

"Hello, little queen," she heard a slightly amused voice behind her, with a faint accent she couldn't recognize. Somewhere in the distance, there was this muffled sound of dripping water and she wondered whether or or not Gyles could hear her screams from down here but he'd probably never get to her in time anyway.

She slowly turned around.

A tall man leaned against the door frame, a confident smile on his lips. Actually, he didn't look all that dangerous. His hair was grayish and his face tired like he's someone slapped by fate repeatedly, even though he still won't be forty for a long time. Then she noticed the giant butcher knife at his side.

To her own surprise, she was able to control the weakness that began to stir in her muscles. This wasn't Tessario the Tiger and she wasn't a child anymore. The dragoness at her side growled angrily but Jaehaera held her back with a gesture of her hand, far from certain of the outcome of that battle.

"How did you get here..." she fired the question at him in a desperate attempt not to feel like a victim.

He raised one eyebrow. Of course. It was a pointless question. Either he'd been locked in one of the cells for some time and someone had opened the door for him at the best moment, or he'd gotten in through one of the secret passages under the Red Keep.

"Alright, better question. Why? Don't I deserve to know?"

The grey man just shrugged. "They didn't tell me you were with child," he gestured to her belly. "Though I suppose that's the reason why."

They. She couldn't even be sure if Aegon's mistress even knew about this, or if someone was just using her children to their benefit. After all, Daenaera's children were healthy and the child Jaehaera was expecting could lead to another bloody war in the future. Like everything else about her, her child had come too late... She tried to stop the bitter, violent rush that tore at her throat. If she gave in to it, she would start wailing like a child and all the despair, fear and pain that boiled darkly inside her would come out. And she knew the torrent would consume her.

The man looked at her belly for some reason and the child inside her turned like it was scared.

"It's a boy, I think. It's a crooked little thing. I think his legs are fused together and he's only got one arm. Trust me, it'll be better for him this way. But I'll give you a choice." He folded his hands on his chest and she only now noticed that his nails are long And sharp like claws. He smiled eagerly again, and this time she noticed even his teeth Are pointy. "I can make it so you stay awake the whole time and still see him. So what would it be?" He looked at her with hope in his eyes and Jaehaera knew that no matter her answer, the man would not spare her that delight.

"How much gold did they promise you? I'll pay you three times as much. The king will pay," she corrected herself. Her voice rustled like burnt paper. But would he pay for her if he knew what kind of monster she probably carries under her heart?

"Oh, I can tell you that. They offered to let me take something you would never give me," he glared at Aenara. "She may be small, but she's still a precious creature. I might even keep her. You have to understand, she's the one who's supposed to kill you and then run away. But make no mistake, I'll do it myself if I have to."

She almost fired another question at him - why would the dragoness attack her - when his whole body seemed to relax and his eyes fixed on the dragoness took on an absent gaze. Ready to attack, Aenara turned to her.

So a warg.Jaehaera wasted no time in lunging forward to grab his giant knife. Too late...

The grey man drew his blade almost immediately. Before she could run past him, he pulled her back to him. With one hand, she managed to hold back the knife that was aimed for her throat, and it cut into her fingers down to the bone. At the same time, she clawed at him persistently where she assumed his face was. For the next few seconds she still struggled with his fist pounding into her head, choking on the pain. His other arm crushed her chest as if he knew what her weak spot was. She felt several ribs crack under the pressure, even thought she heard two hollow pops.

Then Aenara finally jumped on him and bit into his shoulder, hanging onto him and clawing his left side and leg with all four limbs. The man had to make a decision and finally released his grip on Jaehaera and swung the knife at the dragoness. There was a grinding sound and Aenara screamed. A shower of hot dragon blood fell on Jaehaera as she sank to the floor.

She knelt on the ground and breathed a sigh of relief, momentarily weakening her focus. The next she knew, she was on her back on the floor, human teeth as sharp as a freshly sharpened blade biting into the soft spot just above her shoulder. A wave of pain paralyzed her. She could only wait for the other clawed hand to be placed on her chest, pushing until it breaks through her ribs and penetrates inward and ever lower to her heart.

The grey man lifted his head and licked the fresh blood running down his chin. He didn't see the dragoness who jumped on him again until the last moment, but by then he couldn't defend himself from her teeth sinking into his throat.

Aenara bit into his neck a few more times until the life was drained out of him. Then she began to crawl towards Jaehaera, leaving a trail of blood from the wound on her stomach.

Jaehaera turned on her side and spat out the blood from her punctured lung. She was rapidly losing consciousness and knew it wouldn't be long now. "It's alright, maybe it was always meant to be like this," she stroked the dragon's snout as she whimpered.

She only survived her chilhood by some miracle, maybe it should never have happened. After all, even back then she knew far more dead people than the living ones. But those were bad thoughts, wrong and cruel, and the black tide inside her only grew wilder because of them. And so her last thought was of thé seagulls flying over the stormy sea...

#jaehaera targaryen #jaehaeraweek #aegon iii x jaehaera #aegon iii targaryen #fire and blood #hotd spoilers #queen jaehaera

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purpleyoonn · 2 years ago

Text

enchanted

P R O L O G U E

“I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you.”

summary: The realm under King Min’s rule had been under war for over. thirty years, a war within the inhuman species with origins no one knows. Your presence was brought into awareness when found by the king under the rubble of your home. You are plunged into a world you had only ever seen from the outside, and don’t know how long you can last.

genre: soulmate au, fantasy au, dragon au,

pairing: Dragon King Yoongi x Human MC

status: ?

warnings: starts in the middle of war, violence, angst, death, supernatural creatures, more to come.

-----------------------------------------

The river was freezing when you got up that morning, basket of cloths in hand to wash. It had been your chore for a couple of weeks now, ever since Mela’s body was found at the bottom of the hill. She had been working with you at the manor for a couple of years now, another “stray” taken in by Lord Ahn and his family. She also wasn’t the first to be found, others found at the same dip in the bottom of the hill.

You and a couple of the others had taken on her chores along with the ones you already had, meaning you barely got any sleep lately. Not to mention the nightmares you had. You and your friend Lila had been the ones to find her, body mangled from being pushed down the hill. When you had told the Lord of the manor, he just smiled and told you to get back to work.

It was nearly springtime, meaning the water was going to be getting warmer, and more of your chores would be done outside. You loved the spring, all the flowers blooming and the sounds of the woods to drown out the sound of your mind. Your thoughts were always loud, overthinking and replaying different memories. Your mind never seemed to shut off, always loud and all-encompassing.

You had a hard time keeping still, your mind and body needing to do something. That was why you liked working outside the house whenever you got the chance. Whenever you were inside, you had to be still, someone seen and not heard. That was normal for women, especially those who worked for Lord Ahn.

Mr. Ahn liked looking. His eyes always wandered when he was home. He only employed the girls in the manor, the men working outside. You had once been tasked with cleaning the upper portion of the manor, where the family resided, when you first started working to “pay for your stay”. He watched you the entire time, silent as he did.

You shook your head as you got out the soap from the bottom of the basket, rubbing against the washing board you had rested against the side of the river. You had to be quick, quiet as you worked. The woods were becoming increasingly dangerous over the past couple months. Stories of trolls and ghouls making their travels to the neighboring villages. You didn’t want to alert anyone or anything of your presence.

You had your own stories, your home destroyed by a horde of giants set loose, smashing everything they could. Your parents and sister had been crushed by one of their feet, running from the market. Which is what got you here to the manor, the Lord’s family “happily willing” to take you in.

You didn’t want to think that you could lose another home at the hands of the witches. The Queen had become angry with the kingdom, setting lose her minions on the land, killing and pillaging wherever they could. Reanimated bodies were their favorite thing. The ghouls seemed to be popping up all over the kingdom, and it seemed as though the King or his guards were doing nothing about it.

When you were in school, you remember learning about the Witches, how their Queen was angry with your King, some broken promise, and that since then, she had taken that anger on his realm. Your teacher had tried to drill into your head that your safety was only ensured if you remained silent, something that stuck with you, even to this day.

“Y/n!” You turned your head, seeing Taemin coming to a stop, leaning on his tree to catch his breath. “Are you almost done? Lord Ahn is wanting all of us to come back to the manor. He seems upset.” Your eyes widen in fear, scrambling to gather the half-washed clothes and washing board, getting to your feet.

“Do you have any idea what happened?” You asked your friend as both ran back up the hill and to the manor.

“No. All I heard was that Jeongmin can rushing out of his room with bruises all over her face.” You sigh out, knowing he could be mad at anything. Poor Jeongmin just had to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You wonder if she refused him, even with you and the other girls telling her to go along with it for her own safety.

Lord Ahn was known for his anger; the entire village knew it. No one was to speak of it though, for fear of repercussions on their own families. The word ‘no’ was the one thing none of the servants could say to him, not if they wanted their life to remain in their bodies.

“Well, let’s hurry. We don’t want to give him any more reasons.” You breathe out, picking up your pace with a tight hold on the basket.

When you get to the manor and move through the kitchen, placing your basket on the floor by the door, you both rush to your position in line in the hall, right at the end where your faces could be seen, eyes on the floor.

“Now, it seems to me that some of you…” You listen for the uptick in tone, knowing that Lord Ahn was really upset about something now. “think you can have a relationship within my house.” Oh no…. now you know why Jeongmin was all bruised up. She confessed.

You wince as you could hear her whimper, your body tensing as footsteps move closer to where you were. You knew there had been a couple of relationships going on within the household, particularly the one with Taemin and Yujin. You hoped that they weren’t the relationship he was talking about.

“You all know the rules, that I don’t expect much when you come into my household.” Lord Ahn’s voice had become deeper, darker as he spoke making your breath hitch, trying not to move.

Lord Ahn was now almost in front of you, about to say something else when the sirens from the village square went off, announcing the presence of non-humans. You move forward, ready to run when Lord Ahn catches you, his hand on your chest, keeping you from moving.

“Now, now. Since I’m sure all of you have been keeping these… secrets from me, you can stay here. Keep the house in order, as I’m sure nothing is truly going on.” You gape at the man, watching his smile turn into a dark smirk as his gaze turns to you.

“Min, Jung, help my family to the carriage. Kim, younger Kim, gather all the materials necessary and put them in the boot.” His hand is still on your chest as he barks out the orders, watching from his peripheral as the men he called forward move to do as he said.

“Sir,” You bite out, “What about the women?”

“Well, why don’t you continue your chores?” He squeezed once, before moving away and down the hallway.

Turning around, you watch him, mouth open in shock, the siren still ringing throughout the village. Feeling a hand grasp onto your shoulder, you turn back around, seeing Hana pull you back. Her gaze was soft, knowing how the sirens make you feel.

“Let’s just hope that it’s nothing. Come with me, we can finish the laundry in the sink.” Hana helps you walk forward, everyone else moving back to their chores. Once in the kitchen you pick up the laundry basket form the floor, noticing that the cabinets and pantry have been cleaned out.

“Did they take all of the food?” You ask, concern dripping from your lips as you think about being locked in the house with no food.

“It appears so. But don’t worry, I don’t think they touched the servant’s quarters.” Hana reassures you. You sigh out, moving to the sink where Hana has gotten some water. You empty your basket again, moving the washing board into the sink and then soap bar.

You hear the siren again, this time closer to the manor, swearing you could almost hear some screams mixed in. You chose to follow Hana’s lead, hoping that she was right about everything. You go through the motions, scrubbing the sheets with the soap and brush.

A scream has you dropping the brush from your grasp, the wooden handle making a clang as it hits the floor.

“Stay here.” Hana holds her hand up at you, motioning you to stay where you were. You do so, heart beating fast as you hear another scream cry out. You choose not to listen, moving through the back of the kitchen and down the hall to the servant’s quarters.

From there you can see through the narrow windows used for light. There were people running everywhere, people being pushed to the ground and having chunks bitten out of them by gray, almost see-through creatures.

Ghouls, you thought, eyes widening in horror as you watch a couple ghouls begin to move towards the manor. You look through the room, trying to see if you could find anything to defend yourself with, trying to ignore the screams that came from within the manor.

If these really were ghouls you were dealing with, there was nothing you could do to save anyone.

You could feel your cheeks becoming wet, trying to find a way to get out of the servant’s quarters without going back into the manor, as you still look for something that could create fire. You begin to freak out, flashbacks to the giants and the screams of terror as you hear the screams of now moving closer to where you were.

However, it gets silent quickly, the only noise heard is the sound of your breathing. Holding your hand over your mouth, you try to listen for anything else, only hearing the sound of something dragging across the floor. The crackling of something in the walls also catches your attention. It becomes louder and louder until suddenly; you were on the ground.

Everything seemed to be moving too fast for your mind to catch up with. You couldn’t feel your legs, but you could move them, somewhat. You felt like you had a huge weight on you and you could feel heat licking at your skin.

As your eyes begin to adjust, you could see the body of the ghoul who was still trying to get to you, and the fire that was now spreading over the rest of the manor, inching your direction.

Your wits come back to you; survival instincts kick in as a loud roar is heard with a gust of wind keeping the fire from reaching you. Despite that, you try all you can to move the pieces of the roof from anchoring your body to the wreckage of the manor before that ghoul can get to you.

It didn’t matter to you that he was also buried under the remnants of the roof, you needed to get away. You blinked hard, rapidly as you tried to remove your tears from obstructing your vision. Using all your might, you tried to push the roof off of you, grunting as you failed again and again.

Another loud roar had you scrambling even faster, trying with all your strength to get out from under the rubble. Before you could get your leg out, the heavy material was yanked off of you, a growl as your bruised legs were visible.

You look up in horror, only to see who you recognize at King Min staring down at you, his eyes red and his fangs visible as he looks at you. Your frozen in place, unable to move as his red eyes pierce your soul and keep you still.

It’s only a couple of seconds before the King lunges for you, making your close your eyes in fear. Arms wrapping around you and picking you up from the rest of the roof and walls of the servant’s quarters.

“Please...” You whimper, not knowing what the King was going to do with you, only for him to place a hand behind your head, pushing so your head was rested against the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

One little word has you blinking away even more tears, a slew of emotions moving through you as you take it in. Your finger gripping tight into his button up shirt, the buttons almost popping loose from how tightly you hold onto it.

King Min moves quickly, walking out of the rubble and into the trees, a clearing by the river coming into the view as he shifts, his wings breaking out from the back of his shirt, the rest of his shirt now loose in your grip as he begins to fly away, to a place unknown to you. You were only focused on what he had growled out when he picked you up.

“Mate.”

#bts #bts au #min yoongi #bts min yoongi #dragon king! yoongi #dragon au #bts dragon au #soulmates #bts soulmate #bts soulmate au #min yoongi x reader #angst #dragon king yoongi x human reader #human mc #supernatural #fantasy au #enchanted #purpleyoonn

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moonlight-prose · 2 years ago

Text

HURT

➝ 03. HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN

a/n: this chapter fought my brain the entire time, because apparently it didn't want to be written. i don't blame it honestly. the amount of angst i've shoved into it, really did break even my own heart. but as always angst is my bread and butter, and breaking hearts through words has always been my forte. so i give you chapter three.

summary: joel comes to a realization that terrifies him more than the horrors of a world he lives in. he can't lose you.

word count: 7.8k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: not explicit but still 18+, exhaustion, violence, tw blood, so much angst you better have tissues handy, the odd moment of fluff, tenderness, pain, grief, ptsd, tw death.

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You were dragging behind him, slowly making your way through the outskirts of a city. For some reason the weariness in your body felt amplified the second you open your eyes. You battled a headache and stiff muscles as you walked, trying to keep up with his long strides. But no matter how many times you jogged to get to his side, you continued to feel your energy slip right from your hands like sand.

