#And left ambiguous because neither of these two are into anyone else - and as a writer I like to leave my options open! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

royallyjoon · 3 years

Text

nephilim (cinq)

you know where the cred goes 💙

cult au, supernatural creature au

yandere bts x f! reader

warnings: yandere themes, physical assault, graphic descriptions of violence, manipulation, (slight) gaslighting

you were left, abandoned by mortals and immortals alike. darkness knows no bounds, and neither does punishment. there is no refuge in neither blood nor flesh from its wrath. if darkness welcomes you, should you open your arms to it in return? if darkness turns you away, does that mean you’ve won? should you choose to cast aside this lonely path of yours, and your conviction along with it, regardless of whatever other horrors lie in wait, you will be saved.

——————————————————————

What is one to do when they hear the words they’ve feared the most leave someone else’s mouth?

The moment they graced Jin’s eardrums, he gripped his phone so tightly he could hear the glass screen crack.

He and Yoongi had been assisting their father in the woods with preparations for the next meeting, the ominous hour approaching in no less than ten days.

He ignored Moonsik and Yoongi for a moment to answer his phone.

“Hello?”

He could barely make out any of Jimin’s words--the boy’s blubbering masked too much of the information.

“Robotics...bathroom...”

“Jimin, I can’t hear anything over the sound of you crying. What’s going on?”

“(Y/N)...rooftop...Aemilia...”

“What are you trying to say?” Yoongi stopped talking to the older man, shifting his gaze toward his elder brother as he noticed Jin’s voice raise in irritation and concern.

“Blood...”

“Blood?!”

——————————————————————

Jimin had walked out of robotics a little early today, bored to tears.

He had felt much better after getting rid of the idiotic gaggle that dared to threaten you, and threaten him into abandoning you.

He should have known it wouldn’t be enough. He should’ve never left your side, he thought as he kneeled on the rooftop, staring forlornly at the pool of partially dried blood on the concrete.

“She was bleeding, hyung. Aemilia or her people must have taken her, but I have no idea where they went.”

Namjoon had been in the middle of a meeting with the school board, representing the student council.

Hoseok had been in the dance studio, barking orders out at somewhat competent underclassmen.

Jungkook and Taehyung were holed up in the younger’s room, playing games rather than doing any actual work.

In short, none of them were prepared. None of them had been there for you as they had promised.

You trusted them when you needed them most, and they left you high and dry.

Jimin felt like he would never be able to get the disappointment and guilt off of his chest.

——————————————————————

Namjoon bounded into the clearing, his usually polished exterior uncharacteristically tarnished.

Hoseok appeared not long after him, having raced to the woods the moment he received the news.

They were met by Seokjin and Yoongi, who stood with their arms crossed over their chests, near a miserable Jungkook and a pacing Taehyung. Both boys had been in the house, so they were the first to arrive.

Jimin got there last, his hands and uniform pants stained red from the puddle he had kneeled in on the rooftop.

Six pairs of eyes landed on him and his appearance, confirming the worst.

“Three!” Seokjin cried incredulously. “Three of you were on campus, surrounded by a bunch of humans, and not a single one of you managed to keep an eye on her!”

“She could be anywhere,” Jungkook groaned in fear.

“By all means, please don’t start caring now. It’s too late.” Yoongi snapped at him. “You and Taehyung drove straight home to do absolutely nothing. You could at least have offered her a ride home and ensured that she was safe. You’re just as responsible as they are.”

Jungkook’s eyes grew glassy, but only because he knew his brother was right.

“As much as you enjoy playing the blame game, we have more pressing matters to address.” Namjoon interjected in an attempt to calm them down.

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it, Namjoon.” Seokjin’s icy tone sent a chill down their backs. “If we really wanted to play the blame game, we would have recognized how this is all your fault.”

The leader stood in tense silence.

“What did I tell you mere hours before this happened?” He continued, walking toward Namjoon until they were face to face. “I told you to get your shit together and to keep that girl in line. Hell, none of this would have happened if we hadn’t followed your idiotic plan in the first place.”

Seokjin was rarely ever angry enough to hiss in his brother’s face. They had all learned a long time ago that to provoke the oldest was to invoke Death.

“We all agreed his plan was the best choice at the time, hyung.” Yoongi cautiously approached the two and lay a hand on Seokjin’s shoulder, leveling a glare of his own at Namjoon. “We can deal with him later. We need to find her first.”

Jimin took the opportunity to step further into the clearing and brandished his phone, the device still open to his messages. “(Y/N) texted me saying Aemilia invited her up to roof and that she assumed it was for a confrontation of some sort.”

“Aemilia doesn’t have the ability or strength to do damage like that by herself, though.” Taehyung frowned as he gestured to Jimin’s clothes. “Unless...”

The brothers looked at each other in realization and one by one, rushed out the clearing and out the forest.

A quick drive to the center of the city and one pitifully short interrogation later, their suspicions were settled.

Hoseok growled as he re-entered the van, slamming the car door shut. “How dare he? When did he gain the courage to mobilize our own forces without our knowledge?”

“Never mind Augustus,” Jimin said, although his eyes blazed with anger. “Where would they take her?”

“That dog wouldn’t have taken her to the normal base, she has far too much malicious intent for (Y/N).” Taehyung growled.

Jungkook lightly tapped his fingers on the car door, looking out the window when the thought hit him.

“You don’t think they’d take her to...?”

His brothers looked at him in confusion, but he pointed out the window at the tree line of the woods.

Having grown up in those woods, they knew it like the back of their hand.

They knew the places were young townspeople would go to goof off, the places they had claimed for themselves, and the places that were...strictly off-limits.

It didn’t take much longer for the realization to set in.

Once it had, they took off in the direction of the forest.

——————————————————————

In your dream, you once again stood before Ichabod Chapel.

The Chapel, adorned with green vines, had long since been abandoned. Once, the walls must have been a beautiful ivory, but now they were a dark beige, having rotted with time.

A complete opposite to the image of the decrepit church, the seven Kim brothers stood on the ground in front of the entrance, visions dressed in various black silks.

Contrary to its original purpose, the material looked anything but light and airy--in fact, it looked as though it was weighed down or soaked, doused in some unknown substance.

You looked down to see that you were dressed in a white, ceremonial outfit. It billowed out like a ball gown, the sleeves drawing lacy patterns swirling up to your thumb.

When you looked up, you were stunned by the brilliant, black wings that extended from the backs of the seven men before you.

The sight of their wings enraptured you, those gorgeous appendages, feathers glossy under the moonlight.

Each of them had their own, unique set, varying in shapes and sizes, though the largest pair of wings belonged to none other than Kim Namjoon, who stood in the center of his brothers, hands in his pocket as he flashed you a familiar, mischievous grin.

Namjoon was the first to step out of the line, casually extending his hand out to you, and you hesitantly raised a dainty, (s/c) hand in return, placing it in his.

He pulled you into his arms and you felt him wrap them around you.

His brothers came to circle around the two of you, eventually joining the hug as well.

Then, the whispers began.

Their tone was loving, though their words were anything but.

They were desperate, consuming, obsessive, threatening.

They wanted you to love them, they needed you to love them, why couldn’t you understand?

Your head pounded, filled to the brim with cruel promises of tenderness and affection.

The substance from their silks seeped into your clothes, rapidly staining your white outfit red.

You realized just what it was that they were doused in and tried to pull away from their arms but they surrounded you, locking you into their hold.

The harder you fought to get out, the tighter they held on to you until you felt as though you couldn’t breathe.

Things were better this way. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do to protect you. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do for your love.

How could you scorn their love for you? How could you treat them like this?

They didn’t want to hurt anyone you cared about. They didn’t want to eliminate everyone you love in order to bring you to their side, but they would if they had to.

They paid no mind to the way you were drowning in the smell of it, drowning in blood. Was it yours or someone else’s? Was it your mother’s? Mana’s?

All you knew was that they were done playing games.

——————————————————————

Your eyes flashed open and you winced as you immediately wished they hadn’t.

Your head pounded, each thump forcing your eyes shut with the intensity, still not having recovered from the several hits it received.

For a moment it felt as though you were still unconscious and drenched in darkness, as when you tried to get a glimpse of your surroundings, you only saw shadows and moving, ambiguous shapes.

The movement of the ground beneath you, however, quickly dispelled such thoughts.

It appeared as though you were being carried over someone’s shoulder. Despite the extra weight, the person you currently rested on was light and quick on their feet, moving with a speed that made you feel worse than you already were.

The familiar crunching of leaves and branches on the ground made your heart beat just a bit harder.

According to their footsteps and what you could see of your surroundings, you surmised they had taken you to the forest.

It had been mid afternoon when Aemilia and the people who worked for her and her family accosted you at the roof. Now, there was barely a hint of the moon in your surroundings.

Did she intend to have her people tie you up to the wooden pyre and set you aflame, like some sick imitation of a witch burning at the stake? Or to make it seem as though the Kims had done it?

Despite how afraid of Mayor Kim the citizens were, there was no way everyone would believe you died in such a gaudy display.

Only the purple fire that Mayor Kim was capable of conjuring left nothing behind, after all. If they were to going to get rid of you by fire, your remains would be found.

There’s no way you could ensure that, however.

There’s no guarantee that Aemilia wouldn’t be able to make good on her promise and utterly destroy you.

A light cough broke the silence, bringing you back to the present, and you tried to calm your heartbeat. There’s no way your captors would believe you were asleep if you kept scaring yourself like this.

You felt a tight, scratchy material around your wrists and your hands laying against your back.

You successfully clenched your hands. So they hadn’t drugged you while you were out.

You were hesitant to shift, as you feared your captors would notice your cognizant state, so you resorted yourself to blinking at the ground and gritting your teeth from the pain and nausea.

Thankfully, the people you were with appeared to be none the wiser.

“Are we almost there?” A deep voice, seemingly annoyed, huffed.

“Be patient, Lee.” You felt the vibrations of the person carrying you as they replied. “This isn’t just any other job.”

“I understand, but don’t you think Miss Augustus is going too far?”

Your captor scoffed. “If you want to question the Augustuses, thereby questioning the Kims and their authority, be my guest. I just hope you and your family will be able to deal with the consequences.”

The second captor, Lee, had nothing else to say after that.

The quiet of the forest left a buzzing in your ears and the swinging sensation your body was making whilst strewn over the person’s back became too much to bear.

You figured you’d just make your captor angrier if you barfed down their back and tried to shift to draw their attention, but it was too late.

The acrid taste of bile and what you had for lunch earlier that day reached your mouth and your lifted your head, spitting out as much of it as you could.

There was a yell of anger and disgust, and your captor shoved you off of them and onto the forest floor.

You held back a shout as you hit the ground, injuring your side even further, and let out the rest of your meal.

“What the-?! This disgusting bitch!”

Your captor launched another kick at your stomach and you fought back tears as they aggravated the wounds already in place.

Lee stopped them after a while, complaining that another round of beating would just delay their job even further.

You wiped your mouth off on your shoulder and grimaced.

To your surprise, you found that you could move your legs.

The first captor lifted you to your feet by your collar, and you recognized him as Mr. Byun, the man the strawberry blonde had referred to earlier.

“Your legs still work for a reason,” he sneered and pushed you forward.

Your legs did indeed work, but were wobbly after hours of no use.

You tripped and almost fell to the floor again, the bonds around your wrists preventing you from reaching out to break your fall, when the second captor grabbed you by the back of your shirt and held you up.

“I’m not really in the mood for any of your foolishness, girl.” Lee glowered down at you. “Use your legs properly, or I’ll break them and drag you by the hair. It would be all too easy.”

You heard a suspicious click and your eyes flickered over to Byun, whose hand rested on his waist. In the other, however, he fiddled with a small lever on what appeared to be a firearm.

“Do you understand?” The second captor shook you and your brain protested, rattling around far too much for its liking.

The thought of escape, which had been curling up inside you like the beginning of a fire, was quickly extinguished. You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded.

He pushed you away from him and you walked, following him with Byun at your back, trying to think of a way out of this situation.

You couldn’t tamper with the ropes around your wrist, as Byun was watching your every move. There was also the gun, and the fact that both men were trained in the use of it as well as martial arts.

Was there truly no way to escape?

——————————————————————

The three of you walked for what felt like hours, reaching a part of the woods that you had never seen before.

Here, the trees were sparse and had already lost all of their leaves. The dark branches coiled and twisted toward the sky, as if reaching for affection that would never be reciprocated. The stumps were old, the ground hard.

And then, a clearing. But not the one you were used to seeing.

Your heart dropped as you walked between two trees, noticing the view beyond them.

You could now tell that it was well after midnight, for the sun was nowhere to be seen. Nevertheless, as always, the moon was high in the sky.

Wylynne gazed down on the clearing with a force, as if the moon goddess wanted you to see bright and clear what awaited you.

The crumbling cliff before you overlooked a tranquil lake. Clouds hung in the distance, obscuring what was undoubtedly the outside world.

The outside of Ichabod.

Such tranquility had no business here, you thought to yourself as the pace of your breathing increased.

Your captors had brought you to Lorne’s Ledge, also known as the edge of no return.

It was forbidden territory for any Ichabodian citizen.

Even before Mayor Kim came to town, even before the Augustus family had their reign: this was one of the oldest, most sacred spots in Ichabod.

The lady of the cliff, Lorne, saw to it that the forsaken never returned home.

You shuddered. The folklore didn’t scare you in the slightest. It would always be the work of man that you detested.

Yet, you couldn’t help but feel some foreign, oppressive gaze resting on you now that you were here. As if Lorne herself were staring at you, waiting for you to join her in the watery depths--

That familiar click sounded again and your eyes shot to the side. You tried to slowly turn around, but the press of metal against your back forced you to stop all movement.

Lee smirked. “We have arrived at your final destination, my lady.”

“Miss Augustus was generous enough to leave you with two options. You can walk off and take a nice rest in the lake, or you can die before your body ever hits the water.” The man smiled mirthlessly down at you. “Which would you prefer?”

You blinked rapidly, mind racing. Even if you were capable of swimming, with these injuries, you wouldn’t be able to survive the fall off the ledge,

They truly meant for you to die.

Lee didn’t seem to be in the mood for your deliberation as his cruel smile slipped into an infuriated frown. “Choose.” He growled. “My friend here would be all too happy to make the choice for you. How does a bullet in your brain and being rolled off the cliff sound?”

Byun dug the weapon into your skin and you winced, shaking your head.

“I’ll-I’ll go. I’ll walk myself.”

Your voice cracked horribly after not speaking for so many hours, but the message was received.

The metal was removed from your backside and you sighed in relief.

The man in front of you said nothing, simply stepping out of your path.

You took a couple more breaths and slowly turned to face him. “C-Can I ask you to do something? As a final request.”

He raised an eyebrow at you in response.

You titled your head in the direction of your back. “Can you untie my hands? After I disappear, there might be a search for me, and someone might try to dig through the lake for my body. A suicide will be completely ruled out if they find the ropes.”

There was no way this would work. Even the Augustuses were too intimidated to bother touching the lake for fear of Lorne’s wrath.

Besides, the police knew when and where to look, and where to say they looked. They would lie to your friends and family through their teeth.