While you refused to let him know how much of a struggle it was to keep going, you knew he could tell. Every thirty minutes he stopped without explaining why. Simply resting against whatever he could find—waiting patiently for you to catch your breath, and regain the energy you expelled getting there. In return, you thanked him with small pieces of your food and the extra water you carried in your pack.

Nothing that would confirm his actions, but still something to tell him…thanks for having my back as we walk through hell. If the look in his eyes was anything to go off of—he understood entirely. You got used to him complaining about eating as you walked, explaining that the scent could attract anything, but today the complaints were nowhere to be found.

If you didn’t know any better, you would have dared to say he was showing an unusual amount of kindness towards you. Perhaps he was trying to give you peace of mind. You didn’t bother to question it any further, too afraid that it would eventually stop.

“Should we find a place for the night?” you asked, doing your best to fight off the yawn that crept up your throat.

He didn’t respond. Which wasn’t unusual for him to do. In fact, you were so used to it that you simply took his silence as him being in agreement, and began heading towards one of the empty buildings. You didn’t hear him call your name, nor did you hear the word Boston he affectionately used to tease you. It seemed that your brain was focused on one thing—getting some rest. You feared that whatever lingered in your system was some variation of a flu or a cold; both things you couldn’t afford to endure now.

His hand gripping onto your shoulder finally stopped you from going further. The dazed look in your eyes, worse than before; a cloud of exhaustion proved that if you kept going…you wouldn’t survive. For days you’d been going nonstop. Only giving yourselves enough time to shove food into your body and continue.

Sleep started to evade you two days ago. Originally you expected it to pass. Simply another frustration you had to learn to deal with, but then the nightmares started. The pain that you knew still remained in the very core of your body—worked its way through your entire system. Much like the virus, this sensation only had one goal—spread. Until you were left with no other choice but to rest, to finally give in and allow your body time to recuperate.

“I’m sorry,” you said, looking directly at him. Except Joel could see the hollowness that reflected in your pupils. You were staring at him, but you weren’t there—not really.

He felt his chest tighten; a feeling he tended to push away whenever it came to you, but today it was different. Even though you refused to tell him, he knew that you weren’t sleeping; saw it in the worn down expression painted on your face like a damn mask. You were trying to keep him from noticing, from asking you what was wrong and as he looked at you, he understood. He could truly lose you if he didn’t find a way to get you to sleep, to push back against the nightmares he knew plagued you each night.

“Come on,” he said, dropping his touch from your shoulder as if you burned him.

Although in your stupor, you thankfully didn’t notice.

Traipsing behind him, you tried to keep your body steady—your steps uneven. He weaved in between the rows of cars that were lined up like museum pieces; simply another reminder of what the world lost. What it once had.

He continued to pause, giving you time to catch up, before he started to veer off the highway and began walking towards the exit ramp. You wouldn’t have been able to guess where you were, the signs faded from the sunlight and covered by overgrown vines. But you trusted that Joel knew where he was going.

Originally you would have believed that putting your trust in a man you barely knew for a few weeks was stupid. Surely a way to get yourself killed, or something even worse, but with him the trust came easy. As if you’d known him since you were young and you were meeting again, this time as old friends. Simply two people that were always meant to cross paths; their fate written in the broken road they walked along.

You didn’t know if he trusted you—or if he ever would—except the slight shift in his actions recently told you otherwise. Instead of treating you like someone tagging along, yet another person he’d lose contact with eventually. He treated you like a partner—asking your opinion on choices, on routes to take and places to stay for the night.

Whether he realized it or not, Joel began to see you as a friend—someone he could depend on when things got rough—a person that he couldn’t lose.

He told himself that getting close to people only made the grief of losing them worse. That to lower the shield protecting him, meant enduring yet another wave of loneliness—forced to face the hollowness that seeped slowly into his bones. The man that he used to be died long before he met you, but every now and then he could see the man who he used to be, return. In his own way, he cared for you. Yet it was a truth he couldn’t admit to himself, because everyone leaves in the end.

Death wouldn’t escape the path Joel was walking along, and he hated that you were right there beside him. Heading directly towards it yourself.

“Where are we going?” you asked, the waver in your voice telling him that he had to hurry before you collapsed.

“I’ve been through here before.”

You swallowed down the impending yawn that was desperate to come out. “So you know about a safe house?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he replied, squinting against the sunlight in order to catch a clearer sight of the sign that hung above.

Although it had been a few years since he and Tommy found themselves out this far, he could recall there being an old car dealership towards the center of the small city. If he was right, they’d still have a few cars left with batteries that hopefully still worked. It was a small prospect to hold out for, but Joel’s refusal to let you keep going this way, forced him onwards.

He figured that you both might be shit out of luck by the time you got there. But he knew what you’d say to him if there was even a chance of something good happening. Keep going until the hope pays off.

“Boston?” he asked, stopping to see you leaning heavily against the broken highway railing, your eyes slipping shut and body falling forward. Joel slung the gun across his shoulder, taking large strides towards you quickly, his hands grasping onto your arms to steady you.

“‘M fine,” you mumbled, your eyes shutting involuntarily. “Just…tired.”

“Hey.” His hands cupped your face, tilting your head slowly. “Hey look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open as far as they could, lids still drooping slightly. “I’m…I’m okay.”

“You gotta keep going.” Unconsciously, his thumb ran along the top of your cheek, the calloused finger clashing with the softness of your skin. You were opposites, yet still somehow remained two halves of a broken whole. “You hear me?”

For a moment, Joel felt his heart lurch in his chest as you stayed silent, your eyes falling shut again and breaths turning shallow. But the sight of your lips twisting up into a grin appeased his slight panic—reminding him that you were far too stubborn to give up now.

Leaning into touch, you released a labored breath before taking in another one immediately afterwards. You were starting to get colder to the touch; the sun going down didn’t help the temperatures in the slightest.

“I’ll try my best, Texas,” you sighed, straightening your stance to the best of your ability and pressing your face into his hand one last time.

You didn’t see it, but he grinned. It was barely there. Just a fleeting look as you headed towards his original spot, but it confirmed everything Joel was afraid of. He couldn’t lose you. He wouldn’t. And that sent a streak of fear through his heart, his eyes still watching you slowly make your way down the street. Joel knew what he was capable of—understood his limits and how far they stretched. Only with you…none of that existed anymore.

Joel wouldn’t lose you, but what he would do to keep that from happening scared him more than it should have.

“You coming?” you called over your shoulder, beckoning him closer with a small tired smile.

He had no control over his limbs as they gravitated closer to you, his steps slowing to keep him right beside you—his hand brushing against yours every now and then. If the road wasn’t covered with overgrown weeds and vines of plants he couldn’t name, he’d say that this felt relatively normal. A man walking beside a woman, the nervous electric energy between them practically visible in the air around them.

Yet the guns strapped to both your backs and scars that littered your bodies like bleeding memories, told a different story. You were two fragmented people destroyed by the aftermath of a ruined world. What a story you would make for anyone still alive to read it.

“We’re not heading to a safe house, are we?” you asked, drawing him out of his thoughts.

Joel’s eyebrows furrowed, his hand shifting to tightly grip his pack’s strap. “We’ll be okay.”

“No need to lie to me.”

“I’m not lyin’.”

You grinned, allowing your pinky finger to nearly twine around his. “Your accent gets thicker when you lie.”

“No it doesn’t.”

Scoffing, your finger finally caught his. Joel pretended not to notice the way his heart pressed tightly to his chest.

“Whatever you say Texas.”

The sun began to slowly dip below the rows of houses and taller buildings, giving Joel a time limit as to how far you could go before calling it a night. From what he could remember, the place wasn’t too far into the smaller outskirts of the city. But if the slight shuffle of your feet told him anything, you wouldn’t make it there by tonight. Joel had half a mind to let you lean on him the rest of the way there. Except his back and body screamed at him to finally give up for the night.

He sighed, glancing at the rows of empty homes that most likely remained free of any infected. Yet his gut told him to do a sweep either way before allowing you inside. He blamed the idiotic side of his brain for letting you burrow so deep into his hollow chest.

“Wait here,” he said softly, his hand clasping over yours briefly—thumb running along your knuckles—before he pulled away.

“Got nowhere else to go,” you replied. Though your words were light, airy, you were ready to fall unconscious to the floor.

You had surpassed being able to explain how tired you were two hours ago, the sensation settling itself in your bones. The longer you walked, the louder your body begged for sleep, but every time you closed your eyes…you saw her again. The woman in the closet. You couldn’t get her out of your head even if you tried, because she was too similar. The sight, far too familiar to what you’d witnessed years ago, and before you could stop yourself…you saw your mother again.

If you wouldn’t give your body sleep, it would force you to relive that moment over and over again. Until eventually you went mad.

Sighing, you felt a shake start in the hand that clutched your gun. The rest of your body soon followed, but you held out until you spotted Joel’s figure in the broken window. His flashlight shone out onto the small pathway up to the front steps—the once neatly placed bricks now overgrown by wild grass. You hadn’t heard him scream or shout for you to run yet, telling you that the house was safe from infected and even worse, unwanted visitors.

“There’s no beds,” he said, getting to you faster than you expected him to. “But there’s a couch.”

Relief washed over you. “You think it has anything bad?”

“I checked the cushions. They’re still in good condition. Well…after being left out for ten years.”

Even through your fatigued state, you still cracked a smile when you knew he was attempting to lighten his mood. Sure, he said it in a manner that hinted at no humor whatsoever. But you’d been around him long enough to grasp his slight inflections and dry sense of humor when it came out. Even though his face remained passive, he was funnier than you expected him to be.

“Mm, careful Texas, you’re spoiling me,” you mused as you moved past him slowly.

You could have sworn you saw his face flash with an emotion you’d never seen him wear before, but you blamed it on the trick of the sunset. An orange glow of the fading sunlight caressed his face, showing you the side of him that you would never tire of looking at. Of a man who you hoped found a reason to keep surviving.

He remained close behind you, keeping his hands from reaching out to hold your arm or waist. Joel wasn’t an idiot. He knew you could handle yourself, having seen you take down several infected on your own. But the part of him he closed off, the part that died with Sarah peeked its head out again. Prompting him to be observant of the things you did, what you said, because you were his to care for.

His to protect.

“Did you get lucky with food?” you asked, before turning to see the state of the kitchen.

Havoc had been wreaked on this place long before either of you arrived. The cabinets were picked clean through, and you could see the layers of dust that had settled on the shelves. Nobody had been here in a long time, meaning you and Joel would have to forgo eating one more day until you could get back into the woods tomorrow. At least there you could hunt. There you found solace away from this reality; for a moment you were able to forget that humanity was on the brink of extinction.

“Just the couch,” he replied gruffly, his voice coming directly over your shoulder.

He stayed closer to you than usual, but knowing how unsteady your body was today, you didn’t mind it. Part of you wanted to lean back, press against the warmth you knew emanated from his body. Except the small irritating voice in the back of your mind told you to stay away. Getting close to Joel was dangerous enough as it is. Allowing yourself to fall for him was worse.

There would be no future together. No home to make with him or life to share. This was it. Nights huddled in forgotten buildings, food shared over fires that never stayed alive for too long. You would only get the chance to survive together. Anything else asked for too much, and you and Joel were out of things to give.

“This feels nice.” The words came out as a contented sigh, your eyes fluttering shut as your body finally relaxed.

The cushions were shit and the cold air was beginning to take a toll on you, but you took what little good you could get. Laying down, you felt your muscles calm slightly. It would take time for you to gain back what energy you already lost, yet you didn’t mind. For once sleep wasn’t evading you. Instead, it took you in its embrace, the soft beckoning sounds of the darkness you desperately craved welcoming you once more.

You didn’t feel Joel lay his jacket on top of you, barely felt him shift your legs to drape over his lap as he sat down. All you could comprehend was the warmth that encased you in his touch, his proximity. Your eyes shut, your mind falling silent—giving you the reprieve you needed for days.

The sharp piercing echo of a gunshot ringing in the air jolted you awake. Your eyes flew open, a sharp gasp of breath leaving you as you sat up straight. A cold sweat began to spread along your skin when you looked around the room, coming to the conclusion that you were alone. Perhaps you imagined the shot, the sound simply a dream your brain conjured up. But then you heard it. The distinct sounds of shouting, of Joel’s voice echoing in the brisk morning air.

“You take one more step, I'll shoot again!” he called, his voice spurring you to quickly shove your arms into his jacket and rush to the already open door.

He stood on the last step, his shotgun poised and dangerous in his arms, pointing directly at a man and a woman. They had their hands raised in surrender, eyes wide with the same terror that you had worn before. The same look you must have on now. Whereas Joel’s face was hard, the anger came off him in waves the longer he stood there, unwilling to budge from his stance.

“Please,” the woman stepped forward once she caught sight of you behind him. “We’re just looking for a place tonight. Some food if you’re willing to share.”

You nearly scoffed at the notion that you and Joel were better off than they were. “We can’t help you,” you replied, getting closer to Joel, your hand landing gently on his shoulder.

Neither of you noticed it, but the second your touch pressed against him, his body relaxed. The tension suddenly fading when he finally realized you were there, standing with him. He still refused to drop the shotgun, his eyes narrowed in their direction in case something happened. But with you there, he felt better about the situation, knowing that when worse came to worse…you’d have his back.

“Then a place for night,” the man said. He was smart in staying right where he stood, knowing full well that if anyone got shot first, it would be him. “We have a car. We can take you wherever you need to go in the morning.”

That gave the both of you pause, Joel’s eyes flicked to the side to quickly glance at you.

If you managed to get a ride with them, you might be able to finally reach Boston before you expected. You knew Joel wasn’t quick to trust anyone, but the prospect of not having to walk so far left both of you conflicted with the choice.

“Joel,” you said softly, moving closer to him and shifting to the side slightly. “I know you don’t want to—”

“No.”

You sighed, eyes closing briefly before they met his stone cold gaze. “They have a car Joel.”

The sorrow in your eyes did him in; shot him right in the heart and before he could stop himself, he was relenting to your request. With a sigh of his own, he dropped the gun, keeping his head turned towards you—molten brown eyes locked on yours until it was you who broke away. He heard you begin to make a list of requirements they had to follow, things that you knew would keep Joel comfortable with the situation. And for that he felt grateful.

He didn’t like how quickly you got to him, how you somehow managed to make a space for yourself in his mind—his heart. Joel waited until you led the couple inside, the rings on their fingers telling him enough. They were lucky to have made it this far together; never having to endure the pain of losing one another. He glanced at you one more time, watching as you made conversation with enough ease to surprise even him.

You fit in naturally wherever you went. He wanted to assume that after so long you liked finally finding other people to talk to. What he didn’t know was that you were doing this for him. You were learning everything you could about them to keep not just yourself safe, but Joel too.

“There’s a bedroom down the hall,” you said, pointing to the empty room with no bed. “You can take that for the night.”

“Thank you,” she replied, the relief in her voice evident. “I’m Martha by the way.”

Shaking her hand, you kept the small grin on your face for her sake more than your own. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Jimmy,” the man spoke up, nodding his head in your direction. You didn’t bother to nod back, already knowing that you’d only see these people for as long as they could help you.

Joel lingered behind you, his hands ready to reach for the gun at his side, but your presence distracted him from the couple. The early morning light practically caused you to glow the longer you stood near the open doorway, and Joel found himself unable to tear his eyes away. He felt the old familiar sensation of warmth pool in his stomach, his body aching for your touch. For you to come closer.

He fought against the feeling ever since he met you; refusing to allow himself any sort of attraction when he might lose you in the end. Except then you stayed for longer than he anticipated. Digging your way beneath his skin and reminding him what it felt like to be touched. To be wanted.

Ripping himself away from your presence, he sat on the couch, allowing you to take the lead and speak to them. He needed time to think, focus his thoughts on anything but how you might feel beneath him. Seeing you wear his jacket didn’t help his situation anymore than the damn sunlight. It seemed that no matter how much he wanted to pull away from you entirely—you pulled him closer. You gave him a small sense of hope in a world that killed whatever was in its path.

Eventually you found your way back to him, sitting beside him on the couch so close that your thighs pressed together. Joel found that he wanted to pull you even closer, his hand aching to press against your leg. To feel your warmth under his palm.

“We could go hunting.” You pulled him out of his thoughts, drawing his attention back to you. Yet he still remained in a daze, unable to completely break free of his thoughts.

He grunted in response, bringing a small smile to your lips. “It’s a long way back to the woods.” Fuck, even his voice sounded dazed.

“If they have a car it won’t take too long.”

It killed him to know that you were clueless as to how much he wanted to stay here and talk with you. All you two have ever done the past few weeks is talk, but Joel found the sound of your voice soothing. He wanted to fall asleep to it at night, to hear it first thing in the morning. That thought alone continued to strike him with a fear so potent he could practically taste it on his tongue.

“We need to be back before dark.”

You nodded in agreement, your hand falling to rest beside his. “I’ll bring my gun just in case.”

“You’re low on bullets.” He heard you curse under your breath. “You can use mine,” he stated, getting to his feet to stop himself from grasping onto your hand.

Stunned, you watched him walk away, heading towards the kitchen where he stowed his bag in one of the cabinets. He had placed the gun neatly on top of his extra flannel. There was a box of bullets stowed at the bottom, enough to give to you in case of something going wrong. Normally he’d try and get you to stay behind, but he trusted the world less than he trusted these strangers. Them he could take if a fight had to be won, but he couldn’t protect you if he was too far to get to you.

“We’ll be heading East,” he said, handing you the gun carefully.

As if they heard you preparing, Jimmy and Martha emerged from the room, their packs still strapped to their backs.

“I’ll drive,” Jimmy offered, his hand gripping onto the keys tightly. That one single movement showed you that Jimmy wasn’t a man entirely willing to venture out with strangers.

You didn’t blame him—still wary about the both of them yourself.

“We better get a move on,” Joel replied gruffly, taking the lead and heading towards the rundown truck that was parked in the middle of the street. He recognized the model, grumbling under his breath about what a piece of shit it was. They would be lucky if it got them to the outskirts of the woods and back before the sun began to dip below the horizon again.

The days used to move slowly, dragging on until eventually he collapsed into bed from the sheer exhaustion alone. Now they blended together. Until he could no longer tell one day from the next, forever stuck in limbo, waiting for everything to come to a final ending.

He watched you clamber into the backseat with Martha, his jacket still adorning your figure and his gun strapped to your waist. There were very few things that turned him on to the point of feeling borderline desperate, but that sight did it. Just the sheer knowledge that you were strong enough to save not only yourself, but him as well killed him on the inside, because he knew he could never have you.

You weren’t his to keep and so he continued to shove away the feelings that began to eat away at his insides. Turning him ravenous for something other than food.

“So where are you two heading?” Martha asked, turning her body towards you, drawing you into yet another conversation that Joel was quick to tune out. Instead, he focused on the roads Jimmy was taking, offering his suggestions on which path was better as they went.

Three hours of hunting left them with a measly bird Jimmy managed to shoot from a tree. Rather than bring the scent of cooked meat back to the house, they cooked it in the woods. Or rather Joel cooked it with the fire you built. While Jimmy could shoot—Joel could give him that—he claimed he had no clue about how to survive in the wild. Martha seemed to agree, saying she did most of the work.

You couldn’t place why, but their words sounded off to you. As if they were putting on a show for whoever they came across. You didn’t ponder on it too long though. Not when you were busy keeping the fire controlled to keep the meat Joel was slowly roasting, from burning to a crisp.

It was when the sun began to dip behind the trees, did you finally suggest heading back. The woods may have been safer than the house—what with it being so far from the city—but you refused to find out if that was actually true. Joel drove back, his eyes glancing at you every now and then in the rearview mirror while Jimmy talked his ear off. Yet no matter how many one worded answers Joel gave him, the man never seemed to shut up.

All you could say was that by the time the sun was gone and you were laying on the couch, Joel sitting where he’d been last night, you were glad the day ended.

“Hey,” you whispered, seeing how he practically dozed off in the time he’d been there.

He stirred awake, his brown eyes—now filled with exhaustion—meeting yours. “You okay?”

Grinning, you felt warmth spread through your body at the realization that the first thing he asked you wasn’t filled with irritation at waking him up. No, he was simply concerned that you weren’t doing okay; that something might have happened in the five minutes he had dozed off. If you weren’t filled with the sudden urge to kiss him before, you were now.

“Yeah.” You watched him settle into the cushions further—his arms draped over your legs. “I’m perfect,” you whispered, knowing he could no longer hear you.

You remained awake for a while longer, listening to his snores as he finally got some much needed rest. Once again you allowed your eyes to wander over the bones of the house that remained. You thought about the past, the future, and then…him. While you were two people who’s scars ran deeper than their emotions, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about the domesticity of it all. Of falling asleep with him on a couch after a long day.

How he gave you his gun and jacket, never asking for either of them back even as you re-entered the house. You liked to see him as a partner. A man who would have your back in the midst of battle, but you never ventured further than that. Too afraid of what you’d find buried in the depths of your heart. Two definitions came with that one single word—a label not even Joel had admitted to yet—and you were terrified to find out which one the both of you landed in.

Too invested in your own thoughts you didn’t hear the creak of the floorboards. The shuffle of boots going unnoticed to your spent brain. You shifted, sighing with content at the position you were currently in, your body nicely wrapped in Joel’s leather jacket. Yet the peace could never last in the end. You knew that now.

Your eyes flew open when you felt the cold press of a blade against your throat, fear streaking down your spine. The darkness covered who this person was, but then you caught sight of the dark brown hair pulled into a braid that could only belong to Martha. Joel’s gun was still strapped to your waist, your hand sliding over the weapon, but her narrowed eyes caused you to freeze in place. She tightly gripped your neck, yanking you to the side—her blunt nails digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood.

“Move or he dies,” she whispered, nodding her head at Jimmy who held a gun behind Joel’s still sleeping figure.

Without fighting you slowly began to inch your way off the couch, the floorboards creaking under your boots as you stood. But Martha had clearly done this many times before. Slamming her foot into the back of your knee, you fell forward with a grunt, hands slapping against the floor and cutting against an open nail. Blood spilled onto the already dark wood, staining the color with remnants of you.

“Now here’s how it’s going to go,” she said softly, her voice empty of any emotion; her hand still gripping onto your neck.

“Let her go.” Joel’s voice calmed your nerves within seconds, the breath you’d been holding finally being let out. You didn’t have to look at him to know what his expression was. The deep echo of his tone told you enough even before your eyes met his.

Joel wanted blood, his eyes zeroing in on the knife still pressed to your throat. He knew what he was capable of, knew how dangerous he could be when it came down to it, and rarely did he like it. But the sight of you on your knees, a fear you tried so hard to hide present in your eyes, shoved aside all his remorse about killing. For the first time in a long time, he was content to rip them apart with his bare hands.

“If he moves, shoot him Jimmy.”

You shuddered, eyes fixated on him as the knife was pressed even harder against your neck. “Hey Texas,” you breathed, your eyes wide and heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“Shut up,” Martha snapped, slamming you in the temple hard enough to cause blood to trickle down your face.

Joel jolted forward, but the click of a gun forced him to stop. “Yeah Boston?” he asked softly.

Your eyes fell to your waist, the glimpse of his brown leather holster catching his attention. “You’re a pretty damn good teacher.”

He understood, snapping his attention back to the gun and forming a plan on how to get it. But in the time it took for you to let him know, Martha had figured out how exactly best to make you work in her favor. Pulling away from you entirely, she advanced on Joel, her knife now paired with the small pistol you saw her carrying earlier. You felt the anxiety begin to build up in your stomach, spreading down to the very tips of your fingers at the sight.

“Wait,” you called out, getting to your feet, only for Jimmy to grip onto the back of your neck, keeping you in place.

“Don’t fucking move,” he spit in your ear, the sensation of his hot breath against your skin felt vile.

Joel’s eyes narrowed, his hands curling into fists as Martha pressed her gun to his forehead. Thankfully Jimmy was too distracted with the bloodthirsty need that ran through his mind, to notice your hand slipping the gun out from your side. You felt his weapon press against your waist, the barrel cold against your skin.

“Aw, sweetie,” Martha cooed. “Just be glad it’s only us and not our crew. Don’t worry, we’ll make your deaths quick.”

“You’re fucking raiders,” Joel practically growled, his knuckles now white from how tightly his hands were clenched.

“Took you long enough to realize,” she said with a smile.

“What do you want with us?” You knew it was a long shot to actually get the truth from her, but keeping her distracted as you clicked a bullet into place was all that you needed.

She laughed, the sound hollow. “You’ve got weapons, clothes. There’s lots of stuff us raiders like,” she murmured, trailing a finger down Joel’s cheek.

Something hot flared in your chest and shoved its way forward as you heard the bullet in her gun slide into the chamber. You knew Joel could handle himself, knew he could get out of this situation, but you were too stubborn to let him get hurt along the way. The part that cared too much about him took over, finally finding something to fight for in the midst of hell.

Protecting what was yours.

You raised your arm and pulled the trigger before anyone could react. And you watched as the bullet embedded itself in Martha’s shoulder. Her gun fell to the floor, a cry of pain tearing from her throat, but the fight wasn’t over yet. Joel loaded another bullet, pointed it at her and prepared to fire. You shut your eyes, in the hopes of avoiding the sight of any more death, but the echo of the second shot ringing in the air sounded wrong.

Joel flinched, thinking Jimmy attempted to fire at him. Still he pointed the gun at Martha, pulled the trigger and watched her fall to the ground, her blood now pouring onto the wood. Before Jimmy had any time to react, Joel was standing to his full height, his dark eyes narrowing at the sight of you still held in the man’s grasp.

“I’ll kill you!” Jimmy screamed, the fear practically dripping off his body like sweat.

You wrenched yourself away, landing to your knees again and shutting your eyes as another echo of a gunshot pierced through the air. Everything fell silent, the crickets outside, the breeze that blew through the trees. All you could hear was Joel’s labored breaths mixing with yours. Until something louder began to block out the sound of the world around you.

Your own heartbeat.

With a gasp, you finally realized why the shot sounded wrong, why you couldn’t feel your side. Warmth spilled over your palm, pain suddenly slicing through your body. Your eyes opened to see Joel standing a few feet away, his gaze still stuck on Jimmy’s dead body that lay only a few feet away from you. It wasn’t until you breathed his name that he finally broke free from the cage in his mind.

“Joel,” you breathed, eyes wide with a new kind of fear.

He felt the familiar question of are you okay land on the tip of his tongue, but then he saw it. The dark spot that spread through your black shirt, the red that spilled onto the floor below you. Joel felt his heart drop to his stomach, the air suddenly punched from his lungs, as he fell to his knees beside you.

“J-Joel,” you stuttered, gasping for another breath that burned your lungs.

“No,” he mumbled, his hands lifting your shirt to see the worst. “No, no, no.”

“Joel w-what’s happening?”

He gently helped you to the floor, his hands immediately pressing against the wound as memories of that fateful night began to rise up in his mind. From what he could see the bullet went through cleanly, leaving an open wound that he had to close up—quickly. His eyes lifted to meet yours and the sight of you looking petrified broke him; his heart twisted violently in his chest with each passing second.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he said, trying to convince himself more than you. “I need you to do something for me.” You nodded, your eyes fluttering slightly as a wave of dizziness spread through you. His hand cupping your cheek brought you back long enough to hear his words. “I need you to keep pressure on it.”

“Okay,” you gasped, biting back the scream as your hands pressed down on the wound. “What are you going to do?”

Grabbing his bag, he dug through it for his extra flannel, the fabric old and worn down. He couldn’t move you like this, not when you were bleeding so much. But he couldn’t keep you here. Joel felt grief’s familiar tight grip begin to wrap about his throat, cutting off his air, but he fought against it. Forcing himself to focus on keeping you alive. Joel had already decided he wouldn’t lose you…his partner, his friend. His.

“I’m gonna wrap it,” he said, surprisingly keeping his voice calm.

Lifting your hips slightly, he yanked the flannel into place, tightly tying it around your side, and wincing when you cried out in pain.

“I know, I know.” You gripped his wrist, stopping him from moving you any further. “I gotta do this darlin’. I know it hurts.”

“I-I can’t feel my body Joel,” you whimpered, tears falling down the side of your temple and into your hairline. “What’s happening?”

He cursed, hands reaching up to cup your face and turn you closer to him. “You're going into shock. You’ll be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” At this point Joel couldn’t tell if he continued to repeat the words for you or for himself. Fear spread through his chest, the sting of tears filled his eyes.

“I don’t want to die,” you whispered, hands clutching onto his wrists and staining his skin red with your blood.

“I won’t let you die honey.” He tightened the fabric on your body, making sure that the wound had enough pressure to stop you from bleeding out. He didn’t realize how badly his hands shook until you grasped them in yours.

Wheezing, you began to see spots of black show up in your line of eyesight and knew…you’d have to make this quick. “Joel I need you—” Exhaling, you desperately took in another breath. “I need you to do something for me.”

Joel had heard those words far too many times to forget their exact meaning. You were going to tell him to go, leave you there and survive. Yet he couldn’t get your words out of his head—telling him that he wasn’t beyond saving, and in this moment…neither were you. He felt his heart stop beating, his world collapsing once more. Shaking his head, he tried to busy himself with getting you ready to move, but your hands cupping his cheeks stopped him entirely. If he could cry he would, but the tears had dried up long ago.

“You’re not gonna die,” he stated, once again needing the words more than you. “Not when I just found you.” His voice cracked, eyes shutting briefly until he felt you pull him closer. Your forehead pressing to his.

“Come here,” you breathed, your chest aching with the movement.

Pain practically swallowed him whole the longer he watched you struggle to stay awake, your blood still warm on his hands. “I’m not going to let you die,” he whispered.

With a wince, you smiled, thumb running along his cheek. Joel was a man of few words until it was too late and he had no time to say everything he should have said. Leaning in, he finally indulged in the one thing the both of you ached for the most. He pressed his lips to yours, a soft brush of his warm breath fanning across your cheek as he exhaled. Kissing him felt different than you imagined. The rough chap of his lips were somehow smooth against yours and briefly you lost yourself in his touch. You imagined that his feelings, beyond friendship, existed. Yet even you knew this wasn’t real.

You figured this was a goodbye. A thank you without saying the actual words, and you didn’t care if he didn’t actually mean it. Kissing him stole away the grief, it allowed you to truly forget that you were standing on death’s doorstep.

Sighing into his mouth, you felt the numbness begin to spread down to your hands, until you could no longer feel the sensation of his beard beneath your fingertips. Joel pulled away, his chest heaving and cheeks flushed red. If only you had a camera you could take a picture of him like this. Looking like nothing else was wrong in the world, because all he could focus on was you and your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, the black spots overtaking your vision entirely.

“Darlin’?” His hands pulled you up, your head leaning against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his lips pressing to your forehead. “You’ll be okay.”