Lee must not have been on the force for very long, however, because he grunted and pulled your hands to him.

With a slice, the ropes fell to the ground and you clutched your wrists to your chest, nodding partly in thanks and partly in disbelief.

It...worked.

You rubbed your hands together and gently blew on them, fingers numb from the cold breeze.

Your captors stood together between the trees, blocking the entrance. They murmured quietly to themselves and you continued to morph your face and body expressions into one of a pitiful teenager about to die, concealing the rather reckless thoughts you were having.

You finally turned around and walked back until you were in front of them, catching the two men off guard. They quieted and stared at you, hands at their weapons.

You met each of them in the eye and bowed, lower than you ever had before, then stood upright.

They looked at you incredulously, giving you just enough time to give Lee a harsh kick between his legs and pry the knife out of his hand.

You slashed at his neck, adrenaline returning full force, and actually managed to cut the man.

He shouted in pain and brought a hand up to the wound, trying to stop the blood.

Before you could turn to face Byun, however, the loud crack of a gunshot was heard throughout the forest and you felt a painful sting on your hand.

You yelped as you dropped the knife.

Then, there was a second gunshot and the pain returned full force, this time on your shoulder.

The elder captor, completely fed up with your actions, slammed the gun against your head and you crumpled to the ground.

You could feel something wet on your hand and clothes, but there was too much of it to be sweat in the midnight chill. You slowly lifted your hand, only to see it covered in a dark liquid.

Byun restrained Lee from attempting to beat you this time, barely casting a glance at your pitiful form.

“Calm yourself. She won’t be alive for much longer.” He gruffed. “She said she would walk herself, so walk she will. We’re just here to watch and make sure it happens.”

He stood over your form and pointed the gun at your head. “What a useless attempt. Get up.”

Your shoulder and hand burned like hell, but you complied.

You got to your feet once more and stumbled forward, every step taking you further and further away from the two.

The barrel of the gun followed your every move.

The tears you’d been struggling to hold back ran full force now at the thought of your imminent death. But rather than let your captors feast upon the sight of your defeated form, you stopped.

You were covered in blood. Your uniform was sullied by your own vomit and dirt.

But you straightened your back, ignoring the pain in your shoulder, and held your head up high.

You had reached the edge of the cliff now, but your vision was too blurry to see anything besides the vast blue beneath you.

The lake that rested below had no warmth or safety to provide for you, but neither did the forest behind you.

You considered praying to Wylynne to see if, in all her majesty and grace, she would save you.

Yet clearly, just like all the people who had come before you, just like the lady of the lake herself, the moon goddess had forsaken you.

You were tired. Too tired to fight against what some would call fate.

You whispered an apology to your mother and Mana, and perhaps even to the brothers, the reason why, you did not know.

Your eyes captured the overcast image of the outside world one last time, then you turned around and took a backward step off the cliff with a sad smile, eyes falling closed, mentally locked on that solitary picture.

Above you, you thought you heard the pained screams and grunts of your captors, sounding as though they were struggling against something or someone.

But before you, you saw your mother with her arms outstretched, that patient, loving smile on her face.

You reached forward, wrapped your arms around her, and readily slipped into darkness.

Above your falling form, a shadow zipped through the dawn, racing to reach you before you hit the water.

He saw you smile and lift an arm into the air, before the smile slipped off your face and your limbs went limp.

The large, black wings at his back beat furiously and he flew faster than he ever had before until he had your beaten form cradled to his chest.

The two of you suddenly shot upward into the air as your descent slowed, and as the first rays of daylight peeked out from above the clouds, his form hung in the air, almost frozen in time, black wings outstretched and supporting the two of you as he floated above Lorne’s Ledge.

Kim Jimin hovered, adorned in the light of the early morning sun, peering callously down at the vermin who lay trembling between him and his brothers.

Or what was left of them, at least.

Jungkook had managed to get his hands on the elder one, and the arm he had been using to carry the gun had been ripped clean off.

He was now whimpering in excruciating pain, clutching at the place where his limb had once been.

The younger one, on the other hand, lay resting against a tree.

Unmoving, his eyes unseeing.

All it had taken was one touch from Hoseok, and the man’s life force was gone, sucked out of him before he could even protest.

He was now nothing more than a lifeless sack of meat.

Taehyung picked up the body as Yoongi kicked one of the elder’s legs to get his attention.

The others stood threateningly over Byun, glowering down at him in utter loathe, as though he were a louse.

The old man whimpered, looking up and between them, then paling in horror as he saw Taehyung and Jimin.

The younger brother walked toward the elder as Jimin gently touched down on the ground, your form still protectively pressed to him. The two Kims met eyes and nodded at each other.

Taehyung turned around and flashed Mr. Byun a crazed smile before flinging Lee’s body as far as he could over the cliff.

He gaped in horror and his voice rose multiple decibels, pleads for his life escaping before he could properly think them through.

Seokjin squatted down until he was at an eye level with him, strong, black wings threateningly displayed. He grinned.

“If you think you have even any hope of escaping your friend’s fate,” he said as the smile slipped off his face, “you’re dead wrong.”

He glared at Byun with cold, amber irises. “But before we end your insignificant, paltry life, you’re going to tell us who sent you and why.”

They already had proof of Aemilia’s crime from Aloysius Augustus himself but they wanted to be sure.

He looked at the younger gentlemen with tears in his eyes. He fought through his pain and got on both knees.

“There’s no use in begging,” Namjoon stated, arms crossed over his chest. For the first time, he couldn’t find anything amusing in the matter.

“Please! We were only receiving orders, Miss Augustus--”

Before he could finish his sentence, Yoongi used Lee’s discarded knife and slashed it across Byun’s neck, silencing him in an instant.

The light left his eyes and the man’s body flopped over.

Taehyung didn’t think twice about kicking him off the cliff, either.

Now that those pests were taken care of, the seven rushed to turn their attention on you.

The bleeding from your shoulder and hand had not slowed in the slightest, and they could hardly feel your pulse.

“We need to get her to the hospital, and fast.” Hoseok said, swallowing the rising lump in his throat.

“I’m the fastest. I can take her there.” Taehyung volunteered.

The brothers agreed, and you were gently deposited into Taehyung’s arms.

“When you’re sure she’s safe, meet us back here in the woods,” Yoongi said. “You’ll know where to find us.”

"Yes, hyung.” Taehyung spread his wings and took off into the sky.

He carefully cradled you, shifting your body into one of his arms, and attempted to heal some of your worse injuries along the way.

He pressed one hand to your abdomen and began muttering under his breath, a panicked tear slipping out the corner of his eye as he peered at the extent of the damage.

Once your ribs were mostly healed, he pulled his hand away, leaving behind a canvas of dark blue, yellow, and green bruises. He winced and moved on, pressing his hand to your head.

You made no movements, body as limp as ever in his arms.

Taehyung touched down on the roof of the hospital and tucked those magnificent, black wings together, the appendages fading away as if they were never there.

He held his arm out, his palm facing the door. He only meant to unlock it, but utterly destroyed it in his haste. Quite frankly, he couldn’t have cared less.

He hurriedly walked down the stairwell and burst into the hospital’s eleventh floor lobby, reserved for VIP care and treatment.

A receptionist was working at the front desk, typing away without a care in the world.

He was interrupted by Taehyung’s shouts. “I found her in the woods outside of our home this morning--she’s badly injured, please help!”

He looked up at the boy’s outburst, eyes widening when he realized just who and what he was looking at.

He immediately called for available nurses to bring a bed and admit you to a room, then paged any available doctors.

“Do you know who she is, Mr. Kim?” A nurse asked as she examined you for damage.

He nodded. “She’s a classmate of mine, her name is (Y/N) (L/N). Her mother also works here--please notify her of her daughter’s arrival.”

The man nodded once more, sending someone else to page Nurse (L/N) from the fifth floor.

As the nurses wheeled you away, Taehyung grabbed the receptionist by the wrist and he whipped around in fear.

“This patient is very important,” Taehyung stressed, squeezing the man’s wrist harshly. “She is being admitted under the protection of Kim Moonsik himself, at the behest of our entire family. If anything happens to her...”

The receptionist gulped and nodded. “Of course, Mr. Kim. You don’t need to explain any further. We’ll do our absolute best to ensure her care and recovery.”

Taehyung glared down at him for a bit longer before he threw the man’s wrist aside and turned away from him.

He rubbed at his wrist, knowing it would bruise in a couple of hours, or perhaps even minutes.

The man returned to his desk, beginning to fill out the paperwork for your stay.

When he looked up to ask Taehyung more questions about your injuries, the boy had already disappeared.

——————————————————————

In Taehyung’s absence, the six brothers stretched out their wings and flew to a certain section of the woods behind the Kim family home.

This part of the woods remained untouched by both the Kim family and the general public. It was only the seven who came out here, and only in times of dire consequence.

Several trees in the area had fallen over, cracked in half as though hit or pushed in anger with some spectacular force.

Leaves and branches strewn all over the ground were blown away by the boys and the sudden breeze they brought, large wings disrupting the peaceful quiet of the forest.

The early morning sun peeked through the leaves, painting a picturesque view of the woods, a sharp contrast to the heavy, violent atmosphere headed its way.

Jungkook planted his feet on the ground first, tucking away his wings until they were out of sight. He angrily flicked what was left of Byun off his face, disgusted by the thick feel and metallic smell of mortal blood.

Jimin followed right behind him, then Hoseok, Yoongi, and Seokjin entered, Namjoon being the last to touch down on the forest floor.

Jimin and Jungkook met eyes with one another, their anger not even close to subsiding at the death of your captors.

Yet, soon enough, curiosity and dread brought them out of their rage when they realized just how quiet it had gotten between the older members.

Jimin shifted his gaze, the frown on his face deepening when he saw the eldest brothers’ attention turn to Namjoon, who was standing deathly still, staring blankly ahead.

Seokjin raised an eyebrow as he glared down at the younger. Namjoon refused to meet his gaze.

The six of them stayed like that for a long time, even when they heard the loud beating of another pair of wings, and Taehyung joined them in the forest.

He turned to Jimin in confusion but the older simply shook his head and grabbed for his and Jungkook’s hands, squeezing them.

Finally, after what felt like hours of silence, Seokjin spoke.

“There is no mercy for the prideful,” he stated with finality.

Namjoon flinched away at the words, eyes stuck to the ground.

“You weren’t able to uphold your oath, Namjoon ah,” Hoseok said. His words were concerned, but his tone reeked of condescension.

“And because of that, because of your utter failure, our beloved angel got hurt.” Yoongi hissed. “She almost died.”

Hoseok, Yoongi, and Seokjin took menacing steps toward the leader.

He heard his older brothers walking up to him, but refused to meet the wrath that was surely boiling in their gaze.

Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook watched on with bated breath, their hands still linked together.

Namjoon was frozen in place.

As the leader of their group, there was rarely ever a moment where he was seen as weak.

But the second he had received news of your capture, he lost even the strength to stand on his own two feet.

It was the thought of you, of saving you and bringing you to safety, that had kept him going.

It was the only thing that had kept all seven of them sane.

Now that they knew you were going to live, he knew he couldn’t avoid his punishment any longer.

Namjoon’s facial expression didn’t change, even in the moment where, with surprising speed, Yoongi lashed out at him, decking him in the face and knocking him to the forest floor.

The student body president winced, gingerly gripping his nose as blood started to leak from it.

His older brothers stood, looking down at him in a mock semicircle.

“Yoongi ah,” Seokjin said, turning to the younger, “what is the punishment for those who commit the deadly sin of pride?”

“Being broken on the wheel, hyung.” Yoongi replied impassively.

“Fortunately for you, or unfortunately, I should say,” Hoseok grinned down at Namjoon, “we don’t have a wheel.”

Seokjin stepped forward and lifted his foot above Namjoon’s right leg.

“This is what happens when you place too much pride in yourself and in your actions.” He stated, then brought his foot down on Namjoon’s right leg.

He didn’t let up until there was a sick, audible crack.

Namjoon reeled back, grunting in pain but refusing to scream.

Yes, it hurt, but he knew he deserved it. He failed (Y/N).

This is the least he could do to atone for his actions.

“All things considered, we’re being quite generous with you.” Yoongi stepped up next, kicking his broken leg aside to stomp down on his left one.

This time, Namjoon let out a jarring scream.

“You still have the audacity to scream? To feel pain?” Yoongi ground his foot into the injury as though he were trying to put out a cigarette. “Imagine how much pain our beloved is in right now. Imagine what she wouldn’t have had to go through, had you done your job properly. Had you listened to us.”

The elder had never been kind or considerate when it came to delivering punishment, a fact that the younger brothers had quickly become accustomed to.

Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook looked on blankly, but inside they felt a deep sense of pity.

Namjoon was their brother and their leader, the constant face of their strength.

It hurt to see him in so much pain, no matter how necessary it was.

Namjoon sat on the forest floor, both legs twisted at an awkward angle. He grit his teeth together as he tried to control his breathing.

He noticed no one else was approaching him, but he knew that the punishment wasn’t over yet, not so soon. He slowly, inquisitively lifted his head.

The eldest three looked at Namjoon expectedly. He pleadingly raised his eyebrows, but their stares held no mercy.

He bowed his head in defeat.

The senior wrapped his right hand around his left forearm and squeezed until he heard something crack.

There was the quick, soft sound of a sob coming out of his mouth, and then all was quiet.

Hoseok went last, shuffling through the leaves on the forest floor to squat next to his younger brother, wiping away some of his tears and gently running his fingers through his hair. “We’re doing this for her. Everything we do is for her, you know that as well as we do.”

Namjoon glanced at him warily, tense because he knew what was coming next, but didn’t know when to expect it.

“That’s why you’re prepared to face the consequences for your actions, yes...?”

With a sickeningly sweet smile, Hoseok wrapped his hands around Namjoon’s right forearm, breaking the bone in a quick moment.

Namjoon clenched his teeth together so hard, he swore he heard something else crack.

Any movement within the top or lower half of his body left him in excruciating pain, and he stifled a scream each time.

“You did so well, Joonie.” Hoseok continued patting his head.

They surrounded him, praising him with how well he took his punishment.

He was only able to withstand a few more minutes of cognizant thought before his eyes rolled back into his head.

Hoseok caught his younger brother, gently laying him back onto the dirt.

The six men stood in the silence, staring at the form of their treasured leader with pity.

Seokjin turned around and met each of his younger brothers in the eye. He then wordlessly walked away from the clearing and Namjoon’s broken body.

Yoongi and Hoseok followed him, blank expressions on their face.

The youngest brothers were all too quick to pick up on the message.

Overstep your boundaries, and endure the same fate.

After taking one more look at Namjoon, the youngest brothers trekked out of the forest, silently following behind the other angels.

——————————————————————

When you finally pried your eyes open, you were greeted by an unfamiliar chill.

You were cold. So cold, the chill settled uncomfortably in your bones.

White blankets were tucked around you, pristine sheets morphing to mimic your form.

For a moment, you incredulously thought that this must have been your arrival to heaven.

Then, you soon heard a monotonous beeping and you felt the subtle prick of wires along your skin, an IV casually grazing across the back of your hand.