Finally, the darkness stepped forward, welcoming you once more with open arms. Into its awaiting abyss full of peace—a place where you could rest until the end of time. Joel’s voice sounded far away as he called your name, his hand cupping your cheek to see you give in.

Your body jolted, heart racing and breaths labored, as you came to after who knows how long. The pain was a dull thrum in your body yet it was still a bitch to move. But it was the arm that tightly went around your waist that kept you still. Joel was wrapped around you, his face pressed into your neck and legs tangled with yours. You felt the warmth of his palm resting on your stomach when you moved, but the sharp sting of pain stopped you.

Something was tightly tied around your waist, keeping what you assumed to be a piece of fabric pressed against your wound. The pressure felt awkward, but it kept you alive. You weren’t sure how long you were out for, but you could see that night had passed, giving way to dawn. Joel’s chest rose and fell against your back as he slept, the soft snores he let out telling you that he needed more sleep than you did right now.

Though you could only imagine what he went through, nearly losing you must have put him through an entirely different kind of hell. You remember his face last night. Stricken with a type of grief you would never know in your life—the type that left a person broken beyond repair. Whatever he’d been through before he came across you turned him into that man. The survivor who wasn’t truly alive.

Turning slowly, you held back your grunt of pain as your wound screamed from the effort. Surprisingly, his face was peaceful. His eyelids fluttered every now and then, breaths remaining even, and you allowed yourself a moment to simply admire him. You had seen him like this before, sitting in the dark as you took watch. But this felt like more.

Shifting closer, his breath washed across your nose, the tickling sensation of his mustache against your upper lip nearly made you smile. You didn’t dare move any closer, keeping your lips a hair's breadth away from his—too afraid of waking him up. And there you remained. Watching him dream about something far away from this empty house. You hoped it was a good dream; one that gave him the solace you couldn’t.

He shifted, his arm tightening slightly around your waist and you felt what was left of your heart crack down the center. It was unfair that you met him now. In the middle of hell. You liked to imagine—if the world stayed the same as it was before—that one day you might have met him if you visited Texas. Or if he visited Boston. Perhaps you would have run into each other like you had now, found a friendship, and then when the time was right, you would have kissed.

Only that’s not how life went and instead you were left to watch him sleep, wishing you never kissed him in the first place. Now that you knew what it felt like—you weren’t sure how you could ever give him up. How could you say goodbye when he owned whatever remained of your heart—your hope?

The rising sun began to shine through the severed windows, glinting off the edges of cracked glass, but you refused to move. After so long searching, you finally found your purpose, and you’d protect him with every broken piece of strength you had left. Until you took your last breath.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller #the last of us fic #my writing

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roanofarcc · 8 months ago

Text

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE → ONE WEIRD NIGHT

summary: steve harrington x oc

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. || masterlist

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

In the passenger seat of an old, beat-up car, Calum Miller drummed his fingers against his chin in thought. He was unable to let anything go or be; his mind was a tangled web of suspicion that his hometown wasn’t what everyone believed, and he was almost desperate to prove it.

“You know, maybe the whole Pennhurst idea wasn’t too far-fetched. It’s possible Danielle and even Will ended up there somehow,” he thought aloud. The whole story surrounding Danielle Torres drove him mad. No printed article or half-assed story the long-lost teen uttered convinced Calum that there wasn’t more to the story. He had done his research and in nearly every kidnapping case, it was unlikely the victim survived a week, let alone ten years. Someone- Danielle, her family, the Hawkins P.D., and probably others- was coving something up. They didn’t want the public to know something and Calum wanted to know what. He also wanted to know- no, he needed to know- if it had anything to do with his dad.

“Jesus Christ,” Tamera huffed.

“Are you really still upset about the tutoring thing? I know we blew it, but we can think of something else-”

A dry, humorless laugh sounded from Tamera, and her eyes remained glued to the road. “No, you idiot. I’m not mad you blew the tutoring idea. I didn’t even want to do that! I’m mad that you basically accosted Danielle. She hasn’t come around the library in days,” she said. “I liked talking to her. She’s nice and sweet, and you scared her off! Now I’m gonna be lucky if she ever talks to me again.”

Calum frowned. He didn’t understand why she didn’t see how weird things were with Danielle’s story. Sure, she seemed nice and all, he wasn’t doubting that, but something wasn’t right about her or how she found her way back to Hawkins.

“Come on, Mara-”

She cut him off with a quick glare. “No. Just let it go, please.”

Once again, the friends found themselves trapped in the same loop of a conversation they’d been having for weeks. Calum had thrown almost all of his focus into scraping together clues that would lead him to his dad, and Tamera had helped him where she could. But with the dead ends they kept meeting and then Calum’s questioning of Danielle, Tamera was getting visibly annoyed with him.

Maybe he was being annoying about it, but he needed to find his dad and fix things. He needed his mom to stop drinking herself into a coma each night because of her husband’s absence. The only thing he had was that Danielle Tores returned the same week his dad and Will Byers went missing. Will returned but his dad didn’t.

With a sigh, Calum ran a hand through his blond hair and pressed the issue further. “I told you, Mara, I can’t let this go. My dad is out there somewhere, and I have to find him.”

She shook her head but didn’t ignore him; she wanted to convince him his efforts were misplaced and useless, but it wouldn’t work. Calum was too stubborn for anyone to convince him he was wrong. “There is nothing but that week connecting Danielle or Will or anyone to your dad. You have nothing besides those insane theories with no proof. You’re trying to turn nothing into something.” She paused and her anger melted into something of guilt before she continued, “Your dad is gone. He left, Cal. That’s all there is to it.”

Her words stung like a slap to the face, but he tried not to let them get under his skin. Tamera sounded like his mom. The woman had shut down every possibility of her husband being taken or vanishing. She insisted he left her, but her behavior told a different story. There were problems between his parents, mostly because his dad spent a lot of time away at work, but they loved each other. That could explain her unraveling in his absence, but something about the way she acted was wrong. She didn’t seem sad or heartbroken; she was relieved and enraged in the most confusing of ways. There was something he was missing; his parents were telling him something.

His mom didn’t make a livable wage as a hairdresser in downtown Hawkins. The job was more of a side hobby that she used to make some extra cash. It was Calum’s dad who was the breadwinner of the family. He didn’t know what his dad did, but it was some government number-crunching job that he never talked much about out of fear he’d bored his son to death. All Calum knew was that he brought in more than enough money to support them, but when he disappeared, Calum worried he and his mom would sink without the income. He picked up extra shifts at the arcade and got a second job at the movie theater in hopes of making ends meet.

Then, one night when he returned home late from work, he saw his mom dressed in the same clothes as the day before, not having been to work. Calum mustered up enough courage to ask her how they were going to support themselves without Dad’s money. She shrugged him off and told him not to worry about it and that it was “all taken care of.” That only made him more confused. How was it taken care of? Who were they getting the money from?

“My dad wasn’t a bad guy,” Calum said, keeping his tone level even though he was screaming on the inside. “There was no reason for him to leave like that. He didn’t take anything, and he didn’t say goodbye. There was nothing, he just vanished.”

If his dad was going to leave, he would have said something to Calum, that much he believed.

There was more that occurred that week that only heightened his suspicion that something odd was going on. “You know, that night he didn’t come home there were power outages all over town. Mr. Robinson said it had something to do with that power company in the woods, the one with the military out front.”

Tamera rolled her eyes. “Oh wow. The Department of Energy had trouble with the power in November. That obviously means aliens came down and abducted by aliens.”

“I’m being serious!” Calum snapped. Power outages had occurred more than a week than they had all year, according to the Hawkins Post. He knew it was a stretch, trying to connect a series of weird power outages to his dad’s disappearance, but he felt in his gut that there was something weird going on.

“Don’t you think it's a little strange that a bunch of vans from the Department of Energy were at Nancy Wheeler’s house?”

“What?” Tamera asked.

He explained to her what he saw. The Department of Energy was out and about that whole week; Calum recalled seeing their vans around town, but not once did he see anyone working on the powerlines. He was no electrician, but he knew that the Department of Energy vans never came around the summer prior when a wicked storm knocked the power out for three days in the dead of July. Men were out working on lines from dawn to dusk trying to get the power back. What was different that time? His curiosity and suspicion peaked when he saw a line of those vans outside Nancy Wheeler’s home.

Calum had cut through the neighborhood on his walk home from work. He needed to clear his head in the wake of his dad disappearing. When he reached the top of a hill that overlooked the other half of the neighborhood, he saw the collection of vans at the Wheeler’s home and the series of men and women, dressed in suits, carrying boxes out of the home. It made no sense to him. Who were those people and why were they at the Wheelers? But then he mulled it over and little connections were made. Nancy Wheeler was best friends with Barbara Holland who had also gone missing and never returned during that week. Her little brother was best friends with Will Byers. And her boyfriend, Steve Harrington was supposedly childhood best friends with Danielle Torres. It seemed to perfect to a coincidence.

Tamera a quiet for a long moment before she said, “That is… weird.” It was more than that, but he was happy with her not telling him to give up his pursuits.

“That’s not all, either. I skipped school two days ago because I didn’t want to play basketball in gym-”

“Which is ridiculous, by the way,” Tamera said. “But continue.”

“I ran to the store and when I was talking home, I saw Nancy and Jonathan Byers together. They came out of Radio Shack with a bag full of stuff.” The pair was odd, but Calum had seen them together more since the start of the school year. “I couldn’t get close enough to hear most of their conversation, but I swear I heard them mention Barbra Holland.”

Tamera looked unconvinced. “Barb and Nancy were friends. I’m sure she talks about Barb.”

“I guess, but did you know Nancy and Steve eat dinner with the Holland once a month? I bet they also think Barb’s still somewhere out there just like her parents do. The Hollands are selling their house to pay for a private investigator.”

“How do you know all of this?”

Calum’s mother was still on the fritz, but she had resumed working at the salon, just not as frequently as she had before his dad vanished. Calum helped around the place when he caught a break from work. If there was one place someone could get any information they wanted, it was the hair salon. The mothers, aunts, daughters, and sisters of Hawkins liked to talk about everyone and everything.

“I have my sources,” Calum said, smoothly. “And those sources confirmed that they saw the private investigator the Hollands hired talking to Danielle more than once. If all of this shit isn’t connected, how do you explain that?”

“I don’t know.” She paused before glancing at him through slightly more sympathetic eyes. “Just don’t jump the gun on this, okay? I agree that all of that stuff is weird, but there’s still no proof it’s connected to your dad.” But it had to, Calum thought.

He wanted to make Tamera understand, somehow, but before he could get another word out, a car came barreling down the street toward them.

“Shit!” Tamera yelled as she jerked the wheel to the side and narrowly avoided the speeding car. Bright headlights flooded Calum’s vision and he let out a matching scream alongside Tamera. Their car veered slightly off the side of the road, the right wheels in the grass, as the other car passed, they continued racing down the road.

Calum clutched his chest, feeling like he just suffered a mini-heart attack. “Jesus Christ! Who the hell was that?” he asked.

Looking in the rearview mirror, Tamera narrowed her eyes under her large, wire-framed glasses. “I think that was the new kid’s car.”

“What an asshole.”

→←

Steve was dead, he had to be. Dead, but in a lot of pain, which didn’t make a lot of sense but even thinking was too painful. Every one of his muscles ached and his head felt too heavy for his body. His eyes were still closed when he tried to move, but it was as if he was crammed into a small space that wouldn’t allow his limbs to stretch. With a groan, he forced his eyes open despite the pounding in his head.

The world was a blur in front of him. He tried to rub his eyes and clear his vision, but someone grabbed his wrist. “No, don’t touch it.” Dustin’s voice filled his ears as the kid’s face came more into focus. “Hey buddy, it’s okay. You put up a good fight. He kicked your ass, but you put up a good fight.”

Oh, God. That was the only thought that flowed through Steve’s mind as the events of the night rushed back to him. The feeling of glass shattering over his head, the screams from the kids, and the taste of blood in his mouth all came back to him.

From right beside Steve, another familiar voice sounded. “Please slow down,” Sunshine groaned.

“Don’t throw up in here,” Mike replied, his head popping up on the other side of Dustin.

“Okay, you’re gonna keep straight for half a mile, then make a left on Mount. Sinai,” Lucas instructed from somewhere in front of Steve.

Steve had no idea where he was. All of the voices pounded against his skull and there was a weird feeling like he was moving. The last thing he remembered was blacking out in the Byers living room, but he was sure he wasn’t there anymore. Why did he feel like he was moving?

He tried to sit up, but he was in an uncomfortable and awkward position. There were too many people too close to him. All he could do was look forward and focus on figuring out what was going on. Then, it dawned on him that in front of him was the front seat of a car and he was indeed moving. Not only that but the car was being driven by a redhead who sat way too close to the steering wheel.

“What’s going on?” Steve started to panic.

“Relax,” Dustin said, in a lame attempt to ease Steve’s worry. “She’s driven before.”

Mike scoffed. “Yeah, in a parking lot.”

“That counts,” said Lucas.

On the furthest side of the backseat, pressed up against the door with his hands shoved in his pockets and his hoodie pulled up over his head, Luke shook his head. “No, it definitely does not.”

Ignoring them, Dustin looked down at Steve with an expression that looked slightly guilty. “They were going to leave you behind, but I promised that you’d be cool, okay?”

It certainly was not okay; Steve was in a car being driven by a child. “What is happening?” Steve’s words came out a little slurred. He tried to sit up again as he repeated, “No, no, no.” But a small yelp sounded from his other side as his elbow hit something that was not the door.

“Ow! Steve, stop moving.” Turning his head, Steve noticed that Sunshine was wedged between the door and him. His elbow was jammed into his ribs and her arm was wrapped around his shoulder, holding an ice pack to his cheek that he hadn’t even noticed until that moment. The side of his face felt numb but the panic inside of his was red hot as he peered past Sunshine and out the window to see Hawkins fly by.

“No! Stop the car! Slow down!” he yelled.

“I told you he’d freak out,” Mike huffed.

From the driver’s seat, Max yelled, “Everybody, shut up! I’m trying to focus!”

“Oh, wait, that’s Mount. Siani,” Lucas said, looking between the map in his hands and the road. Max shot him a confused look before he frantically pointed to the quickly approaching turn. “Make a left! Make a left, now!”

Max muttered a string of curse words and yanked the steering wheel as hard as she could to make a sharp left turn. Everyone in the car screamed as a mailbox bounced off the hood of the car and flew over them before landing in the dust the car kicked up from its veer off the road.

The rest of the trip was a blur. Steve was squished in the backseat and his ears rang from his blow to the head the yelling that filled the car. Somewhere along the way, they nearly collided with another car that was unlucky enough to be on the road at the same time as them and Max nearly drove them all into a ditch.

Steve squeezed his eyes closed and held onto Sunshine’s arm for dear life as he silently prayed for their trip to be over. It felt like an eternity later, but eventually, Max pulled into an empty field and slammed down on the break. The car lurched forward to a sudden stop, and as everyone fell back against their seat, a collective sigh of relief rang out.

“Incredible,” Mike said, breaking the silence with a look of bewilderment and awe in his eyes.

Max pulled the keys from the ignition and tossed a look to the backseat. “I told you. Zoomer.”

Steve didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, and he didn’t care. He needed out of the car before he hurled.

Everyone was on the same page and made quick work of getting out. Sunshine pushed open the door and nearly tumbled out of the car before she leaned heavily against the side of it.

Steve rubbed his throbbing temples, but his effort to collect himself was cut short as the kids all started pulling supplies out of the trunk and placed them near a gaping hole in the ground.

“Guys,” he said, trying to get their attention. “What do you think you’re doing?” His words were still a little slurred and he had to hold onto the car door to keep himself upright.

“Steve,” Sunshine sighed, but Steve couldn’t stop his anger from bubbling up at the kids as they continued to move and ignore him.

“What are you, deaf? Hello! We’re not going down there! I made myself clear!”

A hand grabbed his shoulder and forced his attention. Sunshine peered up at him. He couldn’t see much in the darkness of the field, but it didn’t make much to notice the tiredness that adorned her features. Her brows were furrowed and there was blood smeared against her skin; Steve wondered how they kept finding themselves in those kinds of situations, blooded and bruised and exhausted.

“I thought we were on the same page?” he said, exasperatedly tossing his hands up in the air, causing her to lose her hold on his coat and step backward. “This is insane and dangerous!” He didn’t intend for his voice to come out as loud as it did, and it was more pointed at the kids than Sunshine, but she still flinched. A wave of guilt instantly ran through him. He closed his eyes once more and willed the world to stop spinning so fast.

“Steve, you’re upset, I get it,” Dustin said, approaching the two teens. Steve rubbed his eyes once more and settled his gaze on the kid who held Steve’s backpack and bat. Dustin wore a pair of swimming goggles and a bandana tied around his neck; he looked ridiculous. “The bottom line is, a party member requires assistance and it’s duty to provide that assistance.”

Steve hated how loyal the kids were to each other; he’d never seen a group of friends so utterly devoted to one another, and if they weren’t standing at the edge of a hole that led into another nightmare or if Steve hadn’t just gotten the shit beat out of him, he’d probably think it was sweet.

“Now,” Dustin continued, holding out Steve’s backpack toward him. “I know you guys promised you’d keep us safe. So, keep us safe down there.”

Steve turned and looked at Sunshine, who was already looking at him. She brushed her frizzy hair behind her ears and wiped the dried blood from under her nose. “They’re going to do this with or without us.” Steve knew she was right, and he knew Hopper and Joyce were going to kill them.

“Fine,” he said and grabbed his backpack. “Let’s go.”

Tag list. @sattlersquarry , @echoing-oursong , @leptitlu

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x oc #steve harrington x original character #steve harrington x reader #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #dustin henderson #stranger things 2 #project sunshine

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yoongisleftshoulder · 2 years ago

Text

BTS Reacts: Their S/O is Injured in An Accident

A/N: This is longer than my usual reactions so I apologize in advance lol. Some of these are heavier than others.

TW: As the title suggests, some of these depict injuries such as car accidents, surgeries, random accidents, etc.

SEOKJIN:

Jin and the other members had been in the studio recording vocals for hours before they began getting ready to leave. Jin picked up the last of his belongings, making his way to the door, shutting off the lights behind him. Just as he stepped outside, he unlocked his phone to see what you had texted him throughout the day, used to you giving him little updates about your day. Instead, his heart sunk when he saw thirty-seven missed calls and texts from some of your co-workers and friends. In a panic, he tried calling your cellphone. No answer. Second time, no answer. Third time.....your mother picked up. Before he could even speak, your mother was in histarics describing how a large light fixture had broken while you were at work and fallen right on top of you, knocking you out immediately and injuring you enough to require surgery. Jin had never ran so fast in his life. He practically dropped his phone as he shoved it into his pocket and ran to his car, giving the boys a hurried response of "emergency" before driving off to the hospital. When he arrived, he rushed to the receptionist and demanded to know where you were. She informed him that you were just coming out of surgery and he could see you within the next few hours. The time waiting was brutal and every second seemed like days. Finally, the time to visit you came. He sped walked up to your room, a sigh of relief escaping when you were awake and conscious, turning your head to look at him right away. Jin went to embrace you but stopped, nervous that he would hurt you more. You used your arm that wasn't fractured to pull him in for a kiss, telling him that you were happy he was there for you. The love of your life assured you that there was nothing that would make him leave you until you were better.

YOONGI:

The sight before Yoongi was something he only ever saw in his nightmares. He never in a million years thought this could be real. You were in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and IVs in a deep slumber. Right then and there he knew the image and the phone call he received about a vehicle running a red light and colliding with your body at a crosswalk would haunt him for the rest of his life. Two weeks had passed and you still had not woken up. You hadn't gotten better and you hadn't gotten worse. You were in a stagnant state and the idea of the possibility that you could remain this way forever terrified him. Yoongi talked to you every single day, telling you about whatever was on his mind and how much he missed you. He wasn't even sure if you could hear him but he didn't care. Another week had passed when a doctor finally told him there had been an increase in brain activity, upping your chance of waking up. This gave him more hope and he never left your side, even recruiting the other members to bring him food and other items if he needed them so he didn't have to leave the room. He even used the bathroom that was attached to your room, rather than using one outside in the hallway. One night, around 2am, he was holding your hand, telling you about a song idea he thought of. During his one-sided conversation, he felt a light squeeze. His eyes shot up to your face, examining you closely, wondering if he had gotten to the point where he was imagining things. After a moment of watching, your eyes finally fluttered open slowly. Yoongi called out your name as if you were far away. Your eyebrows furrowed together, trying to focus on his face, vision blurry.

"Y....Yoongi?" Your hoarse voice spoke.

"God, you're finally awake!"

Yoongi lightly cupped your face with his hands, leaving a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Don't you ever do that to me again. I thought I lost you."

"I love you, Yoongi. I could hear you a lot of the time, you know."

Yoongi smiled. "I love you too, sweetheart."

HOSEOK:

This was quite possibly the worst time you could have been in another country visiting a friend. While you were with your friend, having the time of your life catching up, the two of you decided to visit her uncle's farm and ride horses. Her uncle wasn't home but gave your friend the okay to stop by and ride anyway, knowing that she was experienced with such a thing. Your friend picked out her favorite horse of the bunch while you looked through the stables at your options. A beautiful black, shiny-coated horse caught your eye. With the help of your friend, you saddled up and the two of you rode slowly out of the stables. It became quickly apparent that the horse you had chose was a bit temperamental. Unbeknownst to either of you, this horse was a newbie to the farm and wasn't fully trained regarding his behavior yet. A few minutes into the ride, your horse bucked harshly and raised his front body into the air before crashing back down and falling right on top of you. Your friend immediately called emergency services. You were rushed to the hospital and into emergency surgery. At this point, your friend finally decided to call Hoseok and fill him in. All of the other members were gathered around Hoseok, who placed the phone on speaker so everyone could hear what happened and how surgery was going. The idea that he was in Korea while you were in another country severly injured terrified him. What if he lost you and he wasn't there? The boys did their best to console Hoseok through his tears and panic but they knew they could only do so much. As soon as he could, he booked a flight to where you were. Once he finally arrived and bolted to the hospital, he was directed to your room. A huge wave of relief washed over him when he saw you awake, sitting up and snacking on a small container of jello. You tried to lean forward a bit to meet him halfway but he stopped you, afraid you would hurt yourself. As gently as he could, he embraced you and the touch of your skin made tears fall from his eyes immediately.

NAMJOON:

Car crash. Car crash. The words repeatedly played in his head after he received a phone call he never thought he would get. He had nightmares of things like this happening to you but never in a million years did he think it could be real. Nothing could have prepared him for the moment it became a reality. Jin had to drive him to the hospital being in no condition to be making critical decisions. They both walked right up to reception and explained who they were. The receptionist focused her gaze onto Namjoon upon learning he was your boyfriend, telling him that a driver who made the mistake of paying more attention to their phone than the road had run a red light and slammed directly into your car. Namjoon couldn't help but feel a bubbling anger building within him. If it wasn't for the unknown state of your life, the emotion may have taken over and driven his actions. He pushed the anger to the back of his mind, letting the need to know how badly you were hurt or if you would even survive move his feet. The light in the room you were supposed to be in was shining bright, not a sound coming from inside. The eerily quiet area filled Namjoon with dread, making him wonder if you had to be rushed for some type of emergency surgery. He inhaled a deep breath and stepped into the room and what he saw was not what he was expecting. There you were, lying in the hospital bed....sipping on an orange juice with a magazine on your lap. Your boyfriend wordlessly rushed over to you but stopped when he eyed the cast on your arm, accompanied by a few scrapes and bruises littered across your upper body. He sat down in a chair next to your bed, your free hand reaching for his.

"Joonie? You okay?"

His wide eyes jumped from bruise to bruise, scanning your injured arm.

"You're asking if I'm okay? Baby, look where we are right now."

A moment of silence filled the room before you broke it with laughter. Namjoon watched you nervously but felt a sense of relief when he heard the sound. This told him that you were banged up, sure, but you would ultimately recover. The nightmare was over.

JIMIN:

Jimin was never a fan of the idea of you taking up boxing as a new hobby but he would never tell you that you weren't allowed to do something. He expressed his concerns and never hid the fact that he was worried every time you had a fight set up but all in all, your boyfriend was supporting your every move. Most of the time, however, he wouldn't physically go to your scheduled fights. Sure, he took care of you and cheered for you afterwards, but he couldn't bring himself to watch you getting hurt with his own eyes. One night, he was waiting at home waiting for your manager to bring you back after an event. You were running late, which wasn't necessarily unheard of but for some reason, Jimin had a bad feeling sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach. He picked up his cellphone and called you, your manager picking up instead, sounding somewhat frantic. Your opponent had played dirty and pulled a few illegal moves during the fight, causing you to slam your head down onto the ring flooring incredibly hard, knocking you out immediately. People got knocked unconscious all of the time in boxing but this time was different. You weren't getting back up. An ambulance was called and you were rushed to the hospital. Hoseok drove Jimin there as fast as he possibly could. He insisted on seeing you right away but was told that he had to wait. For almost two hours, he mindlessly paced back and forth through the waiting room, often realizing tears had been running down his cheeks. After an agonizing wait, his ears began ringing when your doctors explained to him your current state. Comatose. You were in a coma. When your head agressively slammed down onto the ground, it caused swelling in your brain bad enough to put pressure on your brain stem. Jimin couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was it even real or was this some sort of hyper-realistic nightmare? Would you ever wake up? If you did, would you have memory loss? What if....what if you forgot about him and your life together. All of these questions were overwhelming him to no end. His head was spinning, he felt sick to his stomach, and his mouth felt drier than a desert. Hoseok directed him to sit down and tried talking him through it the best he could. All they could do was wait.

TAEHYUNG:

Taehyung felt guilty over it but he was angry. Angry that you would be so careless to slip and fall while swimming in a pool with your friends, smacking your skull off of the hard tile siding. Angry that your friends took way too long to realize you were unconscious and bleeding underwater. Angry....that he had bailed on going with you, instead choosing to eat a home cooked dinner with the other members. The idea that he would have been there to catch you and you never would have fallen in the first place if he had just stuck to your plans ate away at him as you lied motionless in the hospital bed. You almost drowned and died, and he wasn't there. Days and nights passed and you still had not woken up from your head injury. There was barely a moment when Taehyung left your side, only leaving to use the bathroom. He didn't even leave for food or drinks, the boys took turns bringing him a days worth of meals each day. Sleeping on a hard plastic chair for a while was uncomfortable but he didn't care. He was terrified that the second he left your side, something would happen and you would be gone forever.

Suddenly, one night, he managed to sleep longer than an hour and was leaning his head over towards yours, his hand locked onto yours tight. Your eyes struggled to open but something was encouraging you to keep trying. The soft, subtle sound of your boyfriend snoring in his slumber. You fought the heaviness of your eyelids, prying them open and focusing your gaze onto his resting face. His undereyes were dark and baggy, his hair scraggly, and stubble showed slightly on his chin. Your mind slowly started coming back to you, remembering what happened and fully processing that Taehyung was next to you, seeming to have never left your side. How long had you been out?

"T.....Tae..." Your aching throat made your voice come out hoarse.

As if you had screamed out his name, Taehyung's eyes sprung open. His head moved back slightly to get a better look at your face, making sure he wasn't dreaming. When he saw you staring back at him with a soft smile, he practically jumped out of his seat. He called for a nurse to come check on you now that you were awake and apparently speaking. As the nurse ran bloodwork and checked over your new state of consciousness, Tae turned his body to hold your hand, his other running through your hair, every so often placing light kisses on your temple.

JUNGKOOK:

From the moment Jungkook arrived at the hospital, his eyes were glued to your frame. They were as wide as you had ever seen them. He was looking at you almost as if you were some type of alien.

"Jungkook....it's just stitches and a fractured ankle, I'll be fine." You giggled, watching his mouth fall open, seemingly dumbfounded.

An agressive dog had gotten away from its owner, finding you walking down the sidewalk, latching its teeth into your leg and causing you to trip down a curb and bend your ankle in a way it should not have been bent. Jungkook was acting like you had been shot and were actively dying in front of him.

"You don't need to be so worried, you know." You continued.

"Don't need to be worried? I was in the middle of a live when Jimin called me saying you broke something and were attacked! How could I have not been worried from that? And why did Jimin know before me??" Jungkook rattled off.

Jungkook's eyebrows furrowed when you responded to his concerns with laughter. "What??"

"I'm alive and will be fine. They're discharging me tomorrow. It's not a big deal, Kookie. And Jimin was showing me the dinner he had just made on videochat so he kind of saw it happen."

Jungkook released a deep sigh, saying nothing. Both of his large hands cradled yours and his eyes softened, relaxing from their previously wide state.

"Next time you go out on a walk, I'm going with you."

You yet again chuckled, amused by the fact that he wasn't asking.

"Whatever you say, Kookie."

#bts #bts reactions #jin #yoongi #jhope #namjoon #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook

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in-need-of-gally-content · 6 months ago

Text

|Chapter•Thirty•Seven|

•|Masterlist|•

A heavy sigh escaped past (M/n)'s lips as he sat down on the small balcony of his treehouse, his feet dangling off the edge as he hadn't put the ladder down yet.

After finally falling asleep, a nightmare woke him up. He wasn't sure what it was about, all he could gather from it was the way his body felt. He was shivering, covered in goosebumps, sweating and with an intense feeling of fright.

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't go back to sleep, not after that. So he decided to simply wait until everyone else started waking up, there was stuff bothering him and he wanted to think about it. Besides, Gally and he still had a pending conversation from the day before.

Time passed as he remained sat on the balcony, staring off into the distance, and maybe an hour or two went by when he heard his name being called.

"(M/n)," he looked down and saw Gally standing there, looking up at him with a concerned look in his eyes, "Are you alright?"

There was no point in denying it, Gally wasn't blind, he could see he wasn't alright but he was still asking, just to make sure he wasn't being too invasive. (M/n) shook his head and stood up, "I had a nightmare."

"Again?" (M/n) grabbed the ladder and started lowering it to the ground, thanking Gally for helping him.

"Yeah... But I don't remember what it was," he signalled with his head at Gally to come up the stairs, which he did. (M/n) waited until they were both up on the balcony before sitting on the floor again, leaving space for Gally to sit next to him.

Neither of them said anything, and the silence had become slightly tense, but not uncomfortable, they were both thinking about what they should say during this situation.

"So..." (M/n) started, mumbling as he fiddled with his fingers, "That's Thomas, eh?"

Gally turned to look at him, and slowly nodded, "Seems like it, bean."

(M/n) let out a humourless chuckle as he shook his head in disbelief, almost finding the situation comical, "Well, that only makes things more confusing, and makes no shucking sense."

"Certainly does."

Everything went quiet again, the faint sound of the rest of the guys waking up was the only thing they could hear, well, that, and Bark's quiet snores, but it worked to get (M/n) lost in thought again.