It hurt to move your right shoulder, and your abdomen ached, the areas bandaged so tight you could just barely feel them.

There were bandages around your wrists and hand as well, and the pungent scent of ointment told you those were for your rope burns and bullet graze.

Your head injuries were also wrapped, if you deduced the source of your current headache correctly.

You were alive. Alive, and well taken care of.

“(Y/N)?”

You winced, your head not taking too kindly to the reintroduction of noise. A swivel to your right, however, and your mother’s worried face appeared.

“...Mom?” You voice cracked horribly, and she smiled and hummed in acknowledgement, lifting a water pitcher next to her and pouring you a glass of water.

You drank as if you were Tantalus himself.

“I was so worried.” your mother stated, her voice breaking right along with yours. The sound alone nearly brought tears to your eyes.

She lifted her hands and grasped your uninjured one, intertwining your fingers.

“I got paged yesterday morning and asked to come up to the eleventh floor, just to find out that you had been admitted.” Your mother spoke, answering your questions before you even got the chance to ask. “And at the request of the entire Kim family, no less. Kim Taehyung brought you in himself, claiming you’d been assaulted and found outside their door.”

You tilted your head, peering at your mother in disbelief.

She met your gaze and flicked her eyes toward the door, then back towards you without turning around. You followed their direction.

Outside the small, rectangular window of the door, there stood a tall figure dressed in dark clothing.

Your mother leaned toward you and whispered. “That woman has been standing guard since the doctors finished their checkup.”

You gulped and nodded in understanding.

“(Y/N).” Her tone shifted slightly, still holding concern but taking a solemn turn. “I never ask you questions about how school is and your life is going. We usually leave each other to our own devices, and that’s clearly been a mistake on my part. But I need you to be completely honest with me here.”

“Have you displeased the Kims in any way?” Her grip on your uninjured hand tightened to the point where all of your knuckles turned white. “If they have you here under some sort of watch until the next meeting...if they’re trying to...”

Your mother gulped, unable to finish the rest of the sentence.

Her voice lowered into a harsh whisper. “Tell me. I’ll go alert a trustworthy coworker, and I will have you out of this town before Kim Moonsik can utter another prayer.”

Your eyes widened comically. “Mom, no! Nothing like that happened. They saved me. The Kims saved my life.” You repeated, gripping her hands. “If they hadn’t brought me here, I would have-”

The weight of your words finally hit you, and before you could realize, tears gathered in the corner of your eyes. “I could have...”

You fought to speak through the trembling of your lower lip. “I’m sorry I never told you about my day, I just thought I’d be able to handle it all by myself. The police commissioner’s daughter, she was trying to get rid of me and she-Mom, she-”

Your mother cupped your cheeks as your tears cascaded down your face. She gently rubbed your lower back as you muffled your cries by burying your head into her neck.

She didn’t let you go for a while, even after you managed to collect yourself.

She poured you another glass of water and you sipped at the beverage, telling her the trials you’d faced these past couple of weeks.

“I thought it was a regular instance of bullying,” you sniffled, putting the plastic cup down. “that she didn’t want me getting too close to her crush. So I endured because I had no intention of taking anything of hers away. Who am I, in Ichabod, compared to a woman of prestige like that?” You sarcastically asked.

“But apparently, my mere existence bothered her.” You shakily recounted what had ultimately been the most terrifying moments of your life to your mother.

You obscured some parts of the story, not wanting your mother to worry even more, and claimed that the Augustus’ men had taken you to the clearing to scare you and beat you up, and that you surmised they dropped you off outside of the Kim home afterward.

By the time she finished hearing the whole story, her grip had embedded itself into the edge of the hospital bed.

Your mother’s vexation was interrupted by the sound of people speaking outside your door.

“Ma’am, I apologize. By the order of Kim Moonsik, only family members are allowed to visit the patient right now.” The figure outside your door spoke with an uninterested tone.

“With all due respect, officer, please don’t assume my gender.” You heard a familiar voice snipe. “My best friend is lying in there and she’s practically a sister to me. I don’t particularly give a damn about your order. Kim Moonsik can kiss my-”

“Mana!” You yelled, trying to catch both of their attention before your best friend could get themselves arrested.

You flipped the hospital blankets off of you and your mother helped you to your feet, then to the door. The injuries on your abdomen and head protested with every step.

The guard’s eyes widened a bit as you slid the door open, and so did the eyes of every hospital staff within sight of your room.

“Ms. (L/N), I implore you, please go back to bed to rest!” A nurse in the hallway rushed over.

The guard hastily nodded in agreement. “Yes, please do. I sincerely apologize for the commotion.”

You waved them off, reaching a hand out to Mana. “I'll go back to bed, but only if you let Mana in. They’re family.”

Mana stood in the hallway, hurriedly dressed in sweatpants, a disheveled oversized hoodie, and sneakers, but gingerly holding a teddy bear with a card.

The guard looked between you, Mana, and the nurse for quite some time. The nurse’s frantic expression must have convinced her, though, because she finally stepped aside.

Mana extended their arm, gently grabbing your hand in return and waltzing past the security guard with a smug expression.

The moment the three of you were back in the room, however, they ushered you back to bed as well.

“(N/N)!” Mana said, going to hug you, then rethinking it when they spotted all the bandages.

They placed the teddy bear in your arms and stood a card that cheerily read “Get Well Soon!” on your nightstand. “How are you feeling? I’m so sorry--I should have been there with you!”

“My head and chest hurt, but I’m alright.” You shook your head with a small smile, clutching the doll to your chest. “Don’t apologize, you had no idea this was going to happen. This was all the result of my stupid decision--I was the one who fell into her trap.”

Your mother excused herself, leaving you and Mana alone for a few minutes.

You filled them in on what had happened to you, withholding no details, and their face lit up in anger. “She ordered them to take you to Lorne’s Ledge?! That psychotic cunt! Just wait until I drag her across the square, we’ll see how high and mighty she is then-”

“Mana, calm down.” You smiled, thankful for your friend’s protectiveness, but weary after everything you’d just gone through.

“I never want to stoop to her level,” you admitted, wringing the sheets in your hands.

Your mother gently slid open the door, returning with water and a tray of food for you.

“I think...I’ve had enough of mind games and tricks for a while.” You whispered, then smiled at her as she lay the meal in front of you.

Mana’s gaze turned soft, and they patted your hands and back in support.

“I don’t even want to think of what would have happened if the Kims hadn’t gotten there in time.” your mother muttered.

You nodded in agreement.

You weren’t particularly sure how or why, but the Kims had saved your life.

Not only had they offered you some of the best care in the city, free of charge, but they even stationed people outside your room.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, something told you that holding them with such a mindset would put you exactly where they wanted you to be.

Yet something else countered that thought, claiming that it was that same distancing mindset that had pushed you into the arms of danger in the first place.

Perhaps Mayor Kim felt responsible for it because his men got usurped by a high school girl.

Or, perhaps, it was his sons who felt even more responsible.

Your mother and Mana stayed with you the rest of the night, each taking up their own positions on the furniture. Mana draped themself on the couch while your mother took the armchair.

You allowed yourself to drift off to the sound of them breathing, the chill and fear of the previous morning now a distant, foreign thing.

——————————————————————

Your mother and Mana weren’t constantly at your side, as one had to attend to her duties at work and the other had to go to school.

There were other individuals who were perfectly happy to waste the day with you, though.

On the first day, you were visited by Jimin.

The sophomore’s usual high-energy self was nowhere to be seen as he stepped into your hospital room holding a small bouquet of (your favorite flowers).

Jimin rushed at you, barely giving himself enough time to greet him before he fell to his knees in front of your hospital bed.

You gasped aloud in surprise and urged him to stand, but he would have none of it.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” His eyes glistened as water streaked down his cherubic face. “If I had read your message earlier, if I hadn’t been so stupid to turn my phone off, you never would have gotten hurt like this.”

You winced as you pulled yourself to the edge of the bed, your hand only hurting slightly less than it had before. “You didn’t know at the time, I wouldn’t blame you for that. When you did know, you rushed to help me. That’s something I will be forever grateful to you for.”

You exhaled and smiled your rare, genuine smile, a warm countenance on your face that pierced Jimin’s soul. “So please,” you held your hand out to Jimin.

The boy looked up, pitiful expression morphing into a delighted smile. He gently took your hand and stood, then ushered you to rest comfortably back at the top of the bed.

The two of you spent the rest of the day talking, Jimin distracting you from your current situation with stories about his family and their travels.

By the time you realized you’d never gotten answers to your questions, the sun was starting to set and you were having trouble keeping your eyes open in the middle of Jimin’s conversation.

If the raven haired boy had noticed it, he didn’t say anything.

If anything, he continued speaking, his voice low and chiming with laughter as he recounted precious memories.

When he heard the familiar sound of your soft, slow breathing, he stopped. He simply gazed upon your visage, smiling at the way your (s/c) skin lit up in the afternoon sun and held a hand up to block the light from getting in your eyes.

He stayed that way for the next several minutes, then gently caressed your cheek, letting his hands linger for shorter than he would have liked.

Once the night was well underway, Jimin collected his things and left your side with one more forlorn look.

He shot a strict gaze at the guard, who gulped and nodded at the unspoken order.

Finally, he turned and walked down the hallway toward the elevators.

——————————————————————

On the second day, you were visited by Taehyung. You were still asleep when he first came into the room, but your mother was sitting beside you and her eyes widened when she saw him.

Before the younger boy could even speak, the older woman bowed low in gratitude.

Few people had ever seen your mother in a vulnerable state, you included, as she purposefully made it so.

Taehyung was a rare exception that day as he gently gripped her shoulders, feeling the slight trembles that coursed through her as he straightened her posture.

Suppressing an amused smile, Taehyung thought of the differences between you and his supposed mother.

While the actress trembled out of fear for her own life, your mother shook at the thought of losing you.

As expected from the woman who raised you, their perfect treasure.

“I can never repay you for the hospitality you’ve shown my daughter,” your mother whispered.

“There’s no need for such matters, Ms. (L/N). We’ll always protect and watch out for your daughter. We’re honored to have her in our lives.” Taehyung replied with a sincere tone.

She accepted the flowers he brought, carefully laying the bouquet on your nightstand, right next to the vase where Jimin’s flowers lay.

When you did wake up, you had your own chance to thank Taehyung for finding you and bringing you to safety, along with sponsoring your stay in the hospital.

He waved away your thanks, claiming that he was simply glad that you had turned to Jimin for assistance so that they were able to know about it.

“You know we’ll always be there for you, right (Y/N)?”

Always.

“Just say the word and we’ll come running.”

We love you.

His heart ached with the weight of the words he couldn’t say.

But you smiled in appreciation and he melted, as it was the smile they had longed to see for so long. The one that you usually reserved for your mother or Mana, the one that they had only gotten glimpses of in the time that they had known you.

He wouldn’t let you do anything for yourself the entire time, claiming you needed to rest up and heal as soon as possible. You reluctantly agreed, enjoying an unusually lazy day.

He played music for you, and soon enough the two of you were lost in a passionate conversation about your favorite artists. Funnily enough, there were several of them who you shared interest in.

Before Taehyung returned home for the day, he insisted on covering you with the blanket as well, tucking it up to your neck and pressing it in at the sides.

Your eyes were closed out of embarrassment as his form hung over yours.

He fought the urge to bend down and kiss your forehead, for he still feared that he could frighten you away.

Instead, he reached up and switched off the light directly above your bed. With an ambiguous smile, he left, closing the door behind him.

——————————————————————

On the third day, you were visited by Jungkook.

The atmosphere was a little awkward at first, considering how soft-spoken the freshman tended to be around you.

When you tried shifting the conversation by asking him about his personal interests and passions, however, his eyes lit up.

Jungkook demonstrated several different types of punches for you in the room, even helping you weakly set up your form with your still healing hands.

You learned much more about boxing forms and gaming techniques that day than you could ever remember, but you did leave with plans to have private self-defense lessons with Jungkook after you’d finished healing.

At some point during his visit, you had drifted off and by the time you woke up again, Jungkook was already gone.

You panicked slightly, worried that he’d be upset and think that you wanted him to leave. As you turned to your phone, however, you noticed a folded piece of paper resting on top of the back of it.

When you opened the paper, you saw a beautiful pen-and-ink sketch of you, lying in your hospital bed and napping.

Jungkook had somehow taken your messy, disheveled state and turned it into something that evoked a tender feeling within you.

You grinned down at the paper, amazed by his talent. Was this how he saw you? As this...ephemeral, peaceful being?

You gently stood the paper up so that it rested between the two vases that housed Jimin and Taehyung’s flowers, right next to Mana’s card.

The afternoon soon gave way to evening, then evening to night.

——————————————————————

On the fourth day, Seokjin saved you from the monotony of bland, hospital food by bringing you home cooked meals.

The mere smell of the dishes had your mouth watering.

He refused to let you do anything yourself, much like Taehyung had the other day. But unlike Taehyung, Jin went so far as to feed you himself.

It was embarrassing, but no matter how much you protested, he wouldn’t let up.

He sat in the chair your mother usually preoccupied and held the utensils out to you, neatly making sure you finished your meals.

At one point, he pretended the food was an airplane and you playfully slapped his arm, resulting in him dissolving into a surprising windshield-wiper-like laugh.

Jin spent the rest of the day with you, telling you awful jokes that under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have found that funny.

His companionship was greatly appreciated, however, and you found that you grew surprisingly fond of his laugh.

Before Jin left for the evening, he gently lifted your hand and placed it in his lap, then revealed another bag he’d brought on his visit.

To your surprise, he clipped a small (silver/gold/rose gold) bracelet around your wrist. The ornament carried two charms: one of a well-detailed moon, the other a pair of angel wings.

You rushed to have him take the bracelet off, hesitant to accept such a valuable gift.

Yet the look in his eyes pierced right through you, his previous joy still present and glimmering but hidden beneath the depths of something more sinister.

You leaned against your pillows as Jin gently lifted the back of your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to it, just like he had the first night you met.

“The moment I saw it, I thought of you.” He smiled, affectionately rubbing his thumb over your wrist. “Keep it. For me?”

It wasn’t a request.

——————————————————————

On the fifth day, you were visited by Hoseok and Yoongi.

You were slightly surprised at the fact that they had come together, as their outer attitudes seemed to be opposites, but you found that they complemented each other very well.

They were extremely considerate of you, allowing you to do things for yourself but offering their assistance should you need it.

Hoseok spent the day cheering you up by performing routines for you in the little space the room provided.

As strict as he was infamous for being, Hoseok clearly knew his craft. You were mesmerized by his movements and insisted on clapping for each of his performances, your hand healing quite nicely now.

Yoongi delighted you with tales of his rambunctious actions in high school, and some of the best well-kept faculty secrets.

There were several things you learned about Ms. Divii and Mrs. Hargrove that day that you would have been perfectly happy not knowing for the rest of your life, but you giggled and gossiped all the same.

It appeared as though the elder Kim brothers had a similar thought process, as Hoseok and Yoongi each gifted you (silver/gold/rose gold) jewelry similar to what you had received the day prior.

Hoseok looked as though we was going to cry when you went to turn down his gift.

One sharp look from Yoongi later, you closed your mouth, smiled, and expressed your thanks.

Hoseok fondly clipped the necklace onto you, his heart performing somersaults as you leaned into his embrace.

He silently gulped, overcome by the sudden desire to press his lips to your neck.

When he made eye contact with Yoongi over your shoulder, his face reddened slightly as the elder smirked at him.

He reigned in the perceptible want in his eyes and leaned back, flashing you his signature smile. “There you are, angel. Pretty as a picture.”

You lowered your head to hide your flush. “You guys really don’t have to bring me these gifts,” you murmured lightly.

“With a visage as perfect as yours, we simply can’t help ourselves.” Yoongi stated in reply, lifting your ring finger to slide a band onto it.

How unfortunate it was that it was the right hand instead of the left.

He was able to hide his disappointment from you, but not from Hoseok.

Nevertheless, there would surely be an opportunity in the near future.

How else would all of those worthless people know that you belonged to them?

——————————————————————

On the sixth day, Namjoon limped his way into your hospital room, a grimace on his face.

You greeted him with a warm smile that quickly shifted into a worried expression. “Oh goodness, are you alright?”

Namjoon nodded, taking the seat next to your bed. “I injured my leg, it’s nothing serious. I should be perfectly alright soon.”

Seokjin had been kind enough to heal most of his limbs, the elder worried about your reaction to seeing him in such a state.

They purposefully made him wait in agonizing pain for nearly a week, however, to rub the punishment in, before clearing him to go visit you.

It seemed as though the student body president had lost his usual self-assured, constantly amused atmosphere. He was strangely quiet, and his body language was similar to that of a man who’d been beaten into submission.

That was far from the Kim Namjoon you knew.

For several moments, the two of you sat in awkward silence.

The two of you hadn’t been on the best of terms the last time you spoke. Just thinking back to that moment when he’d felt like he was on top of the world, completely in control, made him cringe.

Then, you turned and smiled at him. “You know, if you really need to, you could always join me as a patient. It’d definitely make the days less boring.”

Namjoon knew you knew there was a change in his attitude, and rather than lording that over him, you simply welcomed him as you usually did.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” The words blurt out before he could stop them.

You shook your head, slightly amused. “What’s with you and Jimin these days? You don’t need to apologize for saving me. Unless you want to, and, well, that’s a completely separate manner--”

“No!” Namjoon lifted his hands up and waved them around. “I just-"

You smiled, entertained by the frantic side of the normally suave, composed teen. “Think nothing of it, Namjoon. You have nothing you need to apologize to me for.”

Your expression darkened slightly as you continued. “If anything, I should apologize for not trusting you all more.”

Namjoon’s lips quivered, desperately wanting to form a victorious smirk, but he settled for an understanding smile.

In the end, he’d been right.

As usual.

“Who remains close to you, who you decide to trust, that’s completely your decision. You should never have to apologize for it.” Namjoon said.

You smiled in acknowledgement, then furrowed your brows in confusion when Namjoon started to dig around in his bag.

“I heard we were gift giving this week.” He pulled out a beautiful, leather bound journal and fountain pen and carefully placed the items on your lap.

“This is absolutely gorgeous. How did you know I like writing?” You smiled.

Of course he knew. He knew everything about you.

“I didn’t,” he replied, shrugging with a small smile. “I like to write in journals as a form of catharsis, and thought you might want to try.”

“Thank you so much.” You lifted an arm up and gestured for a one armed hug, one that Namjoon happily accepted.

Clutching the journal to your chest, you gathered the courage to ask him the question that had been running around in your head the past week.

“Namjoon?”

“Yes?”

“How did you guys find me in time?”

The elder clenched his jaw and shifted his gaze aside as if he couldn’t beat to direct his apparent anger and frustration toward you.

“We heard from Jimin that Aemilia took you and interrogated the police commissioner about any of our private guard’s movements. He fessed and told us that Aemilia told him that I texted her, claiming that there was another soul in need of punishment.”

Namjoon grit his teeth, vexation rolling off of him in waves as he practically hissed out his words. “He authorized members of our private force to move under her order in order to subdue you.”

Recounting the ridiculous lie that the redhead told her father, and the father’s idiotic tendency to believe her, made his blood hot.

“After we heard that, we rushed to all the places in the forest that the Augustus men might have taken you. Thankfully, we got to Lorne’s Ledge in time and Jimin was able to save you before you could fall off the edge.”

“Are you sure?” You said. “I could have sworn I stepped off...I thought I was a goner.”

Namjoon shook his head. “We definitely got there in time to save you. You sustained several head injuries, so I’d understand if you didn’t see Jimin or blacked out.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, pondering his response for several moments before nodding at his answer.

There was no way you would ever be able to forget what happened that night.

You knew for a fact that your feet had left the ledge.

But he was right, you did take several nasty hits from Byun and Lee.

You wanted to keep asking him questions, but the pained, forced look in his eye made you pause on that front.

Perhaps that projection you saw of your mother had actually been Jimin.

You wrung your hands together.

“What matters now is that you’re safe and sound.” Namjoon gently placed his hand atop yours and gave it a supporting squeeze. “All you need to focus on is getting better. We definitely won’t let them get away with this.”

You nodded again, smiling slightly at Namjoon in thanks for his concern.

——————————————————————

Halfway across town, Aemilia Augustus paced around in her room, practically biting off her perfectly manicured nails in worry.

It had been seven days.

Seven days of nothing.

Not a single word had come in from Byun or Lee.

When she arrived at school that first day and heard everyone talking about your absence, she felt pure and utter bliss.

There was no joy like the joy she felt in that moment.

Such euphoria simply couldn’t be replaced.

The only moments that could possibly top it were her future engagement with Kim Namjoon, or the day she would take over her family business.

Because so many days went by without a single peep at your face, she thought her plan was working.

She felt on top of the world.

But Byun and Lee were two of the most promising soldiers on the squad. There was no reason as to why they were taking so long to get back to her to confirm your measly little death.

As a result, she was starting to panic.

Of course, she had an emergency plan.

She had no need for it, as there was no way her plan could go wrong, but she always had to be prepared, after all.

Just as she was about to take deep breaths to calm herself down, she jumped at the sound of pounding footsteps and yelps drifting into her room from downstairs.

She heard the annoying cry of her mother and father, and then the sound of several people talking.

A grim chill fell over her.

Unexpectedly, her plan had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

There wasn’t much time left now, as she could hear the footsteps get closer and closer.

To hell with her parents--their capture was inevitable.

Aemilia Augustus would not be captured like a criminal, not as long as she was alive and well.

Aemilia padded over to her bedroom door, shutting it closed as softly as possible and smacking the lights off.

She dove into her walk-in closet and squeezed herself as tightly as possible into a corner, a rack of evening gowns and day dresses covering her.

Every couple of minutes, a door would slam open and she listened, holding a hand over her mouth as the pounding feet searched every room on her floor.

It didn’t take them long to arrive at her room, and she shook as she heard them throw things around.

A rectangle of light shone into the room as someone opened the closet door and Aemilia stilled as though she were encased in ice.

It was silent for a long, dreadful moment. The officer turned their head this way and that, walking into the room and turning on the light to search.

From where Aemilia was hidden, there was no way they would be able to find her. She thanked Wylynne that she hadn’t taken up on her mother’s offer to hire a maid to clean her closet.

The officer turned away to leave and Aemilia cheered in her heart.

After the guards left the premises, she would collect as many valuables as possible from the house and run off to her family’s private home in another part of town. From there, she would plan what to do next.

Her plan wasn’t perfect, but she would be able to get away with it.

Or at least, she thought she would.

Just as the officer was about to close the door, a strong, invisible force yanked Aemilia out from her hiding spot and she came crashing down noisily from behind the evening gowns, taking a few with her.

The officer immediately turned around, beckoning his partner to get her.

She hurriedly gripped a platform heel and attempted to plunge it in the man’s eye, but he caught her wrist and painfully twisted her arm behind her back.

The redhead screeched in fury and pain. His partner soon joined him, and they dragged her out into her room, each officer tightly holding on to one of her arms.

“What are you doing? Unhand me this instant!” She shrieked, writhing around in an attempt to escape. “Have you forgotten who you take orders from?!”

“No, but it seems as though you have.”

She paused at the sound of that familiar voice.

Her beloved casually strode into the room in all of his glory, his head held high, that ever present cocky, amused smile that she loved so much on his face.

“Namjoon.” She whimpered. “Namjoon, they’re hurting me.”

The student body president kneeled down in front of her and gently took her chin in his hands.

Her eyes filled with tears and she stuck out her bottom lip, waiting for Namjoon to tell the men to let her go. They better anticipate the earful they were about to receive. How dare they treat their future queen this way?

Namjoon lovingly stroked her cheek with his thumb, wiping away her tear. She nuzzled her cheek into his hand, looking up at him with a pitiful gaze. He smiled at her.

Surely he would save her.

Aemilia closed her eyes, suppressing a victorious smile as she felt Namjoon pull his hand away from her face.

But rather than the sound of him barking orders, she was met with the sound of a harsh slap.

Her eyes flew open in shock.

Her face stung.

“Nam..joon...?” She whispered, stupefied.

The senior was sneering down at her, pulling a handkerchief out the square pocket of his jacket and wiping his hand on it.

“What disgusting thoughts you have,” the man spat, dropping the handkerchief in another subordinate’s hand.

“Burn that.” He commanded.

Aemilia simply stared up at him in disbelief.

Had he...hit her?

“Namjoon, why are you doing this?” Her voice trembled. “You’d never hit me, you’re my...we’re-”

“Nothing.” Namjoon interrupted with a disinterested gaze. “I am not your anything. I’ve never given you any inclination that could lead you to assume that I loved you, or liked you, or cared for you in the slightest.”

Aemilia dropped to her knees in incredulity.

“That’s not true! You cared for me, I know you did! Ever since that (h/c) haired bitch appeared, you’ve turned away from me!” She screeched, her shrill voice piercing their ears. “I should’ve gotten rid of her sooner!”

As soon as the words left her mouth, all the air in Aemilia’s lungs disappeared. She heaved her chest, trying to breath, but found herself unable to.

He squatted down to face her.

“Let’s get one thing absolutely clear.” Namjoon spoke in a frighteningly low tone. “I never cared for you. You were nothing more than a useful little pawn in my game. A pawn who somehow tricked herself into believing she could become a queen.”

Her face turned redder and redder from anger, embarrassment, and the lack of oxygen.

“(Y/N) is more of a queen than you could ever be,” Namjoon stated, smiling at the memory of you sitting up in your hospital bed, grinning at him, the sun forming a halo behind your head. “She’s an angel. Our precious everything.”

He turned his gaze back to the creature before him. “She isn’t someone the likes of you can ever attempt to touch, much less harm or overthrow.”

Namjoon straightened, moving to walk towards the entrance to her room. “That’s my fault, I’m afraid. After all, I wasn’t able to properly regulate my inferiors.”

Black dots swam at the edge of Aemilia’s vision. She kept her eyes locked on Namjoon, still praying that this was all a prank or a joke, and that he would comfort her by sweeping her up into his arms.

“You truly have no idea what’s going to happen to you, do you?” He chuckled with a mirthless smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll fix that soon enough.”

Finally, her body gave in and shut down from the lack of oxygen. The redhead flopped over on her side, Namjoon’s cruel glare burned into the backs of her eyes.

——————————————————————

On the morning of the seventh day, you took advantage of your solitude by pondering the events of this week and the rather complicated emotions that came with them.

Despite their reputation and despite your fears, you had grown closer to the Kims over the past month.

They never threatened or harmed you or the people you cared about. They had welcomed you into their lives with open arms.

You had kept them at an arms length in an effort to protect yourself and your loved ones. But what had distancing yourself from them gained you?

Still, there was no way your method could be wrong. It was your livelihood, your path to survival in Ichabod.

There were rules here, rules that couldn’t be broken.

Yet the majority of those rules had been broken the moment you invited Jimin to sit with you at lunch.

Was it even possible that an alternative path to salvation freedom existed?

Had the Kims truly provided another way?

Your mother went around the room collecting and packing up your things for you as Mana helped you change in the bathroom, making sure to be careful of your still-healing shoulder.

When they left to fetch your discharge papers, you sat at the edge of the hospital bed and deliberated what could potentially be one of the most important decisions of your life.——————————————————————

i am so, so, so sorry for taking longer than usual to post! college and midterm season caught up with me--i’ll try not to let assignments interfere with my writing schedule in the future ;-;-; thank you so much for sticking with me through the wait! the long awaited day has finally come! revenge has never been so sweet hehe. also, the way that i have no idea how to write fight scenes--pfft. i hope you all enjoy the chapter <33

~taglist~

@melaninkpops @loserwithapen @hellaspookystudent @ecillartto @omgsuperstarg @ace-angel-judas @jjamsbangtan @lovinggalaxies @lovesick-heart0 @ksxmpoison @girlmeetsliv3 @thedarkwinterrose @purpuravm @oneweirdbean @hopelessfountainjoonie @mazmaz30 @enigmaticlove-03 @uppiespuppy @queenceline22 @kokofikats @taeyohonic @creatorspalace @supertweetycherry @anachikartadze @itsfeliciatime

#yandere x reader #yandere bts x reader #yandere jung hoseok #Yandere jeon jungkook #yandere kim namjoon #yandere kim seokjin #yandere kim taehyung #yandere park jimin #yandere min yoongi #yandere bts au #high school au #bts cult au #supernatural creature au

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readerinsertfanfiction · 3 years

Text

The Ring - Part 2

Fandom: Naruto

Character: Tobirama Senju

Prompt: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @sekhmetswrath MAKE IT A WONDERFUL DAY AND SIMP SOME MORE OVER YOUR MAN FOR YOU ARE TOBIONE!!! You can read part 1 here in case you missed it.

Word count: -1K

Warnings: Allusions to marriage & misunderstandings.

Masterlist

Maybe Tobirama did have some catching up to do. With the misunderstanding now cleared up, new opportunities revealed themselves, meaning that he had to grasp them hard and fast if he didn’t want to lose out and miss out again.

So, it started with lunch. Innocent and unremarkable, other than the fact that Tobirama went through the extra effort in reminding everyone (but mostly his brother) not to join him with lunch. You at least hadn’t thought much of it, unaware of the misunderstanding before and the distance that had put between you two. You did notice the extra effort Tobirama spent in approaching you, however, and that alone was enough to make your heart race.

Lunches alone, turning into spending days off together, turning into chatting after work, turning into dinners together. First outside, then at home, then it turned into cooking together until…

“Are you sure there is nothing between you two?” Hashirama had asked, sounding almost disappointed when you shrugged your shoulders.

“Should there be? It is rare enough for Tobirama to have a friend to begin with,” was your answer and in the back you could hear Madara holding back a laugh, though everyone in the room knew to agree with that statement.

“Well, yeah, but…” And for once Hashirama was a little at a loss of words, unsure how to tell you that there might be more coming from his brother who usually didn’t open up to anyone at all and certainly didn’t enjoy any chatter to come along with his lunches (which he also preferred to shove down his throat while doing some extra work).