"What do you... Remember about him?" Gally asked him after some time of debating, there was a possibility that (M/n) just remembered his name and nothing else about the greenie, but he wanted to know.

(M/n) thought about the question for a moment, before turning to look at the blond, he was playing with his fingers the same way he had just a little bit ago, his head tilted down and his jaw clenching every couple of seconds.

"He was... Determined to hurt you, and I don't know why, big guy," Gally scoffed with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.

"Then we have the same memories of him," (M/n) reached his hand out and slowly rubbed Gally's shoulder, "I always wondered what some of my scars were from, I simply figured I was an active kid, once upon a time..."

For a moment, he wondered which scars Gally was referring to as he hadn't really noticed that many on him anyway, and the ones that he noticed were from working as a Builder. However, he wasn't sure if he should ask.

"So... What do we do now?" He slouched over, placing his elbows on his legs and interlocking his hands together, wearing a subtle frown as he looked at Gally.

"We keep him in check, it's the only thing we can do," Gally said as he looked up and held eye contact with (M/n).

He nodded in agreement, even though he felt like there was something he could do besides watching over Thomas and his behaviour, he just didn't know what they could do about everything, even less in a situation like the one they were in.

"Well... I'm starving," Gally announced as he began making his way down the ladder, and (M/n) chuckled as he followed after.

"I could definitely use a cup of coffee this morning."

Breakfast was spent at the same table as always, talking and joking around with their friends while (M/n) sipped on his coffee.

At some point, just a few minutes after sitting down, (M/n) spotted the greenie when he walked into the dining area with his bowl of food, looking around like a lost puppy trying to find a place to sit and in the end, he sat down in a table with Newt, Alby, Chuck and a couple of other guys.

(M/n) continued talking with his friends the entire time he was there, but he could feel this heavy stare on him at all times, and the one time he looked around to try and figure out who the shuck was staring at him so intensely, he found out... It was Thomas.

//////

It was a while after lunch when Thomas spotted (M/n) in the distance. He saw him talking with Chuck, helping him with hanging the laundry and folding the dry and washed clothes.

Thomas glanced back at Newt and Zart while he continued working the gardens with them. He fidgeted in place as he continued staring off into the distance, at (M/n), watching how he smiled brightly and laughed, even though he couldn't exactly hear him, it was like... He had heard it many, many times before.

He felt the skin of his arms get covered in goosebumps as the feeling of emptiness inside him began to fade away, and something in his mind kept bothering him, telling him to go talk to (M/n).

Shifting his weight from one leg to another, he took a step forward, "Be right back..." He muttered before walking away.

"Greenie-!" Newt tried to call him over and probably go after him, but the sudden movement as he stood up, made a sharp pain shoot through his leg, causing him to hiss and catching Zart's attention.

"You okay, Newt?" He simply nodded with a frown and went back to work, "You sure? Maybe you should rest."

"Zart," he spoke rather sharply, and the Keeper stared at him, slightly caught off guard, "I'm fine, alright? Let's get back to work."

Zart nodded and did as told while Newt kept staring at Thomas' back, shaking his head before turning back to continue working.

"Hey," (M/n) stopped walking and turned around, coming face to face with the greenie- Thomas. He stopped right in front of him, maybe just too close, making (M/n) take a half-step back, which didn't go unnoticed by the brunet male, "Do we know each other?"

The start of their conversation was pretty straight forward and his stoic expression didn't waver, so (M/n) tried his best to remain composed and unaffected by his question.

"I don't think so, greenie," with his short and cold answer, (M/n) began turning around to leave, but Thomas didn't like that answer, his answer didn't feel honest, it was more like a lie, even though he had no way to prove it other than his gut feeling.

"Can you not call me 'greenie'?" He hoped that his words would work as a way to let (M/n) he didn't mean harm, which he didn't, actually.

"Shuckface then," even if he had no idea what that word even meant, he had a hunch of what it was and that made him sigh at (M/n)'s immediate answer, lifting his arms in defeat.

"You don't like me, do you?" Thomas noticed the subtle smug grin appear on (M/n)'s face.

"How perceptive," he replied mockingly and Thomas frowned, fidgeting in place and briefly glancing down at the ground.

"Have I done something to you?" (M/n) held his breath as he inhaled and bit the tip of his tongue before slowly releasing the air.

You've done plenty... To Gally...

He managed to not mutter those words out loud since it would only bring more problems around, mentioning his dreams to the greenie probably wouldn't be the wisest choice, it would freak him out and make himself look stupid or crazy.

So maybe this was the time to just leave and go back to work, "Why don't you just mind your business, shank? You have a job to do," he tilted his head back and signalled toward the gardens, where Newt kept sparing glances at them.

He took a step back, eager to be done with their conversation, or more like interrogation really, and stay away from Thomas.

"Hey, I just wanna be your friend," Thomas held his wrist, making (M/n) stop and lean away from him, clenching his jaw as he contemplated pushing him away, "Maybe you should get to know before deciding you hate me, (M/n)."

Oh... He did not like the way Thomas said his name... It made shivers run down as his spine and his whole body tense, but he didn't let himself show just how affected he was by something so insignificant as his name being said.

"I don't need to know anything about you, Thomas," and with that, he pulled himself away from the greenie's hold and turned around, walking back to his friends.

///////

A while after spending time with the Builders, roughly ten minutes later (M/n) went in the Deadheads. He didn't really have a reason for it, he just wanted to walk around for a bit, mostly to think about things, specifically to think about Thomas, and that's what he was doing.

He walked for a short while, when he heard a stick cracking under someone's weight, and judging by the distance, it wasn't under his boot, so he looked up toward the sound.

It was a Runner, judging by his vest gear, tall and blond, short hair...

"Ben?" He called out his name, slightly unsure if it was actually him, and (M/n) watched as he moved his head to the side, slowly looking over his shoulder, directly into his (e/c) eyes.

Something felt wrong about him and he realized how sickly his complexion looked the moment the Runner turned around and took a step toward him, the sunlight coming through the leaves landing on him, giving (M/n) more visual detail of what was going with him.

His skin was pale, really pale, he almost looked dead with how grey his skin seemed to have turned. His lips were a mix of purple and black, he was shaking aggressively and sweating profusely.

Even if his state scared him just a little bit, Ben was a Glader, a brother, and he needed help, so taking him to Clint and Jeff was the logical thing to do in this situation.

"Are you okay?" He tried to take a step toward the blond, worried about him, but Ben, without uttering a single word, ran at him. (M/n) was startled and caught off guard, but Ben's arms were wrapped around his shoulders before he could run away.

He struggled against his hold for a moment, scared out of his mind and not really registering Ben's incoherent babbling, however, he kept repeating words, eventually making more sense as he said them over and over again.

"You found us- you did- you're finally here-," (M/n) frowned as his struggling came to a stop, trying to understand what Ben was saying, "Why are you here?- we'll leave- you shouldn't be here-" and repeat, putting bits and pieces together but not really understanding what he wanted to say, as if he couldn't stay focus on one sentence at a time.

"(M/n)?" He looked over Ben's shoulder, and spotted the greenie, and at the sound of his voice, the blond male completely froze in place for a second before slowly starting to turn around, his demeanour drastically changing as he stared at Thomas, who didn't seem to notice dangerous aura around the Runner, "Oh! You're Ben, right? I don't know if we've-" Thomas took a step forward, and Ben's breathing started to pick up as it got more laboured and quiet growls could be heard coming from him, "Hey, are you okay?"

"Greenie, I don't think-," Before (M/n) could get more than a few words out, Ben ran at Thomas and threw himself on him as he had caught them off guard, "Ben!"

(M/n) rushed to help the greenie as he struggled to get Ben off of him, which didn't really work. He tried pulling the blond off of Thomas, which wasn't really working either.

"Is your fault, you did this, I saw you," his voice was rather quiet, hard for them to hear, "I saw you!" His grip around Thomas' wrists tightened, as his fingernails dug into the skin of his arms, making him scream out in pain.

"Ben...!" (M/n) called out his name as he tried to hold him down, but he seemed to have unnatural strength, and when (M/n) saw him holding his hands around Thomas' throat, he knew he had to help the greenie now, "For shuck's sake..."

He wrapped his arm around Ben's neck, his bicep pressing against the blond's throat and he pulled back, successfully making Ben release Thomas as his grip weakened because of the lack of airflow, and the greenie stumbled out from under them and tripped a couple of times as he began running away.

Ben continued struggling against the hold around his neck, the lack of oxygen made it hard to break free as he wasn't strong enough to pry (M/n)'s arm off of him, and piercing his skin open like he had done with Thomas wasn't working, if anything, he was holding him tighter.

So he had no other option.

"Sorry, (M/n)..." He muttered a second before swinging his head back, and hitting (M/n) as hard as he could, finally making the (h/c) haired male release him and stumble back.

Ben took his chance and started running after Thomas, knowing he was fast enough to catch up to him.

(M/n) fell back on the dirt but managed to hold himself up with his hands, sitting on the ground as his vision moved around and turned blurry. That hit was definitely a hard one. He was disoriented and slightly nauseous as everything spun around without his consent.

He crawled forward for a short while, trying to make his brain understand that he was okay, and that the world wasn't spinning this fast, just enough for him to be able to stand up back on his feet.

He knew just how fast Ben was and while the greenie did seem pretty fast, he probably had low stamina, so he really had to get up and run after them, just to make sure that Ben wouldn't kill Thomas in less than twenty-four hours since his arrival.

Groaning and struggling, (M/n) pulled himself back up on his feet and closed his eyes tight for a moment before he decided to run after them.

"Shuck..." He cursed to the air as he placed one foot in front of the other, picking up the pace until he was running, the cool air hitting his face really helped with his dizziness so he continued and finally, he caught sight of them down a small hill. He slid down and chased after them.

"Help!" Thomas screamed for his life and Ben tackled him to the ground. He picked up the pace and threw himself onto Ben, rolling on the grass a few times before ending up on top of him, fighting to hold his arms down.

"Look at me...!" He tried telling him but the Runner refused to look his way, focused on Thomas who was still on the ground, coughing, "Ben, look at me!" His loud scream finally worked to catch his attention, and Ben's blue eyes landed on him, staring into his (e/c) eyes.

"(M/n), you're here- why are you- no, you shouldn't-," his babbling came back but he didn't get a chance to pay attention to any of it, he heard some of the guys running toward them and continuously asking 'what happened', which Thomas responded to.

"He just attacked me!"

(M/n) sighed and blinked slowly, feeling a headache making its way inside his skull, and when his eyes opened he noticed something.

There were... Blue, purple and black veins showed through Ben's pale skin on his neck, just barely peeking through the collar of his shirt.

"Gally, hold him down," he said without tearing his eyes away from Ben, and he released his arms as soon as Gally held them down by his head.

Without wasting time, (M/n) reached Ben's shirt and pulled it up, exposing a hole on his right side, his skin purple and surrounded by protruding black veins, growing more and more as they extended all across his body. Everyone around who had a clear vision gasped at what they were seeing.

"He's been stung... In the middle of the day?" Gally asked, looking up at Alby.

(M/n) did the same, wanting to ask if there was anything they could do to help Ben, and with that single movement, he showed everyone how blood dripped from his nose down his chin and neck, something he himself hadn't even noticed at all.

"Bean...!" Gally let go of Ben's arms to move closer to (M/n), and thankfully, Newt had quick enough reflexes to hold the Runner down instead.

"I'm fine, big guy," (M/n) mumbled at Gally as the Keeper tried to hold his face to check the damage done to his nose and if there was anything else.

"At least let the Med-jacks stop the bleeding, okay?" (M/n) stared at Gally, and sighed as he nodded, unable to refuse his petition, "Alright, come on," Gally proceeded to hold his hands and slowly helped him back up on his feet.

He stumbled a step back as he did and he closed his eyes as the dizziness came back, thankfully, he was able to hold himself onto Gally as the blond kept a secure hold on him.

"Okay, let's find you a place to sit," Gally helped him walk closer to the treeline, where the Med-jacks were already taking Thomas to treat his injuries, "Alby," he called the Leader, who stood in place with his arms crossed, a serious expression on his face as he watched the Gladers fight to hold Ben still.

"Take him to the pit," Ben started violently trashing around to fight everyone off of him, "Gally, help them," he wanted to refuse Alby's words, he didn't want to leave (M/n)'s side as he clearly wasn't alright, "I'll take care of (M/n). I promise."

(M/n) looked at Gally and showed him a small smile, "Go, I'll be fine," and with that, Gally nodded and waited until Alby got a hold of (M/n) before turning around to pick Ben off the ground.

"Med-jacks!" Newt called them over as they rushed to help.

"To the pit!" Gally exclaimed as they picked him up and began making their way to the Slammer.

"Here, let's sit down," Alby guided (M/n) to the log that worked as a bench, "They'll be back as soon as they make sure Ben won't hurt himself."

(M/n) sat down next to Thomas and spotted Chuck walking closer to them, sitting somewhere behind them and the familiar sound of wood carving reached his ears.

"I'll be back in a bit," Alby patted (M/n)'s shoulder and reached for something inside the pocket of his pants, "Here, use this."

(M/n) got handed a piece of fabric that probably worked as a handkerchief, "Thanks," he nodded and grabbed it, wiping away some of the fresh blood dripping down his face.

"Um... Thank you for... Helping me," (M/n) turned to look at Thomas and released a humourless chuckle.

"I wasn't gonna let him kill you, greenie."

//////

A while after, Jeff stopped by and began treating Thomas' injuries while Clint took care of (M/n), he cleaned the blood, made sure the scratches on his arm weren't too bad and brought him some frozen peas in a sealed package to help with the swelling of his nose, and thankfully, Clint assured him that there didn't seem to be signs of a commotion, which he was glad about.

"Thanks, C," the Keeper nodded and stood up, making his way to be on Thomas' left side while Jeff applied aloe vera to his wounds.

"That looks nasty," (M/n) smiled at Chuck's words and glanced toward Thomas, who had four open wounds on his wrist and forearm, caused by Ben's nails. He hadn't realized just how strong he held the greenie until now, those wounds were deeper than he expected.

"May have to amputate," Thomas turned to look at Clint, obviously having an internal panic at his words, but he simply laughed it off, and Jeff looked up at him with an unamused expression on his face.

"Hand me the bandage," Clint did as told and gave Jeff the bandage, "Don't worry, he always wants to amputate," he reassured the greenie as he covered the wounds with the bandage.

Clint noticed Alby approaching so he stood up and stepped aside, waiting for Jeff to be done, "How they're holding up, guys?"

"They're good, Alby," Jeff stood up as he finished and tapped Thomas' shoulder, "You'll be fine, just don't let it get infected."

Thomas nodded and they looked at (M/n), "And you, tell us if you feel anything change, alright? That was a hard hit."

"I will, guys." They nodded and left without saying anything else.

"You two okay?" Both of them nodded at different times and different velocities, but they did it anyway, "Yeah, it's a lot to take in, in your first week no less."

(M/n) closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, keeping the frozen peas pressed to his face, "So what happened to him?" He figured they were talking about Ben and his behaviour.

"It's called the Changing, it's what happens when you get stung," (M/n)'s eyes opened as he remembered the hole that made a scar on his leg. He got stung by a Griever and given the serum, that's how he got better so... Why hasn't Ben yet?

Maybe he should ask Alby later.

"What did he say to you?" (M/n) decided to pay attention to Thomas but closed his eyes once again. He does remember Ben mumbling something to Thomas before screaming out and turning more aggressive, and he wanted to know if the greenie had been able to understand what he had said to him.

Which apparently he did.

"He said he saw me... And that this is all my fault," wait... How did Ben...?

Could it be that Ben got his memories back after being stung? Like I did? Or... Was he really just not making sense?

"How can this be my fault?" For a second, he had to bite his tongue to hold himself back from saying anything he shouldn't, that would only cause more questions than give answers.

His reaction seemed to have caught Alby's attention, "Get some rest," he said and stood up.

"Alby," the Leader looked back at the greenie, "What's gonna happen to him?"

(M/n) saw Alby taking a deep breath in and sighing, "He'll be Banished at sundown," he turned back to continue on his way, and spoke up without even glancing back, "(M/n), come with me."

"On it," he muttered and found his way back on his feet, soon following after Alby in complete silence.

They walked for a short while and stopped by his treehouse, "Go change, you're covered in blood."

With a small chuckle, he nodded and made his way up the ladder, stopping by the balcony and looking down at Alby, "You wanna talk about Ben, don't you?"

He nodded once with his arms crossed over his chest, and (M/n) nodded back before heading inside.

//////

"He seemed happy to see me, as if... He hadn't seen me in forever, and..." He took a deep breath and fidgeted with his fingers, "He kept saying that now you could leave and that I shouldn't be here, and that I was finally here," he shrugged at Alby, Newt and Minho as they stared at him, "Everything was kind of contradictory, sorry guys."

"No it's okay, he got stung and you hit your head, things might be confusing for a while," Minho reassured him which actually worked and (M/n) watched as they remained quiet for a few seconds.

"We have to find out how Ben got stung," Newt added to the silence, breaking it and making everyone fidget in place.

"The only way he could've gotten stung was in the Maze," Alby replied as a frown appeared on his brow.

"I can go check it out tomorrow morning," Minho said after a few seconds went by.

"I can go with him, he shouldn't be going to the Maze alone," (M/n)'s words made the three of them look at him, and show a small smile on their faces.

"It's okay, (M/n)," Alby uttered with a sigh, "I was planning on going with Minho, I'm the Leader and it's my responsibility to find out what happened to Ben while he was in the Maze."

#gally x reader #gally x y/n #gally x male reader #the maze runner x male reader #the maze runner #the maze runner x reader #tmr gally #gally the maze runner #gally maze runner #ftm reader #trans reader #trans #will poulter #will poulter x reader #will poulter fanfiction

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peachymilkandcream · 4 months ago

Note

Part two of that samurai au please

Thirty Pieces of Silver Part 2|Levi x Evelyn AU

(A/N: Hope you enjoy and thank you for the request!)

WARNINGS: implied noncon/dubcon, big age difference, kidnapping, slavery, violence, power imbalance, implied somnophilia, forced pregnancies, mind breaking, yandere behaviour, yandere themes, etc.

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Hell. That was the only way it was possible to describe life being bound to a man like Levi. A life of hell and torture. There was no other way around it, the women who often clamored on the outskirts of his estate had no idea what kind of man they were pining after. He was no soft and war-hardened dream man, he was a monster.

Evelyn was used to serving a master who beat and starved her on the regular. But still, he never touched her. She was permitted to remain pure and innocent for the sake of some purpose that had been unknown until now. She was sold out, sold like no more than some cattle. Her days of her palms raw from scrubbing floors were gone, but replaced with them were nights of waking nightmares.

She had some dignity in serving, at the end of the day she could lie on her mat and know that she had tried her best to please and be useful. In this there was nothing but shame and disgust.

Promoted from slave to concubine was supposed to be an honor, that she was now recognized as a partially human, not solely an object. But with the differences in her and Levi's class a novelty like rights was not granted to her. No one would condemn what Levi did, no one would come to save her. She was entirely on her own.

What was little more than a sack for her clothing was now replaced with fine linens. All in white or pink, one to signify purity and the other youth, life, and happiness. How much of a joke that was. She was none of those things. To further slip the painful knife in Levi had gifted her a comb with a lotus on it, as if a taunt of what she no longer was.

All her days were spent in his chambers, she was there to warm his bed and offer comfort. Nothing more. No purpose to be bred without mercy to gain the satisfaction of the man who owned her. There was nothing more to her life, but this.

How she wished for more.

The slamming of sliding doors announced the return of the house's lord. It would only be a matter of time before he would enter and claim what he believed was rightfully his.

Something she always dreaded, all her pleas and begging resulted in the bruises her carefully applied makeup sought to cover. It wouldn't do to be visible damaged, that always sent him into the most unpredictable rages. The last time she had appeared before him with bruises he gave her plenty more, the next day he had a lady come and teach her how to properly apply it.

Levi wanted his woman to be the picture of feminine grace and beauty, he wanted her to symbolize everything a man could desire from a woman. All for his inflated ego, to feel that he had the best of everything and others would think the same.

His entrance to the chambers started and ended the same, a command. Foul language. Pain, and then warmth. There was no change, no difference in anything. It would never change, he would never change.

She was a dead girl walking. But that would end soon enough.

==============================================

A sedative in his tea was all it took. Levi had trouble sleeping, so teas with calming properties always sent him into a mercifully peaceful slumber. Evelyn only needed to steal into the kitchen when she was granted the liberty of leaving his rooms to bathe. The tea ready, she just slipped more than enough into the pot so that he would hopefully sleep more deeply and longer than normal. She would have a chance. Evelyn never thought about escape before now, but such dire circumstances required action.

Without hesitation or sensing that anything was amiss Levi consumed that which was offered to him. Staring at his prize even while his eyelids drooped, never leaving her until the even sound of breathing reached her ears and signified his sleep.

Quietly, Evelyn gathered her warmest clothes, bundled them on and stole down the maple tree. Taking care to be as silent as possible. The household was asleep at this hour, but who knows who could be prowling the grounds for just such an occasion as this.

Once on the ground, Evelyn cast one last glance at the room where her captor slept, vowing to never go back so long as she lived.

With that, she fled into the night.

#break me slowly #shingeki no kyojin #levi aot #yandere levi ackerman #levi x reader #yandere levi #yandere levi x reader #levi x oc #levi ackerman #attack on titan #samurai au

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jazzystudios82 · 4 months ago

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A crazy idea for a Diabolik Lovers fanfic

Idea: A Malignant AU ⚕️

WARNING: The film Malignant contains blood, intense gore, brief moments of domestic violence, miscarriage, mentions of past miscarriages, surgical procedures, brief mention of past SA, and death. Please keep this in mind if you decided to watch the movie.

So….a few days ago, I was browsing through YouTube and I came across a Dead Meat kill count video that was dedicated to this movie called “Malignant”, which came out not too long ago. I watched it, I got interested in it, and I proceeded to watch people’s videos on the movie because I did in fact like the movie that much.

For those who are curious about it and don’t care about spoilers, feel free to continue reading. For those who want to watch it completely blind, maybe leave this post first and come back to read this if you want.

In order to explain how I imagine how this’ll play out, I need to talk about the film’s plot, so yes, that means that I’ll go into detail about what happens.

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The movie follows a woman named Madison Mitchell, who loses her abusive husband in a breaking and entering, but interestingly, right before, Madison had a vision of her husband's gruesome death at the killer's hand, though she thought it was just a nightmare until she herself is attacked by the killer and is sent to the hospital. As the movie continues, Madison realizes that the visions she has of people's murders happen in real life, and that the murder victims and the killer are linked to her past, as the killer also has the name name as her old imaginary 'best friend', Gabriel. . . .

Alright, so here's where the movie's insane plot twist comes in: near the end, it is revealed that the film's antagonist, Gabriel, isn't Madison's imaginary friend: he is in actuality Madison's parasitic twin brother who was connected to her back since birth, and fed off of Madison to make himself stronger. Doctors who specialized in reconstructive surgery removed most of Gabriel's body from Madison to not only save her, but also because Gabriel had become too violent and powerful for them to control. However, since they couldn't remove Gabriel from Madison's brain without the risk of leaving her brain dead, they sealed him inside of Madison's cranium where he remained dormant for almost thirty years until Madison's husband hit her head against a wall. And as soon as he was free, Gabriel would take control of Madison's body so he could commit the murders.

And here's where my AU thing comes into play:

Before Yui was adopted by Seiji, she used to live in a small orphanage that would later be shutdown due to safety issues. She’d have a parasitic twin like Madison with Gabriel, but the doctors would remove parts of him when Yui was still a baby on the orders of Richter, who knows of the twin brother’s existence but wasn’t aware that he had powers and resurface much later.

When Yui arrives at the Sakamaki mansion, things still play out as they do in the series, but when one of the brothers gets too rough with Yui (probably one of the triplets) and she hits her head, her own “Gabriel” (his name will probably be something different) is awakened and attempts to get back at the brothers for harming Yui and him, even though they weren't aware of "Gabriel's" existence.

Naturally, Yui would be unaware of this until she gets visions of "Gabriel" attacking the brothers and almost killing them, or probably even succeeding in killing them one by one if this goes along with Malignant.

Honestly, I'm not sure if I'll even write this, maybe one day in the future, but for now I'm not certain. If this attracts attention and people want me to write it, then I'll probably give it a shot. Let me know if you're interested in reading something like this.

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(This GIFs kind of give off the same vibe)

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lou-struck · 1 year ago

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Dead After Deadlines

Rensuke Kunigami x reader

~ You stayed up all night working to make a deadline and is in dire need of a little TLC.

Wc: 1.2k

a/n: as always, even without any spice whatsoever this little oneshot is a timeskip! I just wanted to add this because I just started writing for Blue Lock!

Life has been far too hectic as of late; all of your commitments seem to be taking control of your life, giving you little to no time to work on a very important work project until recently.

These past few days, you have written, revised, and had mental breakdowns aplenty on your thirty paged presentation.

Through your bedroom window, the moon sneaks across the blanket of the night sky, and your coffee from earlier has long since we’re not off. But stopping for any reason would completely throw you off your groove.

Your eyes hurt from staring at your laptop screen for so long, and your fingers feel as if they are about to fall off, but you have to finish.

You have never wanted to finish something so badly in your life.

Still typing away, your eyes scan over the last paragraphs murmuring the lines out loud, trying to find any spelling errors or mistakes in grammar. It may just be your sleep-deprived mind or your desire to finally put an end to this black-and-white printed nightmare that has consumed your life, but finally, finally.

Everything looks perfect.

Your overheated mouse pad barely reacts when you scroll your finger over it, turning your document into a file and then downloading said file, and uploading it to your online workspace.

With a deep sigh somewhere between exhaustion and victory, you press ‘submit file’ The screen buffers painstakingly slowly, the dotted circle spinning around, and around, and around until pixelated bursts of confetti fill the screen, and you smile victoriously, only looking a tad bit psychotic.

You’re free.

You close your laptop much harder than necessary and slide it under your bed.

The lamp is too far away to switch off, so you stretch awkwardly, not wanting to leave the comfortable dip you have made in your mattress from sitting in one spot for hours and unplug the cord from the wall. The room goes dark as the remaining light from the bulb fades away.

The soft sound of your bedroom fan lulls you to sleep with a gentle breeze.

Through the veil of sleep, you feel something repeatedly hitting your forehead. The impact is nowhere near hard enough to hurt you, but it’s rather annoying.

Your brow furrows, and your turn away from the sensation. Too tired to realize that it’s not something that is hitting you, it’s someone, and they are flicking.

“Hey, come on. Get up.” a low voice says; familiar footsteps stop around to the other side of your bed to flick at your forehead again.

You’d recognize that voice anywhere, grabbing your pillow and covering your head with it for protection, ignoring your boyfriend, Rensuki Kunigami, entirely.

“You really do sleep like the dead,” your boyfriend huffs and flicks you on your exposed neck instead, the sound hollow. It doesn’t sting, but you wanted to tease your boyfriend just a bit.

“Oww,” you whine dramatically, turning over to look at him. He looks slightly sweaty but satisfied that he has gotten you to wake up. You can tell that he already had his early morning soccer practice today due to the dark turf stains on his knees.

“Back to the land of the living?” he asks gently, smoothing the pad of his thumb over where he had flicked you earlier as his form of an ‘I’m sorry.’

“Barely,” you groan, sitting up, “What time is it? I stayed up

“Just before noon,” he says, simply sitting down on the edge of the mattress. The old springs squeak and dip underneath his massive muscled physique, but he does not notice. “Since you have been so busy with that project, I haven’t been able to see you lately.”

“I haven’t really seen anyone,” you chuckle dryly, thinking back to your days of isolation and nonstop work. “I’ve missed you; how was practice?

At the mention of the sport, his eyes light up. “Practice was fine; I had to spend longer in the ice bath after since I went too hard.”

“Why, did you hurt yourself?” you ask, giving him a once over.

“No, just sore. I promise.” he smiles. “Anyways, I wanted to take you to lunch, but you weren’t picking up. I got worried, and I let myself in.

“Lunch?” You can hardly believe that you slept that long. You must’ve been working harder than you thought.

He chuckles at your confusion and ruffles your fresh from the pillow hairstyle you had going for you, surprisingly making it look a bit better. “I’ll be having lunch; you might have to settle for a late, late breakfast.”

The Idea of a spontaneous date sounds great, but you still are exhausted for the last few weeks. “I feel like I could sleep forever,” you mutter, reaching out to grab his arm and pull him down with you, but his strong physique doesn’t budge, and neither do you.

“Hey, careful now; I’d hate to spill these.” he chuckles, using his strength to pull you to a sitting position.

You look at him a bit confused until he pulls a drink carrier out from behind his back with his other hand. “You brought me a coffee?” You beam as if you had just won the lottery.

“I know you just finished that project and would probably appreciate some caffeine.” He smiles, handing you one of the ice-cold beverages.

You take a sip and enjoy the rich taste on your tongue. He got it just the way you like it; part of you is tempted to just down the whole thing in one gulp, but then you wouldn’t have it anymore.

“I needed this; thank you,” you sigh lovingly at your boyfriend between heavenly sips. Already you feel yourself waking up.

“You’re welcome,” he says, still looking at you expectantly. His lips are upturned in a smile as he waits for his favorite three words.

“You’re my hero,” you murmur before taking another sip.

“You bet I am,” he practically cheers, scooping you out of bed. You have a death grip on your coffee cup and little compostable straw sipping as he carries you away from the mattress where you have both rested and worked.

Come to think of it, you have basically been cooped up in your room for days…oops.

Your stomach growls the way his does after a match and you look at him sheepishly. "So... About that food?"

“Don't worry, I'm hungry too." he laughs into your shoulder. "Get changed so I can take you to get some food. I wouldn’t be much of a hero to you if I let you go hungry.”

#kunigami rensuke #rensuke kunigami #blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #Kunigami x reader #Rensuke kunigami x reader #x reader

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ariadnew · 9 months ago

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CTJL SYDNEY, FINALE: PART 2

At a bar table for three by an extravagantly large window thirty-two floors above Sydney’s Darling Harbour, a pair of figures settle upon the seating, uncork a bottle of champagne, and pour it.

They immediately get to arguing.

The first voice is warm, masculine, as clipped as the greens at Lords in London. Low and slightly husky, it bears barely perceptible notes of mirth, as though the speaker feigns a sang-froid greater than he feels.

The second voice is abrupt, feminine, unyielding as a locked door. Sharply American— east coast, but suggestions of time spent abroad— something about the timbre suggests, on a good day, it is as capable of sweetness as it is smoke.

The present tone would suggest today is not one of those days.

The first figure lifts his glass from the table with easy grace and holds it aloft.