And so it went on, with both of you entering a new routine that involved the other, growing closer, itching closer, but always that little distance of hesitancy between.

Did he like you the same way as you liked him? You posed the question to yourself one day, never really having dared to think the thought and possibility of becoming something more to the man than a friend.

What you didn’t know was that he was asking the exact same question, to himself. And that the only reason why he hadn’t broached the topic yet was because he believed himself to be rather obvious. After all, he had allowed you into his life, the one that everyone at work whispered about was too mysterious. To Tobirama there was no more obvious way to tell you that he wanted you in his life as something more than…

What were you? It even confused you, who had so far only thought of him as a friend.

But the question wasn’t broached and life went on. Lunches were eaten together, long conversations in which you poured out your hearts were shared. Late night strolls and dinners at each other's places.

You even shared a kiss. A fleeting one, but it was the press of the lips together and against each other nonetheless. It was shared at home, on your couch, after dinner and wine. Perhaps that one glass had been too much. Maybe the stew hadn’t cooked out all of the alcohol yet. Whatever the case, neither of you mentioned it again as Tobirama got up from your couch and bid you goodnight.

And then your birthday came. And once more Tobirama asked you for your time. Once more you went on your comfortable routine of lunches and talks and dinners together and spending time together as if the kiss had never happened. And it might as well not have happened seeing how fleeting it was. You couldn’t even recall his warmth.

But your birthday came and Tobirama had asked you for your time. Alone. So he had pressed and you hadn’t thought too much of it as you promised your friends to celebrate your birthday the day after. Surprisingly they all went along with it, smiles bright on their faces as if they knew what was going to happen without you saying anything.

The kiss still swirled in your head, confusing you all the more as you wondered what it meant with a man so stoic, but so subtle as Tobirama. He wasn’t one for bold declarations, you know, but sometimes you wish he was, so that it was easier to read him, to tell what he was thinking.

“You are still wearing your earrings,” he pointed out that night, eyes gliding over that finger on your left hand and its two silver bands. You thought it to be elegant, not too screaming, nothing too extravagant while also keeping the creeps at a distance.

“Sure do, can’t afford to lose it,” you smiled, raising the glass of wine that you were still nursing, not wanting to repeat another ambiguous moment with him that left you all in confusion and despair.

You really wanted to know what he was thinking. What he thought this was.

With a turn on your heels you faced the man, finding that Tobirama had turned as well, as the two of you met chest to chest, a heartbeat skipped and then continuing in union before you both spoke the name of the other.

You fell quiet, encouraging the other to go on as a questioning look bloomed upon your face and Tobirama pulled out a little box, square and small, too small to be anything else but what you thought as your heart started to march off the beat it just found.

“Happy birthday,” the man told you, revealing a silver band much like the ones you were wearing around your finger, but this time proper. A proper ring without the need to fool any other.

Tobirama was a man of subtle gestures and slight remarks. He wasn’t one for bold declarations or many explanations. You had found that when another misunderstanding was cleared up between the two of you. One that explained a whole lot more on what there was between the two of you.

#tobirama #Tobirama Senju #naruto tobirama #tobirama x reader #naruto #naruto x reader

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keingleichgewicht · 3 years

Note

WERE YOU KIDDING ABOUT THE ASK GAME if not i dont have any specific lyrics in mind but i always thought the lyrics to the mill were so cool and maybe you could get some thoughts out of them? :0

YEAH GOD OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT THE MILL. LET’S TALK ABOUT UHHHHHHHHH [THROWS DARTBOARD]

this line. this MIGHT go on for a while so i will............ readmore

so the mill feels kind of notably different to the rest of the pafl songs, which tend to be unusually literal for lyric, either straightforward retellings of events (punch it, punk!) or character piece monologues set to plot visuals (strike 3) or both (all of them, but for instance particularly comfort zone, which is just dmitry’s horrible manifesto until it gets hijacked by a death sentence in the second verse.) the mill is a lot more like what we expect from poetry these days, which is to say it’s heavy on imagery, low on clarity, and fucking confusing!

I’ll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold on to your battered hand Rocked to sleep beneath the snow, she is bathed in youthful glow ‘Strong enough to let it go,’ he says, but darling, I don’t know

a lot of the mill is about circles. this is in the name: a mill is something which turns. a waterwheel is a circle, a grindstone is a circle. it’s even in the melody: the chorus is a cyclic, pentatonic four-note riff that keeps going up and down and up its own ladder, chasing its own tail, not really reaching resolution. and then it’s also in, you know, the story:

the meat grinder!!!! everyone’s favorite fucking hellhole!!!! it is only semi-explicitly identified in the song but that’s because it’s a concept from the source material - both tarkovsky’s stalker and roadside picnic feature the meat-grinder, as a location nicknamed thus by stalkers because it is even more fucking deadly than the rest of the zone, all of which is already ridiculously fucking deadly, and if you’ve seen the movie:

it is more or less instantly recognizable in the mill as well. so here we have a circle! here we have a mill (the title has about seventy double meanings but this is certainly one of them,) and as it turns out, this mill at least will absolutely kill you. and horribly too. interestingly though, in roadside picnic (the book) the meat-grinder is not a tunnel, and it’s not round - it’s just a nondescript patch of ground which will wring you out like a dishcloth and kill you extremely dead if you walk into it. on the other hand what we have in the book in terms of circles is the golden ball, which is the equivalent of the movie’s the room, which is, well,

in short both stories ultimately hinge upon the idea that there is a something in the zone which can give you your heart’s desire. anything you want. everything you want. whatever you want. it is infinitely powerful; it is infinitely capable. the catch is that it will only give you what you want. the catch is that giving you what you want is not the same as giving you what you are asking for. the other catch is that in both cases you have to get through the meat-grinder first.

(so, by the way, what the fuck, right? does pafl’s zone have a wish-granting factory? is it also behind the grinder? where were the original trio going when they got themselves fucked up? and did they get there?)

but the point is: the golden ball, the wish-granting factory, is also a circle. it’s just sort of a sphere. it’s a big round fuckin yellow thing. you know, sorta like:

which is THE ONLY TIME yellow is used in occam’s razor not counting the full-colour shots, and it drives me CRAZY, but it is also me going full conspiracy board so let’s not even worry about it. THE POINT IS.

the circle is the death-machine and the wish-machine. neither of these things are really.... very good. the circle, or at least the arc, is also very closely associated with death:

(розовая дуга предрассветного, ‘rose arc of pre-dawn’. if i’ve fucked up that nominative please feel free to stone me to death!)

in the gdoc notes to message lost ferry briefly refers to the dawn as if it were a good thing, the dawn of hope, which is a usage that sort of agrees with the desolate and deathless hope of strike 3′s ‘everything will pass / a day will come,’ but on the other hand it really is very closely associated with dying. nikolai bites it; nikita bites it; sergei and olga left significant chunks of themselves behind. and the thing about ‘this too shall pass’ is that it’s always true, as is ‘everything ends’, but of course that’s ‘cause the thing that ends might be you. and as we know

dawn is an ending. so that seems concerning!

i think the circle, the arc, the bolt falling back to the ground, is not a good thing. i am getting a little conspiracy board here in general but forgive me, i cannot make you a wholesome answer, my wit’s diseased. i think the circle is an enclosed space. it’s an unbroken cycle. it’s the grindstone. it’s the mill. it’s about what pafl’s always been about: about being trapped, about having no chances, about being bordered upon. the circle’s the geometric figure of equidistance from a given point, and you can walk on it forever, and nothing will ever change; you will never get closer, you will never get further away, you will never get out! the sun rises, the sun sets, and you are no closer to anything you wanted. it’s worth noting that anya’s borderline city, the zone-edge port town she complains is trying to crush all her dreams, her mill

is a circle. (a cog in a machine! a grind-wheel! a cage!)

and yura, whose dreams have already been burned out of him, who starts the series already resigned to never getting out of here, calls it ‘this dire deja-vu’, i am specifically resisting putting the accent marks back onto that, which is to say, it’s a repetition that haunts him. it’s going round and round and getting nowhere.

so if we bring it back around: drawing a line in the sand, as the phrase is generally used, means setting a border, means saying this far and no further. often it’s yourself you’re setting the border for. you hit some divide you can’t abide crossing so you say this stops here, it may be too early or too late, but i say it stops here. so logically: drawing a circle in the sand means you’ve locked yourself in completely.

I’ll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold your battered hand

the whole first half of this song, i think, is olga promising to grind herself down in a hundred ways if it means she won’t be left alone. how hard can it be to never let it overflow? she may feel lower than the low, she may wish she could just disappear out here, into the postindustrial rust, but though it gets harder all the time she will keep pretending. she isn’t going to burden sergei, or indeed anyone, with her problems, her fears, her scars. she is hurt, but she’s used to it, she’s gotten used to being haunted long ago. she keeps her bad eye covered. she stays within her circle she has drawn. she keeps going round and round. she will take the smallest sliver of human connection and be happy, she promises she will be happy, she promises she won’t ask for more, she will take just the ‘hello.’

but you knooooow it’s not true. you know it’s grinding her down, that she’ll be milled to nothing pretty soon, and really she knows it too.

i am perhaps seventy percent sure that this line is a reference to the windmills of your mind by michel legrande, which features such lines as

Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind

which on one hand seems sort of obscure to be a purposeful reference but on the other hand would be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t, wouldn’t it. either way it characterizes circles ambiguously, but definitely unsettlingly. going around in circles is chasing infinity, but what in god’s name would you do with it if you caught it? what are you even hoping to accomplish? and:

the second half of this song is bitterer, sharper - staring down the mouth of the meat-grinder she’s a little more willing to admit to herself that this is going nowhere. she is running out of cages to keep herself in. she is very tired. it’s easy to say why don’t you leave it all behind, it’s easy to say, she’s strong enough to let it go, it’s easy to say, too strong to die. it is a lot harder to actually live.

this is also where the flashbacks admit to us how badly hurt they really were - sergei with his whole side in shreds, she still hides her eye but at least we get to see it’s bleeding. this moral compass is forever misaligned, she says, so there is damage, and it is lasting. and she can’t settle for hello, she can’t live like this, she needs someone by her side. the trouble is whether she can believe she has any hope of getting that

as for who ‘her’ is, or the ‘she’ of ‘she is bathed in youthful glow’, i figure there’s two possibilities: either it’s nadya, who haunts olga too, because nikita’s abandonment of nadya represents exactly what she most fears for herself, or it’s olga’s younger, unbroken, binocular self - both of whom were so young, and so easily hurt, and are now unfindable.

and then there’s this conclusion: ‘the sun will rise, until then / i’ll be waiting for you on the other side.’ which maybe is a sort of hope after all? she’s reached no real conclusions in the zone - she knows there must be hope but she can only barely believe in it - she thinks she is destined to self-destruct. but on the other hand she still has that, a version of sergei’s own ‘a day will come’

you may be hurt, but if you can hold yourself together, you can hope for a dawn someday. an ending. a change. but the trouble’s that there’s more than one kind of ending. and there’s more than one meaning for other side. there are cages, and then there are cages. and you know what else looks like a tunnel, a circle?

staring down the barrel of the gun.

#pafl #parties are for losers #it speaks #ask #in all fairness and in my defence when i made the joke i said i would write not less than one thousand words and by fuck #this has not been less than one thousand words!#jorgyjuice #THANK YOU FOR THE ASK ALSO THIS WAS REALLY FUN #and thank you VERY dearly to anyone who takes the time to read all this; you own my soul now; feel free to collect at any time #metatext

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gureishi · 3 years

Note

Saeyoung + 13? Or Saeyoung + 11?

[417]

Of COURSE, my friend~

Oh boy, this one was fun to do. I really hope you enjoy it ♡

thirteen: left your mark on me

Saeyoung X Reader, T, words: 2643

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

It’s the first time Saeran has ever texted you.

Technically, you think—heart pounding—that’s not true. Him texting you was, you suppose, the catalyst for everything that’s happened to you over the last few months. But the Saeran you know now—the quiet, tired boy who’s just recently started saying hello to you when you show up at his home—never. Certainly not.

Your hands tremble as you swipe to open his message. Something’s wrong, you think, because why else would he reach out to you? You feel your heartbeat in the roof of your mouth and say a prayer in your head. Be okay be okay be okay be okay…

“Come over,” says the text.

What?

“Is everything okay?” you text back with one hand, already tripping across your room, grabbing a jacket. Be okay be okay be okay be okay…

He answers immediately. He types fast, like his brother.

“Yeah,” he says. You let out the breath you’ve been holding. “Come talk to him. I don’t want to.”

You pause, one arm in your jacket. Come talk to him? That ambiguous phrase could mean so many things, and god, you want to know more, but you can’t want to press him—that he reached out at all is a huge step, one you wouldn’t dare jeopardize.

“Be right there,” you text back, stuffing your other arm into your jacket, slipping into shoes. You keep your phone in your hand as you throw the door open, taking the steps two at a time, but he doesn’t text you again. Of course he doesn’t—he’s said what he needed to say.

You put on loud music in the car, feeling the need to drown out the sound of your heartbeat. You roll down the window even though the wind blows your hair into your eyes, making it hard to see. You go over the messages again and again in your head: talk to him, he said. Talk to him about what?

Your music pounds over the speakers, rocking the car a little, and you grip the steering wheel slightly too hard. You’ve just missed rush hour and the traffic is dying down, so you make good time, driving just the tiniest bit over the speed limit. He’d scold you for it, you think—he’s always admonishing you for driving too fast, even though he pushes his fancy little cars to their limits on the empty dirt roads around the bunker. Hypocrite.

You take the exit, follow the street as it loops round and round, make the turn-off onto the unmarked road that leads to his home. The stars are starting to come out now.

You slow down as you see the bunker looming in the distance; from the outside, it’s ominous, and yet it fills you with an inexplicable warmth, flips your stomach around.

You shout the password at the garage without stopping, grinning as the first door opens for you. You half-expect to find him here, body mostly hidden under one of his cars, mysterious tools littering the ground around him. He’s often here when he’s sulking—today, though, the garage is empty, dark and dank. You pull into the one parking spot he’s left open for you—as far as possible from his cars, dressed for nighttime in their little protective hoods. I can park, you think grumpily. He doesn’t trust me.

But you know this isn’t true, and it’s confirmed again as you slip out of your car, keys in hand, and step cautiously toward his main door.

“Welcome,” it says to you in it’s robo-voice.

This is new.

“Šukran,” you say.

And without any further prompting—without questions, or quizzes, or nearly impossible translations, it opens. Almost as if it recognizes the sound of your voice.

Huh.

You kick off your shoes, tossing them into the jumble by the door. Saeyoung’s are heaped in a pile, some upside down and sideways; Saeran’s are lined up nearly beside his, in a perfect line as if to say “look, this is how it’s done.” This makes you smile.

Neither twin is in the living room. There’s a light under Saeran’s door, but you leave him be.

Anxiety building in the pit of your stomach, you pad down the hall in your socked feet. Saeyoung’s office is dark, but there’s light on in his bedroom. This, by itself, is unusual—without you here, it’s rare that he goes into that room at all.

You knock softly on the door, and when he doesn’t answer you push it open.

“It’s me,” you call softly, squinting as your eyes adjust. The room is as bright as the rest of the bunker is dark; all the fluorescent lights on are, starkly illuminating the black and yellow decorations. There’s barely any empty space on the walls, and it reminds you of his mind—so crammed with thoughts that there’s no place to rest.

In spite of his near-inhuman senses, he doesn’t see you at first.

He’s sitting on the floor, back propped against the side of the bed, headphones over his ears. His eyes are closed, knees tucked up to his chest. He looks small, like this—like you could scoop him up in your arms and carry him away.

“Hi,” you say, a little louder.

He jumps, eyes flying open, headphones slipping off one ear. He makes a spluttering noise that could be “huh?” or “hi” or just “haaaaah!”

You smile.

“Saeran didn’t tell you I was coming, then?”

“N-no, I…Saeran?” He blinks up at you as though he doesn’t quite believe you’re there. It’s then that you notice the sunken-in look about him: his eyes are clouded and sleepy, a little red-rimmed. His cheeks are pale.

You sink onto the floor beside him; you copy his posture, tucking your knees to your chest.

“Saeran told me to come talk to you,” you admit, looking down. You’re not sure why, but now that you’re here, you feel a little embarrassed. “So I did.”

“He…he…” Saeyoung looks lost for words. A part of you—a little bitter, self-conscious part—wonders if he wishes you hadn’t come. As if he senses what you’re thinking, he spins abruptly to face you, sitting cross-legged. He moves fast: in an instant, you’re almost nose-to-nose. “Sorry,” he says quietly, and you feel his breath on your face; your cheeks burn. “I’m soooo happy to see you, kitten. I was just…ah, surprised.”

It’s hard to breathe with him close like this. You bite your lip.

“I’m happy to see you, too,” you tell him.

And you are. His hair’s a little messed up, like he’s been running his hands through it, and there’s a sparkle in his eyes now—though he’s still got that harrowed, tired look about him.

“I, uh…” He looks down, his face reddening a little. “I was actually wishing you were here, earlier. I should’ve just called you myself.”

He pushes up his glasses and rubs his eyes with one shaky hand.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s wrong?” you ask.

He sighs, and you feel like maybe he’s been half-holding his breath all day.

“Not really,” he says.

“Saeyoung.”

He peers at you through his fingers; you feel you must look foolish with the stern expression you’re making, but he smiles.

“Oh, I just adore you,” he groans, now dropping his face into both hands. “I can’t resist you, you know.”

“I know.” Gently, you place a hand on his knee; he twitches in response.

“It’s something silly,” he warns, voice muffled by his hands. Suddenly, he tips forward; you realize what he’s doing just in time and shift your weight so his head lands on your shoulder. His breath is on your collarbone now, and a shiver runs through your body.

“I’m sure it’s not,” you say.

He exhales again, and fleetingly, you wonder if he’s doing this on purpose—breathing on the exposed skin of your shoulder just to tease you. Even gloomy like this, he can’t resist the urge to try and rile you up.

“I guess I sort of…realized something,” he mutters, voice low. You have to tilt your head down to hear him.

“Yes?”

“Having Saeran here is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he murmurs. He’s almost whispering, as if he’s afraid to be heard. “One of the greatest,” he adds, grazing your wrist with his thumb, calloused and rough and wonderful.

You hum your affirmation, not wanting to interrupt now that he’s talking.

“But…” He trails off as if he’s not quite sure how to explain it. His head is still on your shoulder and you can’t see his face; with your free hand, you gently brush his hair off his forehead. “My whole life,” he continues, a little more confidently, “I’ve just had one thing I’m trying to do. Everything I’ve done has been about making sure he’s safe. Now that I’ve got him, I…”

“Don’t know what to do next?”

He twists his head sideways—like a cat, you think, seeking out attention. You tangle your hand in his hair, pulling it a little, and you swear he purrs.

“Yeah,” he admits, voice breathy. “I’m not sure what I’m…here for, now.”

“Saeyoung.” You say his name firmly—something has dawned on you. You straighten abruptly and he pulls back if as startled. He’s still got that weary look, like he’s spent the day like this, buried under a pile of his own thoughts. “Saeyoung, has anyone ever asked you what you want before?”

“What do you mean?” He sits up straight too: faces you, fingers still gently gripping your wrist.

“Listen,” you say. “I know you want to live together with Saeran, and now you do. And you want him to be safe and happy. But aside from those things, what do you want?”

You can tell he’s puzzled; he cocks his head thoughtfully.

“I don’t, um…”

“Try to think.”

“I mean, I…”

He’s got this sort of helpless look about him, and you can’t take it anymore. You take his face in both your hands, gently holding his cheeks—which are flushed, almost feverish. Touching his face makes your body tingle.

“Let’s start small,” you tell him. His eyes are so big and bright behind his glasses and you feel a strange impulse to kiss his eyelashes. “Tell me one thing you want right now.”

His eyes lock with yours and then you see his face flush—if possible—even darker. His gaze trails down your face, lingering on your lips.

“Well…” he lilts, tilting his head to the side. “There is one thing I wanna do, but—I mean, ahh, I would say that I’m thinking about…”

“I’m gonna help you,” you whisper, hands still on his cheeks. “Tell me what you want and I’ll make it happen.”

His face is red—oh, so red.

“Well, the thing is, I…I really want you to kiss me,” he murmurs. Finally. The buzzy air between you was becoming almost unbearable.

You lean forward and he waits, patient, still, longing. He’s already so close; you ghost your lips over his and he melts into you instantly. You swipe your tongue over his bottom lip.

When you pull away he’s panting, eyes cloudy.

“Good,” you tell him. “What else do you want?”

“I…ah…” His voice sounds almost slurred: he’s overwhelmed, you think, by the way you’ve taken control. There’s a sort of dazed smile dancing over his lips.

“Tell me,” you urge. “Think of this as practice. I’m gonna teach you how to ask for what you want if it kills me, Choi Saeyoung.”

Oh, the look on his face is wonderful: delighted and spellbound.

“I want, ah…um, th-this,” he says—which isn’t really a request, but it’s a start. He takes your hand in his and guides it upwards, pushes your fingers into his hair.

“You want me to pet you?”

“Yeah, like…like how you did before.”

You comb your fingers through his messy curls, separating the strands with your fingertips. And you face is still so close to his, and he looks so hopelessly adoring, so you lean forward and kiss him again: once, quick and soft.

“Can you, uh…can you do what you did before? With my hair?” he asks weakly. What you did before…?

Oh.

You tangle your fingers in his hair a little more roughly, pulling it, and he squeaks and kisses you again, this time with unbound enthusiasm. You feel like you’ve unlocked a secret weapon.

Hand buried in his hair, you kiss just his lower lip, then the tip of his nose, his cheek, his jaw. You trail kisses down the side of his neck and he inhales sharply.

“Will you do that again?” he asks.

“This?” You kiss his neck again, gently, just under the curve of his jaw.

“Y-yes, but um…harder.”

Interesting. “Do you want me to?” you ask him—because this is practice, after all; you’re helping him—not just satisfying your own curiosity about how much he’d squirm if you just…nibbled him a little.

He giggles, high-pitched and awkward. “Mmmm…yes, I want you to,” he mutters, and that’s enough for you.

You take the smooth skin between your teeth, biting down, and he yelps. You were right—he does squirm, wiggling around like a fish. You suck the skin into your mouth, biting a little harder.

And by the time you pull away he looks dizzy; there’s a beautiful, silly grin on his face.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” you say softly, touching the already-reddening skin with your fingertip.

“I…think I like that,” he says, with some surprise.

“Good job,” you tell him, opening your arms—he eagerly leans into you, rests his head on your chest. “That was, uh…good practice.”

He laughs, warm and open and sleepy, and you wrap your arms around him.

“Excellent practice,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna need a lot more practice, though, so…”

“I’ve got you,” you tell him. You plant a kiss on the very top of his head and he hums. “I want you to start thinking about other stuff you want too, though. Okay? Life stuff.”

He gets comfortable, snuggling sleepily into you. He’s exhausted himself worrying, you think; he needs to power down that gigantic brain.

“Aaaaanything?” he sings, his tone lighter now, more relaxed.

“I mean…” Oh no.

“I want a hundred cats!”

“Saeyoung.”

“I can get them and squish them all and have them all sleep in my bed with me?!”

“Saeyoung…”

“And make a cat army and ride into battle on the back of a giant cat?”

“No.”

“Heeeeey,” he whines, and you squeeze him tighter, stroking his beautiful, messy, overwrought head. “You said anything.”

“Within reason, honey.”

He murmurs something only half-coherent about horse-sized cats and nuzzles into your chest. You wonder how much he’s slept in the past few days, stewing over his future. It’s normal to worry about these things, you think—but for Saeyoung, who’s never once thought about his future, it’s nearly impossible.

But this is what you want for him. You want to see him make choices for himself—to learn how to put his happiness first.

“One cat,” you murmur into his hair. “Let’s start with one cat.”

He hums, head heavy.

“Three,” he mumbles. “One for each of us.”

“Sure, baby,” you tell him, curling a lock of his thick red hair around your fingertip. He’s so soft and helpless like this—dozing off curled up in your arms, humming softly as you pet his head. “If that’s what you want,” you say, “I’ll make sure it happens.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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agathasangel · 3 years

Text

her favorite (wilhemina venable x fem!reader)

Warnings: Angst, Mina has a soft side, ambiguous/sad ending I guess. TW for injury, blood and death.

Summary: When the apocalypse comes, you get taken away and brought to a strange underground sanctuary, which Wilhemina Venable ruled with an iron fist. But against all odds, this harsh woman took a liking to you. This is your relationship from when the you’re taken to the outpost all the way to when the timeline is reset.

You never believed there was anything extraordinary or special about you. You were a regular college student. You had no idea what you wanted to do with your life. Little did you know that you wouldn’t need to know anyway.

You lived alone and spent most of your time drawing, writing or working for your classes. Even though you were lonely, you were still happy with your life. Until it all changed forever.

One day, you got a missile alert on your phone. You panicked, not knowing wha to do or if you should believe it or not. You decided to grab a bunch of food from your pantry, your notebook and pencils and a change of clothes, shoved them into your backpack and tried to run to the basement of your building. Before you could get there, you were grabbed by two men wearing all black.

“(Y/n), You have been selected by The Cooperative.”

“You’re coming with us.”

“What are you talking about? What’s the Cooperative?”

“Your exceptional genetic makeup has made you a prime candidate to survive this apocalypse. We’re taking you to an outpost where you’ll be safe.”

Because the only alternative was hiding in the basement of your apartment building and waiting for certain death, you decided to just go along with it and not fight.

The men put you in a holding cell. While you waited, you wondered who else the Cooperative decided to save. You worried about your family back home, your friends, and the girl from school you were in love with. What would happen to them? Would they get sent to an outpost? Would they find somewhere else safe? You couldn’t stand the thought of anyone you love dying of radiation.

You were at the point of wallowing in your regret for not doing enough before all this happened, and especially for not telling that girl how you felt about her, when the two men grabbed you again.

“Time to go.” one said. The two men stripped you and scrubbed you down, and then put you into a hazmat suit and took you to Outpost Three.

When you arrived, one of the first things you heard was a cane (her cane, you would come to find out) clicking against the floor.

The most beautiful woman you have ever seen, with red hair and black Victorian-style clothes who walked with a cane came into your view.

“I’m Wilhemina Venable,” she told you, “Welcome to Outpost Three.”

The woman showed you around the outpost. It was so large and ornate, nothing like what you were expecting.

“This place is beautiful. Was it built for this?”

“It was not. For years it served as an exclusive boy’s school. But it was donated. Once the Cooperative realized what was coming.”

“What exactly... is the Cooperative?”

“They are are saviors, Miss (y/l/n). The visionaries. The ones who saw the end, and decided to make it the beginning. I am their face, Miss (y/l/n).”

She showed you to your room. You did not expect to bunk beds or something, but instead you got a place all you yourself.

“As a purple, you will be furnished with a private suite.”

“A purple?”

“The purples are the elite. The ones chosen by the Cooperative to survive. The purples wear purple. The greys, our worker ants, wear grey. You see, Miss (y/l/n), here everyone must know their place. Luckily for you, your place is near the top.”

“What about you? What are you?” you said, resisting the urge to make some kind of innuendo about this woman you found incredibly hot being the top.

“I am neither. I am the right arm of the Cooperative, my job being to run this outpost.”

So she was the top. Nice.

“The house rules are simple. You will refer to me only as Ms. Venable. You will never leave the building due to the dangers of radiation contamination. If you leave you will not be allowed back in. And finally, no unauthorized copulation of any kind. Under any circumstances. You’ll find your evening wear on the right side of the armoire. You are expected in the music room at 6:30.” And the woman left. You knew you probably didn’t have much of a chance with the cold woman in the first place anyway, but the rule against sex confirmed it. It was okay though. You changed into the corset and purple gown Ms. Venable provided for you (was it the Cooperative that had a serious thing for Victorian fashion or was it just Ms. Venable?).

You walked into the music room, which was playing the same song on repeat, and was filled with a bunch of people who you vaguely recognized. Some talk show host, her son, his boyfriend, and a bunch of people from prominent families. You were the only one there so far that was just plucked out of their home by chance.

During dinner, You sat next to where Ms. Venable sat at the head of the table. Despite knowing you didn’t have much of a shot, you were still attracted to her. But, did you just imagine, that she didn’t look at you with the same amount of disdain that she looked at the others with?

After a while, two more people like you showed up, and both of them were close to your age. However, they only wanted to be with each other most of the time. You assumed they would become a couple, and that Ms. Venable’s whole “no-sex” rule was probably really dragging them down.

One day, after an incident where the entire outpost thought they were being fed the body of one another purple who was killed due to contamination, you were in the library, sitting and drawing. You wanted to take your mind off of everything. You thought you were alone, but then you heard the click of a cane on the ground and realized that you weren’t.

“(Y/n). I thought I would find you in here.”

You jumped and held your notebook to your chest. “Ms. Venable! Is there... something you need?”

The woman chuckled. “You’re not like the rest of them, you know that? You’re so much better.”

“You think so?”

“I do. And I do hope that you don’t think any less of me after last night’s debacle.”

Why does she care what I think? “I don’t. I know you would never.... do what Andre accused you of. And besides, wasn’t he contaminated? I know you wouldn’t make us eat something contaminated, that just doesn’t make sense...”

“I’m glad someone in this outpost has some damn common sense. I like you, (y/n),” she said as she walked by you and lightly ran a hand through your hair as she went by. “Do not tell the others that I favor you,” the woman instructed as she sat by you and peered into your notebook. She started asking you about your writing and drawing and you showed them to her. And you ripped out one of your most recent drawings, a drawing of Ms. Venable herself, and gave it to her.

“Thank you, (y/n). That is... kind of you.”

“Of course.”