‘To you.’ ‘No.’ ‘To your victory.’ ‘Third place isn’t a victory.’ ‘You won your class.’ ‘So did you.’ ‘Top of the leaderboard in a global tour,’ continues the first voice. ‘Top of a leaderboard, not the leaderboard.’ ‘One could rightly celebrate—.’ ‘You placed higher than me.’

For a moment, the first voice is silent. The figure it belongs to remains motionless, long legs tucked beneath his chair, jacket sleeves rolled to the elbows, glass frozen in partial toast. The second is likewise still, but her glass remains on the table. Her posture is tall and proper. Her hands are folded neatly upon her lap.

Eyes are held. The silence stretches. ‘Alright,’ concedes the first voice. ‘We won’t toast to your accomplishments.’ A nod. ‘We’ll toast to what a hundred other riders didn’t achieve, which was top of their class and a podium finish overall.’ Unfazed by the humour twinkling in his voice and his eyes, the woman leans forward and picks up her glass. ‘Why don’t you just call it what it is?’ ‘And what is that?’ ‘Us being good, but not good enough.’ ‘Mm.’ The first figure inclines his glass toward his companion’s and says, in the gentle echo of glass meeting glass: ‘How unlike you to be dark.’

They take the first sip in companionable silence, the thin band of orange at the horizon fading faster, faster; early southern starlight beginning to prickle the lush black-blue of night above. *

When Dorothy Lawley arrives at their table, Archibald Rothersay-Vandover— champion show jumper, lifelong idol, object of her involuntary and wicked affections— is telling a story about the first time he came to Australia, and Agatha Foskett— generous employer, sort-of mentor, mistress of nightmares— is smiling. That is, smiling as much as can be considered smiling where Agatha is concerned, which is usually capped at a kink in the corner of her mouth and a certain lustre to her eyes. Archie pulls out her chair and Agatha offers her a glass of champagne, which Dot declines right as Archie picks up the bottle and begins pouring it.

It sits, bubbling, golden, probably expensive, taunting her as Archie catches her up with his story.

The Mugler syndicate, in their infinite wisdom and eccentricity, had sent him Hong Kong for a competition. This, he reminds them, was before it was fashionable, profitable, and practical for riders based in Europe to compete in Asia. The latter is of particular importance to the story, he points out, though his explanation as to why is derailed after he begins detailing the highs and lows of modern Cantonese political history, and Agatha cuts him off partway through to tell him– bluntly– to get back to the point. As Dot listens, she finds herself becoming enthralled by a world vastly different to those she has previously seen and conjured. She imagines the heritage property he describes, three hours from Sydney. The old homestead, the stockyards, the corrugated iron sheds. Cattle drinking from old bathtubs; the steel groan of a weathered windmill; a stock saddle with a string girth thrown over a worn wooden fence. It smells of dry and horses and sweat; feels like dust and scorching December sun. Archie continues, and Dot’s mind follows, walking to a clearing on a mountain ridge. One of the farmhands— clad in paddock boots, bootcut jeans and an Akubra— turns chops and steaks on a rusted plough disc set over a campfire, a beer in his free hand. Another brushes ash and embers from the lid of a cast iron camp oven and peers within before replacing it and nodding, satisfied. The evening air is fresh and clear, scored with the smells of sizzling meat and baking damper, smoking wood and iron, and the dry, grey-green scent of gum trees enduring the summer heat. Can she see, there, the wraithy-white branches of the ghost gums? Yes, there, those ones, hauntingly beautiful with their thin limbs and smooth pallor. She listens to the relaxed, twanging chatter about her; the snap of the fire; the song of insects; the sudden and frantic screeching of unknown birds in the hot, still, otherwise peaceful dusk. A horse stamps its foot. A fly whizzes past her ear. The valley unfolds before her: sunburned grassland and bush-covered cliffs, vast unlike vast ever was before it; the sky burning lurid orange and apocalyptic red as the sun lowers itself to the horizon and beyond.

At a bar table for three in an air-conditioned lounge overlooking Sydney’s Darling Harbour, Archie Vandover continues telling a story. Dorothy Lawley hears him distantly, in his BBC radio voice, mentioning a string of things that don’t make sense. Polocrosse. The distance to Zurich. Something about wine; someone named Peter. He’s left the unfathomable beauty of the bush behind. But Dot hasn’t. She remains by the fire, staring at the view.

The dizzying, terrifying, entirely bewitching view. *

The darker the night grows, the more the harbour glitters.

The lounge has somehow managed to ever increase in the number of people present, and, courtesy of the efforts of the person in charge of music, a high-spirited and convivial mood grips the room. Madonna pumps through the sound system at present: Beautiful Stranger. Dot quietly bobs her head side to side with the beat. She’s barely touched the champagne, but she has touched it. Timid sips, here and there, taken with all the poise of someone who has clearly never had a champagne flute in their hand before— it’s a wonder it hasn’t yet trembled all the way out of her hand and ended in a flood on their table. She seems brighter than usual— more confident than usual, more forthcoming with questions and wordier in her responses. Whether it is due to the victory, the vibe or the alcohol, Agatha cannot say, but she can’t imagine Dot has had much practise holding her liquor. Archie is livelier than usual, too, indulging Dot’s questions and sharing stories of his own accord. It was always difficult to explain his particular balance of introversion and extroversion to people who did not know him. He is sociable, but he has his limits; reserved, but by no means dispassionate or uncommunicative; honest, but not necessarily open. His genuine interest in people coupled with a quick wit and miscellany of interests tended to make him a capable and popular conversationalist; what it did not make him was forthcoming with his own experiences. On the contrary, he seemed perfectly content to listen, ask questions, and otherwise take the conversational backseat unless invited (at times, coaxed) to do otherwise, often to the effect that new acquaintances walked away from conversation charmed by a man they had learned next to nothing about.

Him openly sitting at the table offering pieces of his life for their pleasure, therefore, is a rare– and honestly, rather interesting— occurrence.

He’s in midst of telling Dot another story about his time riding for the Mugler syndicate (a story Agatha has already heard) when they are approached by a smattering of excited young people. Their presence evokes visible surprise in all three of them, but only Dot bears traces of recognition. They’re a collection of predominantly grooms, apparently, whom Dot has managed to charm sufficiently enough over the course of the year to earn herself an invitation to join them on the dance floor. Her face is, at separate points and sometimes simultaneously, a picture of surprise, confusion, doubt, elation and hesitation, but she ultimately allows herself to be spirited away.

Archie, very deliberately, turns to Agatha.

‘Will you dance with me?’ ‘No.’ ‘Not even in celebration?’ ‘We’re celebrating right now.’ She lifts her near-empty glass. ‘The end of the season.’ ‘Special occasions call for special celebrations.’ ‘This is a special celebration.’ ‘Champagne? Hardly. You can drink it any time.’ ‘What, you classify dancing as “special celebration”?’ ‘With my team mate and third-place getter, yes. Quite. There’s something rather poetic about second and third place dancing together, don’t you think?’ A beat passes while Agatha appears to consider this, holding his eye all the while. Eventually, she leans closer. It is a calculated movement. Slow, serious. Decisive. To any observer it might seem she is about to reveal a thought of pivotal importance. This includes Archie, who, apparently surprised, leans slightly forward in anticipation.

Her voice, when she speaks, is low and rich and velvet.

‘Third place doesn’t want to dance with you,’ she says. ‘I think you’re being a bit of a sore loser.’ ‘And I think you’re dangerously close to being an asshole winner.’ His mouth curls into a hearty smile, his eyes crinkling to match. Agatha leans back. Archie does the same. ‘We’ll bet on it next year,’ he says. ‘I’ll beat you next year.’ ‘Then you’ll have nothing to worry about, will you?’ He rests an arm down the back of his chair. ‘What do you intend to wager?’ ‘Your employment status.’ ‘If you want me to sign on another few years, Agatha, you need only ask.’ Her response is the unimpressed arch of a brow. ‘Was that not what you had in mind?’

Ignoring his feigned innocence, Agatha takes her glass in hand and turns to face the view. The waters of Darling Harbour shimmer in the midst of the dark: silvers, blues, greens, golds; rippled and restless in the wake of evening ferries and returning yachts. They had not discussed what would happen when Archie’s contract ran out. Joked and jokingly made threats, respectively, but never spoke about it seriously. Hadn’t so much as indicated it existed. Not a word, not a breath. Was it even real, that contract? The day Archie had all but sank to his knees asking her to let him keep his job, if not on his merits, then for the sake of his little girl? It’s not just me, Agatha. I have a daughter to think about. She can still hear the words in his voice. She remembers almost everything about that day when she looks for it. Her shock; his manners; Eva’s awkward backtracking. Speaking in private. Not being able to look him in the eye. Listening to him petition her, earnest and unashamed; Eva waiting in the courtyard, watching surreptitiously through the window. Not wanting to cave in; the self-loathing when she did. His vow that she wouldn’t be disappointed. Her retort that it was too late for that.

It was strange to think of it, now. Hard to fathom.

‘I’ll find you someone to dance with.’ ‘Hmm?’ ‘She looks like she’d be up for it.’ She nods at a lithe-looking woman by the bar in turquoise gossamer skirts. Taller than average and Bondi blonde, her legs are tanned two shades beyond plausibly natural, but the athleticism they speak of is authentic. The fact she’s wedged between three men in their thirties and apparently lapping it up suggests she might be the kind of person who’d relish being the centre of attention, which equates to further points in her favour. Clearing the floor of a large party to dance with a six-thousand foot tall man who knew how to move around a dance floor was probably right up her street. ‘It’ll be better than dancing with me. You won’t have someone periodically crushing your toes and clawing your coat around.’ He rests his chin in his palm, a smile playing at his lips. ‘Crushed toes are a key part of the experience. If my dance partner isn’t going to crush my toes, what’s the point of it at all?’ She lifts a stilettoed foot. ‘Is a trip to the ER also part of the experience?’ ‘Not as a rule, but it does happen.’ He reaches again for his drink, peering a moment into the glass as if there is something foreign floating in it. Agatha resumes her survey of the room, thoughtful. ‘What about first place?’ She turns in place, scanning the room over her shoulder. ‘Little Elizabeth Howell. She’d dance with you.’ ‘You think so, do you?’ His tone is indulgent rather than interested. ‘Sure. You could put her on your toes and waltz around the room.’ ‘Mm.’ ‘You’d still have a solid foot clear to see where you were going, too.’ ‘Hotly desired in a dancing partner.’ She picks up her glass. ‘Didn’t you promise her a drink?’ ‘I did, yes, but I expect every man and his dog will have made a similar offer.’ ‘You think she fobbed you off?’ ‘I think she’s a lively young person who’d rather be celebrating with other lively young people, not the old fellow who’ll stop after drink number two so he can put himself to bed by eight.’ She smiles. ‘It’s after nine.’ ‘Then we’re alarmingly behind schedule.’ He tips back the last mouthful of his champagne, sets down the glass, and picks up the bottle. He does not need voice the question aloud: Agatha holds out her glass, and Archie begins filling it. ‘The deal was a drink,’ he continues as he pours. ‘She has to work harder for a dance.’ He lifts his gaze, his eyes bright with humour. ‘Aim for the illustrious third place next time.’ ‘A downgrade.’ ‘Not at all,’ he says, leaning back and filling his own glass. ‘Think about the effort it would take to consciously achieve a specific place in the middle. One knows what must be done to finish at the top or the bottom, but how can you account for the movements in the middle? The real talent, when you think about it, is intentionally achieving a specific place in the middle.’ ‘There was no talent involved in my third place, if that’s what you’re working toward.’ He sets the bottle down, smiling.

‘We'll argue that point in a minute,’ he says. * The first thing Archie notices when their table re-enters his view is that Dot has returned from her adventures with the other grooms. It seems premature. He hopes they haven’t done her dirty.

As he makes his way back to the table, he gradually discerns that Dot is wearing a different dress. Not only that, but a different hair-do. And, it seems, a different face. In the simultaneous process of drawing closer and realisation, Agatha turns her face in his direction. She, at least, is the same as when he left her, albeit wearing a suspiciously amused expression. Aware that he is now too much in view to raise his brows in question, he smiles, takes his seat, and begins telling Elizabeth Howell, who is newly seated at their table, how delighted he is that she has managed to join them after all. * When the final glass is finished, the three of them stand. Presumably, Liz will head off to the next party; Archie will head to bed; Agatha's activities are anyone’s guess. He and Elizabeth exchange cheek kisses, an endeavour which requires stooping on his part and tiptoes on hers. Agatha offers a handshake which, judging by her expression, she has found fantastically uncomfortable. He tries his best not smile, but his best is not enough, and he has to look over his shoulder and compose himself.

Goodbyes said and done, the celebrated Miss Howell slips off into the crowd. Agatha and Archie stand in front of the window together, observing the view in silence.

After a beat, he says:

‘She did not mention dancing.’ The ensuing pause is brief. ‘No.’ ‘Did you mention dancing?’ ‘No.’ She turns to look at him in profile. ‘She didn’t earn it.’ ‘Mm.’ He holds in a smile. ‘So how, exactly, did you lure her into joining us at the ‘not-good-enough’ table?’ Agatha turns back to the window as he turns to face her. There’s a dark sort of mischief in her eyes.

Concerning. ‘Agatha?’ Darker, deeper. Delighted. Archie opens his mouth, but there are no words at the ready. ‘You didn’t threaten her, did you?’ ‘Don’t be stupid.’ ‘Then why are you standing there looking like the cat who ate the cream?’ ‘Because I told her there was a tired old man who’d go to bed heartbroken if he didn’t get to have a drink with the exciting young talent of the tour.’ She turns. ‘And that you’d love an autograph. She signed a napkin for you. I think she may have drawn a heart on it, too.’ It is Archie's turn to pause. He holds his hands behind his back and watches the lights of a helicopter blink across the sky. ‘What a flattering portrait you painted.’ She lifts a shoulder in a languid shrug– and the corner of her mouth, in a languid smile. ‘She must have thought so.’

A young woman swishes by and clears their table. Agatha turns again, this time to face the exit. She seems about to leave when a sudden wash of hesitation fills her air.

‘I didn’t actually congratulate you,’ she says. 'Oh— Well. Thank you. No need, really. But thank you.' 'You're shocked.' ‘No.' 'You are.' 'I suppose I wasn't expecting it.' 'Were you expecting me to be a bad sport about it?' 'No— No. Not at all.'

The moment feels like the first steps on untested ice: tentative, quiet; unnerving, ready to crack. Agatha's gaze is unhurried, dark and direct; her scrutiny obvious, her conclusions unreadable. Archie presses his palms together. Looks at the floor; bites his lip; looks at her again. Smiles, gentle.

'Goodnight,' he says.

She lingers a moment longer. Finally, Agatha nods, turns, and follows Elizabeth's lead, vanishing into the crowd. *

(Hastily writing the last few sentences at one AM; no way I'm going to regret this later!!!)

I did say of my CTJL Sydney collaboration with @calveroterranorasj that it was part one. You've probably forgotten about that post. If that's the case, (1) no judgement, and (2) lucky you! I almost never get to forget anything, and as such unfinished projects hang like swords over my head while I battle with the axis powers of an easily distracted nature, crippling perfectionism, and an ungodly amount of artistic self-loathing. Some applaud this as dedication or tenacity, but I don't think this is necessarily a good thing, because some things in life are better forgotten or abandoned. Otherwise you just keep them around like relics and end up sort of tethered to the past, and that's decidedly not a good thing. But that's enough late night philosophy; there's already too much nonsense on this blog.

#The Sims 3 #TS3 #Sims 3 Story #Simblr #Writing #Narrative #Collaboration #Um #Agatha Foskett #Archie Vandover #Elizabeth Howell #CTJL #Location: Sydney

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