The woman moved in to kiss you, and you obliged her. She wrapped her arms around your waist and kissed you. You closed your eyes and let your top lip fall in between her lips and she started to bite your lip, lightly at first and then roughly. You were really enjoying it, but then she pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” she told you. “Please, do not tell anyone.”

“Ms. Venable-”

“I’m sorry, Miss (y/l/n), but this simply cannot happen.”

“But-”

But she had left.

The next time you were alone with Ms. Venable was while Michael Langdon was giving his interviews. You had had yours earlier that day, and Ms. Venable seemed to be right after you. You were in the library, again, and you swore you heard crying. You looked for the source, and it was her. You didn’t even think that this woman could cry. She looked shocked to see you.

“Get out.”

“Ms. Venable, what’s going on?”

She was trying to hold on until you left, but you held out until the woman burst into tears again.

“Please, Ms. Venable, please tell me what happened. You know I care about you.”

“You’re the only one who does. And you wouldn’t if you knew what I really am.”

“That’s not true. Is this about your interview?”

“Langdon... he unzipped my dress... he saw my back, my disgusting...”

“Hey, I’m sure it’s not disgusting-”

“And then he told me that I didn’t... that I didn’t pass.. I’m going to die here, (y/n).”

“That’s not fair. I’m sorry, Ms. Venable.”

“I.. I hope you get out of here, (y/n). I still lo- I still, um, care for you.”

“I don’t want to leave without you, Ms. Venable.”

“I don’t think you’ll have much of a choice in that matter.”

Late that night, you were woken by a familiar sound of a cane and then a knock at your door.

“It’s open, please come in Ms. Venable.”

She entered your room and sat down on the foot of your bed.

“I have news,” she started. “Ms. Mead and I have plans to escape this place. She doesn’t know it yet, but you’re coming with us. We will find the sanctuary ourselves. How does that sound?”

“Great, Ms. Venable. I’m relieved to hear that.”

“Wonderful. So that’s settled then,” said Ms. Venable as she started to leave.

“Wait. Why don’t you stay in here, Ms. Venable?”

She hesitated but agreed. She climbed into your bed and hesitantly put an arm around you.

“You can call me Mina. That’s what my parents and the few friends I had used to call me before the war.”

“Mina... beautiful. You’re so beautiful, Mina.”

And she kissed you again. You didn’t go any further than that because she was afraid of you seeing the body she was so ashamed of.

“I understand. But I promise when you want to I will think that you are perfect, because you are, Mina”

“You’re too sweet, little one,” she told you. She fell asleep in your bed, with you. She woke up earlier than normal and shook you awake.

“I’m leaving so no one else finds out I was here. But I love you, my little one.”

You reached out to her and she lightly touched your hand with the hand that was free from her cane before walking away.

That was the first time she said that she loved you.

This started to happen every night. Ms. Venable- or Mina would come into your room late, would talk with you and kiss you and most importantly, she would update you on the situation with the escape and Langdon.

The night before Halloween, she told you the most terrifying thing of them all. She and Ms. Mead planned on poisoning the entire outpost during the party, including Langdon, before their escape. You protested.

“It is simply what needs to be done, (y/n).”

“What about me?”

“You will hide in your room until we are ready. You will be locked in. I am sorry, (y/n), but your only other options are your death, my death, or both of our deaths. And I will not die.”

“This isn’t right.”

“What choice do we have?”

Mina still stayed with you that night, and while things were still tense between the two of you, she still told you she loves you, that she only wants to protect you. And despite everything, you still loved her.

All day, you dreaded every second that passed. The other purples were so excited about the party, and you wanted to tell them that they were going to die, but you simply couldn’t speak. When the party started, you were locked in your room. You had no idea what to do with yourself. You weren’t close with anyone in the outpost other than Mina anyway, but you didn’t want them to die. You heard the music downstairs and all the sounds of the happy partygoers. The young couple dancing. Coco, Gallant and even Mallory having fun together.

You didn’t want to let it happen. But even if you could somehow get out, what would happen? What would happen to Mina? What would happen to you?

And then you heard screams. It was too late.

And then, silence.

You expected Mina and Ms. Mead to come and rescue you and prepare for escape, but they didn’t come.

After ten minutes, they didn’t come. After thirty, they still hadn’t come. You banged on the door and nothing happened. You searched and searched for a way out and there was nothing. You took a clip out of your hair and tried to pick the lock, and it finally worked. You ran down the hall, searching for any sign of Mina, Ms. Mead, anyone. And then, you saw her.

Mina was lying on the ground of Michael’s bedroom, alone, bleeding. Someone had shot her.

“Mina! Mina, are you alive? What happened?”

“shhhhh....” she said, weakly. At least the was still alive. You searched for something to do and you decided to rip a big chunk of your skirt off and use it to stop Mina's bleeding.

“Breathe,” you whispered. “It’ll be okay...”

You weren’t sure if you believed what you were saying, but her bleeding did slow. You did everything you remembered to help her, including keeping her warm and putting pressure on the wound.

“I love you, little one.” said Mina.

#my fics #wilhemina venable #ahs #ahs apocalypse #ahs imagine #ahs fanfiction #wilhemina venable x reader #venable x reader #sarah paulson #i wrote this in like two hours so it might not be good #but im posting it anyway

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itcameuponamidnightqueer · 3 years

Note

fake dating 10, any pairing you want

damie + “please just hold my hand, that person’s basically undressing me with their eyes.”

trope prompts

It’s not that Jamie doesn’t want to be at this school function, it’s just that—

No, that’s a lie. She definitely doesn’t want to be here, and wouldn’t if she weren’t part of the staff. Wouldn’t be here if Dani hadn’t tricked her, really, because Jamie’s usually pretty good about saying no even at work.

“Rebecca’s back from traveling,” Dani had tried, and Jamie said no because who knows how long that’ll last.

“Owen said he’s gonna ask Hannah out,” she’d tried next, and Jamie had actually laughed in her face.

“Someone is actually going to have to physically force those two together,” she’d replied, and Dani’s eyes lit up, prompting her with a quirk of an eyebrow.

In no world does Jamie want to be that person.

Dani had sighed. “Free booze,” she’d grumbled, desperate. Jamie had rolled her eyes and opened the door to her well-stocked liquor cabinet.

Dani had pursed her lips together and turned her face away, almost quick enough for Jamie to miss the grin she was failing to suppress.

If Jamie weren’t constantly on the lookout for that smile, she might have succeeded.

Dani had sighed again, raked a hand through her fluffy, perfect hair, and flopped back on the couch.

“Okay, fine,” she huffed. “You win, don’t come, we’ll hang out over the weekend and I’ll just tell you all about how lonely I was at the party—my first party without Eddie, which everyone will probably be asking me about and I’ll have to field awkward questions all night—”

Jamie scoffed. “And you think I’m going to magically make them not be awkward?”

“No,” Dani answered, a little too quickly. “I think you’d glare at them so hard they wouldn’t even ask me in the first place.”

“I think I’ve just been insulted!”

“No,” Dani laughed, “you just have that whole—” She scrunched her eyebrows together and set her shoulders, curled her lip upwards into an unmistakable hint of a sneer. Her voice, when she spoke, was half an octave lower and at least six countries away from Jamie’s accent. “—’Don’t fuck wiv’ me’ vibe going on,” she finished.

Jamie had taken a few long moments to blink away the urge to kiss her.

“You’ve gotten worse,” she’d finally said. “Almost a year and a half working together and you’ve gotten worse.”

“Come to the party and you can spend the whole time teaching me.”

“Dani.”

“Jamie.”

Her eyes weren’t wide anymore; they’d shrunk back to being shy and vulnerable, the stormy kind of blue that Jamie didn’t ever see unless they were alone. Jamie had spent the better part of a year not acknowledging her feelings for Dani, and she was good at it. Not always good enough to escape Hannah’s shrewd gaze, but enough to where it was a genuine friendship, and she only felt the roar of devotion flare up in the quietest, most private of moments.

Jamie was excellent at controlling her emotions. She’d spent an entire lifetime honing that skill, protecting herself from the surprisingly large amount of people who seemed destined to hurt her.

Jamie had nothing on Dani Clayton.

Dani could suppress any negative feeling until it almost ceased to exist; she had an incredible way of just...willing things not to happen. It had taken months for her to reveal the cracks in her relationship with Eddie, and even then Jamie sat by and watched, completely blown away, by how quickly and how sincerely Dani put the mask back up around people who only wanted to see silk and porcelain. The crazy thing about it was that Dani meant it; Dani gave all of her attention to everyone who asked for it. She didn’t have an insincere bone in her body.

But, god—Jamie’s life had been shit before, and still nothing made her sadder than watching Dani perform.

If all it took for her not to do that was one party, well, she could table the rest of it for later.

She’d picked up her phone and opened up the group chat they had with Hannah, Owen, and Rebecca.

“Right,” she’d groaned, “guess we’ve gotta coordinate who’s driving because the only way I’m getting through this is if I’m very, very drunk.”

And so Jamie finds herself at the not-yet-Christmas, ambiguously-winter end-of-semester party, sticking to Rebecca like a leech while she regales groups of coworkers with the same six stories of her very impulsive, wildly successful trip around the world. Dani, meanwhile, hasn’t been answering any awkward questions, from what Jamie’s heard, and is instead relaxed and popular as she chats with all of their friends.

Jamie almost turned around ten minutes in, once it became clear what the tone of the night would be. But there was no sense in bailing when she was already there and hadn’t driven herself, and—

Who would be there for Dani to look at, every twenty minutes or so, just for reassurance or to check in or whatever kind of comfort she might be seeking. (Jamie doesn’t know for sure what it is. She knows what she hopes it is. But that’s something else for the ‘later’ bag.)

She stays. Jamie stays and drinks and laughs and eventually gets sucked into the party of it all, which is why she’s five minutes into her best story of youthful shenanigans that didn’t end in a visit from the cops, and absolutely doesn’t notice the anxious blonde rushing at her from across the room.

“Hold my hand, hold my hand, hold my hand,” Dani urges, arm outstretched as she speeds closer. She hits Jamie’s elbow when she gets close enough and finally manages to wrestle Jamie’s hand into an iron grip.

Jamie, sufficiently interrupted, stops talking and looks down. “What’s going on here, then?”

Dani takes a deep breath and plasters on the worst attempt at a smile Jamie’s ever seen, which is still pretty good by most peoples’ standards. “Remember all those awkward questions I thought I’d get about Eddie?” she says through clenched teeth.

“Yep.”

“Thought they’d be full of pity, not flirting.”

Jamie’s head shoots up, trying to pick out the offenders, but Dani slaps her elbow again.

“Don’t look!” she hisses. “We have to make this convincing.”

“Make what convincing?” Jamie narrows her eyes and takes a long sip of her drink. “You’re pulling me into some kind of scheme, Poppins, and I know I’ve told you what happened the last time somebody did that…”

Dani laughs, high and fluttery and nervous in the back of her throat. “Please just hold my hand,” she implores. “Nathan is basically undressing me with his eyes but I think you can scare him off if he sees us together.”

“Nathan?” Jamie starts to scan the room again, a little less obviously this time. “Nathan Ford, the school’s sluttiest social studies teacher?”

“Mhm.”

“The same Nathan Ford who’s walking over right now?”

“What!” Dani straightens up, rigid and spooked like a deer in the road. “I can’t believe—I was so careful; is he stalking me?”

The anxiety is short-lived and replaced very quickly with anger once Jamie can no longer hold in her laughter.

“You,” Dani says, prying Jamie’s drink from her other hand, “tricked me.”

“You tricked me first,” Jamie winks.

“I don’t even think he’s in here anymore.”

Jamie shrugs. “Probably not.”

“You made me think I was in so much trouble…”

“You’re always safe with me, Poppins.”

Dani finishes the drink.

The funny thing is, neither of them lets go.

Nathan Ford isn’t the only slutty teacher and it doesn’t take Jamie long to get a glimpse of what Dani’s been dealing with, the men—single and married—who look at her just a little too long, a little too presumptuously. Dani, of course, handles it with grace and charm, and Jamie thinks that maybe she didn’t need her grumpy buffer after all.

She holds tight anyway, just in case.

It’s a dangerous thing to do, parade a fake relationship in front of all of their coworkers, but it doesn’t feel wrong or forced. They’re going on a break soon, Jamie rationalizes. School is going on a two-week break and everyone is drunk and no one is going to remember the scandal of the fourth grade teacher clinging all night to the newest member of the art department. If they do...well, everything can be laughed off or pushed down or forgotten eventually.

So they cling and they talk and Jamie expertly lets every too-interested man know, with absolute certainty, that their efforts should be directed elsewhere. She tickles her fingers against Dani’s, throws in a few isn’t that right, love’s every once in a while, rubs a hand on her back when the moment feels right. And Dani—

Dani invades her space—presses their shoulders together, scratches at the inside of Jamie’s wrist, wipes a stray bit of liquor from the side of her mouth after an untidy sip. Jamie feels all of this and lets it wash over her, lets it sink under her skin and warm her body until she feels like she could start a fire with her hands.

The night winds down and people filter out and eventually there isn’t anyone left to fool. But Dani’s hand is still in hers and Jamie is more than happy to be slow and soft with her. She stays, for the tenth and fifteenth and hundredth time.

It’s just the five of them left, eventually, and they migrate to the bar when the party room in the back seems too large for such a small group. They situate themselves on stools in the corner, and the conversation flows without a hitch. It always has with this group—Owen, Hannah, and Rebecca first, then Dani, then Jamie. She’d tell them all how much it really means to know them if anyone got enough drink in her.

Until then, she’ll scoff at group texts and drag her feet to parties and settle into the fact that they all know it’s for show anyway.

She props her head on her hand and listens, quickly approaching the sleepy part of drinking. She tries not to watch Dani too much while they all talk but it’s difficult—Dani is noticeable at a distance and absolutely striking up close. The curl of her lips as she smiles, the way they overtake her entire face if she means it enough (and she usually does); the laughter that pours out of her and directly into the hearts of anyone lucky enough to be listening; the way her ears look bigger when she hooks her hair behind them, how she only does that when she’s in very comfortable company.

After about thirty minutes, Jamie gets up to retrieve their coats before she does something stupid, like playfully tug at Dani’s earlobe or reach in to straighten the collar on her shirt.

She returns shortly, holding her leather jacket and Dani’s very puffy winter coat, and sits down without a word, content to wait for a natural break in the conversation. She folds the coats over her lap and fiddles with a coaster on the counter.

Dani absently reaches back to still her fingers after about a minute. A simple gesture—resting her hand atop Jamie’s, perhaps swiping her thumb across the back of her hand. Nothing like the displays they’d been putting on earlier. So unlike them, in fact, that Jamie doesn’t notice it at all.

Owen, Hannah, and Rebecca can’t take their eyes off it.

“So, what, were you waiting to tell me until I got back?”

Jamie nurses the dregs of her beer. “Tell you what?”

“This, what is this!” Rebecca exclaims, fluttering her fingers in the direction of Jamie and Dani’s still-clasped hands. “I go gallivanting around the world for an entire year and neither of you mention that you’ve shacked up?”

Jamie and Dani look at their hands, look at each other, and start speaking at the same time.

“We’re not dating, it was just a stupid thing for tonight—”

“Jamie’s doing me a favor since Eddie’s gone and men are creepy—”

“Right, sure.” Rebecca squints and fixes both of them with a sly glance. “It’s just for tonight, to ward off creepy men, which is why you’re still doing it since there are so many of them around now.”

“Must have just gotten used to it,” Dani offers weakly.

“Of course, which is why you still haven’t let go.”

Jamie lets go and tries not to telegraph how much she misses the weight of Dani’s hand.

“You’re definitely not dating,” Rebecca continues, “which is why Jamie got up and got her coat and Dani’s, and left the rest of us hanging.”

Dani looks down and finally notices the coat in Jamie’s lap. “You got my coat?” she asks, furrowing her brow.

“Yeah,” Jamie shrugs. “Seemed like you were ready to go.”

“Yeah, but I was—I was still talking.”

Jamie waves a hand. “You were telling the piano lesson story; you always tell that when you want the night to wind down.”

“No, I—” Dani frowns and retrieves her purse from where it’s hooked around the stool; she rummages through it frantically, her movements loose and messy. “How did you get my coat check ticket?”

“Took that from ya ages ago, Poppins,” Jamie answers. “You were so nervous you were gonna rub the number right off it, and then we’d both be shit outta luck.”

Jamie watches as the expression on Dani’s face morphs, unfurls from stern, puzzled ridges and relaxes into fondness, into twinkling eyes and soft cheeks, a mischievous affection that floors Jamie every time she sees it. Every time, she wonders how many people have been lucky enough to have been on the receiving end of this look, and hopes that the answer is ‘very few’.

“We should, um, probably go,” Dani whispers.

Jamie smiles. “We all drove here together,” she reminds Dani, just as quietly.

Dani slumps back. She reaches for her coat but instead of grabbing it, simply rests her hand on top, like she’s waiting.

Jamie breathes deeply and avoids looking at Rebecca.

“Owen, mate,” she says, daring him to tease her, “maybe you could drop off Dani and me first.”

#the haunting of bly manor #damie #dani x jamie #dani clayton #jamie taylor #can't believe it's taken me this long to jump on the bly manor bandwagon but #here i am boys here i am world!!#as usual: this got out of hand!!!#tumblr fic #long post #anonymous #carments

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wevegottogetaway · 3 years

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Crashing into you

Sooo, I have no idea where this concept came from but here is you and Harry surviving a plane crash only to find yourselves stranded on an island (featuring best friends to lovers and who knows what else). There is more to come after this part, I’m just really busy with uni at the moment, so smaller pieces at the time it is. Please leave some feedback if you have any, or tell me what you would like to see happen in future parts! Happy reading xx

It wasn’t supposed to happened.

None of it was. Not the birds. Not the fire. Not the nose-dive.

And you weren’t supposed to be there either. Weren’t supposed to find yourselves floating 35,000 feet over endless stretches of sea when it happened. Not you and certainly not Harry whose presence was only the result of his boundless generosity.

It was a last minute trip on your part, an emergency response to the calling of a friend back in London; they’d gotten hospitalized and you were their emergency contact, pretty simple maths. Your assistance was irremissible and since it was cutting your time short with Harry, he didn’t hesitate before offering both his support and an express flight aboard some kind of private jet. None of you knew it at the time, but that decision turned out to be a twisted expression of serendipity, a very sick jock that the universe wasn’t supposed to make.

Except it did happened and there was no escaping the cataclysm that ensued.

***

The cabin of the small plane is plunged in peaceful silence, the deep whir of its engines and the soft snores wafting through Harry’s nose the only white noises filling the space. There is no fussing toddler, no businessman talking loudly on the phone, no arguing couple; just you and Harry, one flight attendant and two pilots. Everything around you looks pristine and expensive, from the champagne you were offered but declined at the beginning of the flight, to the refined suede upholstery covering all the seats.

You’re not used to the luxury, and frankly, neither is Harry.

He doesn’t use private planes very often, doesn’t think it makes much sense to waste all that toxic kerosene when commercial flights do the job perfectly, and doesn't like how they make him feel like the diva some people mistakenly make him out to be. But for you he’d bend the rules. For you he’d bend over and backwards to assuage any of your pains and worries. You had been so on edge when you told him about your friend, so desperate to be there for them, he had just wanted to be there for you in turn.

That’s why the two of you hopped in this small aircraft nearly four hours ago, with his hand drawing comforting shapes on your back. Now, you find yourself absentmindedly nipping at your nails, overthinking ever possible scenario that could unfold once you land and find your friend. In deep conversation with your conscience, you’ve been looking out the small window to your right, as if any of the two blue immensities painting the horizon knew all the secrets that you needed. They don’t; if anything, they bring their own mysteries to an already confusing world.

The atmosphere inside the plane is so inert, it feels like someone pressed the pause button. The flight attendant has remained quietly by her station, waiting for any signal that would indicate her presence required, and the pilots haven’t piped a word since their polite ‘have a lovely flight,’ when you first boarded the plane. The little company wouldn’t bother you so much, if Harry hadn’t fallen asleep thirty minutes in, leaving you to your own devices. You figure you can’t be too grumpy about it though, he did just rent a plane for your sake after all. Plus, his unconscious state has allowed you to ogle his sleepy figure for hours without being noticed, a treat you’re rarely privy to on top of being a nice distraction from your current troublesome thoughts.

Three years. Three years you’ve been a very dedicated friend to him and he to you. Three years of holding each other’s hand through any hardships and laughing till you’re blue in the face; three years of always supporting each other in your craziest undertakings and inspiring each other to be the best version of yourselves. You two are an indestructible pair and your friendship is the purest, most sacred thing you were given in this world.

Except, it’s also been three years of mind-boggling and consuming feelings that can’t be quelled and have no limits. Three years of secret glances when he’s too focused on something else to notice. Three years of talking yourself down from those feeling, but to no avail; they keep coming back full force and with a vengeance. It quickly became a full time job really, an art you mastered over time. At first because he was happily in a relationship, so there was no speculating whether your affections could be returned. Then once that ended, you were already so wired to ignore the skip of your heartbeats when he looks at you tenderly, or the soft and sometimes borderline ambiguous cuddles he gives you when he’s had one too many Margaritas; that the fantasy of him loving you the way you do was just unfathomable, you never even considered speaking up about it.

But these were your three years, not his.

You let out a deep sigh, as your musings once again circle back to your unrequited love. You wish you had more control over them, could limit them to sleepy fabulation sweetening your mind right before you surrender to unconsciousness. But alas, them come and go as they please, slip into your mind at any inopportune time, often betraying you by pigmenting your cheeks in cerise-colored bashfulness. Even now, in the stillness of the pressurized cabin, as your eyes settle back on his slouched form in the seat opposite yours, your skin can’t help but heat up in fondness.

Before you can get too lost in the soft eyelashes caressing his cheekbones, or the cupid bow shaping his pink supple lips, or the way a few of his mischievous curls are dandling in front of his face, slightly fluttering at each soft puff coming out of his mouth…yeah, before you get too lost in all that, you reach for the small bottle of water sitting on a small table.

You barely have the cap unscrewed before a massive tremor shakes the whole aircraft, spilling half of the bottle’s content on your lap. Your hand immediately white knuckles the armrest of your seat, your eyes widening in fear and frantically scoping the cabin for the flight attendant or anyone that could tell you what the hell is going on. Then the panic pumping through your veins prompts you to check on Harry and wake him back to alertness, but to your relief, he’s already groggily shaking the slumber from his limbs with a deep frown on his face. "Wha’s goin’ on?"

If dread wasn’t firing each of your nerve-endings, you’d find his grumpy look and slurred speech quite adorable, but the sight of the frazzled-looking stewardess coming towards you is sending a different kind of chills down your spine. These people are trained to maintain composure in all circumstances, so her trepidation can only mean one of two things: she’s either very new at her job or there is clearly a cause for concern.

"You two need to fasten your seat belts immediately," she speaks hurriedly.

"Sophia, what’s going on?" Harry reiterates his question with more alarm.

"We’ve collided with a flock of birds. We don’t know the extent of the damage yet, so I need you two to buckle in."

You and Harry share a worried look then, still confused about the situation. The plane has regain some semblance of stability, it seems, but Sophia’s anxious behavior doesn’t sooth your nerves one bit. She makes a quick exit back toward the cockpit, probably to discuss the ordeal further with the pilots. You gulp your uneasiness away, fidgeting on your seat as your hands blindly feel around for the safety belt, but the image greeting your eyes as they veer back to the window has your heart dropping to your knees.

Lambent orange and red flaring from the engines and lapping at the wing. Black smoke leaving an angry trail behind the plane and fogging up the windows.

"Harry," you barely manage to breath his name out and the urgency of your tone has him straighten up in his seat. "Harry the wing is on fire." You twist your head back towards him only to find him jumping from his seat to plop down next to you. The absolute gleam of terror swimming in your eyes makes his blood turn cold, so he quickly takes your hand in both of his before glancing at the carnage taking place outside. He gulps in apprehension before buckling his seatbelt and checking that yours is clasped in as well.

"Fuck, okay, it’s okay, love. Everything’s gonna be okay." It’s more prayers than reassurances tumbling out of his mouth, squeezing at your hand in plea, and a couple seconds after his utterance the tremors resume with greater intensity. You both can feel the aircraft slanting downward as everything around you start shaking as though you were caught in an earthquake. Except, you couldn’t be further from earth at the moment, and the shaking is not going to just pass after a while.

Objects start falling and rolling down all over, the tray of complimentary drinks tumbling down from the back of the plane to crash at the front. You and Harry are wrapped up in a protective embrace, tucking your faces in each others neck to avoid impact and because you’re both too afraid to look at the unfurling chaos. You can feel your seatbelt straining against your lower belly in a dire attempt to keep you in one place, but as the plane starts plummeting for good, top becomes bottom, right becomes left, and your bodies become masses thrown around at the hands of gravity just like everything else.

The last thing you hear before everything goes south is a defeated ‘brace for impact’ coming from the small intercom of the cabin. You feel the brutal shock of the plane hitting smooth surface if it weren’t for the speed of the collision, and then it’s just water.

Water everywhere. Water enveloping your body in a frigid clutch, water weighing you down as it imbibes every fiber of your clothes, water invading your retinas and blurring your vision. Water seeping through your mouth, pouring into your lungs when you feel the skin at your shin torn by sharp metal.

You vaguely hear your name being shouted, but the shortage of oxygen in your system makes you feel delirious. At this point you barely have enough energy to fight unconsciousness, much less the threat of your crumbling surroundings. That’s how you don’t feel the hand grasping at your shoulder and hosting you up on a floating piece of broken wing. Harry is holding onto it for dear life as well, muttering more prayers and encouraging words for you to please stay with him but soon you are both overthrown by your unconscious, slowly drifting away on the makeshift buoy.

***

When Harry regains consciousness, the first things he feels is hard grounds underneath him. His ears are ringing, his throat is sore and his mouth feels dry, not to mention the splitting headache jackhammering at his skull. Groaning and frowning at the pain, that’s when he realizes that the ground against the skin of his cheek isn’t completely hard, but rather granular at the touch. Slowly, he brings his hands higher near his face and flattens them to hoist himself up. Once on his knees, he finally blinks his eyes opened, squinting at the blinding luminosity of the sun. And then it’s just sand.

Sand everywhere. Sand stretching miles into the distance. Sand itching at the joints of his fingers, sand creeping inside his shoes and clothes, sand weaving through his hair. Sand obnoxiously lingering on his lips, and as he tries to brush it off with the back of his hand, he has to spit some out of his mouth after realizing that said hand is also covered in it.

How did he find himself stranded on a freaking island? How did this happen? How could he be one minute safely by your sides, helping you through a tough situation, and then the next, thrown into the deep end - quite literally - scrambling for his life because some dumb birds decided to crash in the engine of the plane? Why him, why-

It’s a jolt to his brain then, an electric shock firing his body up to a standing position when the thought of you clashes in his mind. His breathing picks up considerably as he recalls the last time he saw you, passed out on the broken part of the wrecked airplane. He’d passed out soon after you as well, but what had happened since then? Had you find your way on this desolate beach as well? Or had your unconscious body slipped back into the water and sank all the way to the ocean floor until you reached that hidden museum of all the things and beings that fell victim to the sea?

Harry shudders at the thought. No. He’s not loosing you, now or ever, he convinces himself as he frantically jogs along the beach. Not when he never got his chance. His heart is lodged in his throat and threatening to escape at every passing second. Not when he still has unfinished, or rather, un-commenced business with you. Sweat drips down his face in searing droplet, a faint sting above his left eye barely registering in his frantic mind. Not before you know his last secret. His breathing is starting to get scarce until finally, finally his blurry eyes fall upon a figure stretched out on the sand, waves still licking at their feet. His job turns into a sprint as he begs for them to be you and for you to still be alive, desperate cries of your name echoing in the wilderness. "Please be okay, please be okay, fuck I need y-"

His relief is short lived once he takes in your passed out form, the blueish hue of your lips and the very lack of movement of your chest, twisting his guts in a painful knot. Harry abruptly falls to his knees next to you and brings his ear to your body hoping for any indication that you are still breathing. He fights the onslaught of hyperventilation that threatens to take over his body when he finds none and quickly checks your pulse at your carotid. His eyes pinch in brief respite: it’s faint but it’s there.

His brain almost goes into overdrive as he tries to recall everything he knows about CPR before his hands instinctively start pressing at your chest as though they already know what to do. It gives him time to absorb all the composure he can muster and think more clearly. He’s got to keep your heart going, that much he knows, and if you’re not breathing, it’s probably because you’ve got water in your lungs. Upon the realization he briefly stops the cardiac massage to pinch your nose and blow as much air as he can into your mouth.

For the next couple of minutes he does just that, alternating between insufflating oxygen through your mouth and pressing at your heart. His own breaks every time he pulls away from your lips and they still don’t pink back up to their usual lovely cherry color. Tears roll down his face in a constant flow, forcing him to wipe his face against the material of his shirt at his shoulder; there is no way in hell he is stopping his action for even a fraction of a second. He’ll die trying to save you before you die on him, and then he’d kick you ass from heaven down to hell for even thinking of leaving him behind.

All of a sudden you start coughing wet sounds from your throat, your body jolting from its spot on the sand. Harry’s never been so happy to hear someone choke (on water, that is) and as you turn your body sideways to let out all the excess of water clogging your chest, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back towards the sky in gratitude. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispers out in relief, before regaining his breathing and focusing back on you. He draws soothing circle against your back as you cough the last bit of water out of your mouth, pushing your hair out of your face to give you space to breath. Lord knows you need it.

"It’s okay, pet. You’re okay, you’re alive. Fuck you’re alive, I can’t- please don’t ever do that to me ever again, you hear me?" He rambles at you as he cups your face with two trembling hands. He is in shamble in front of you, the high he was caught up in, in his order to save you finally dissolving and leaving only but shock and despair in its aftermath. You’d come this close to die in his arms, you both realize. This close from your life being highjacked from his in the middle of nowhere and the thought turns your blood even colder than it already is.

"‘kay, m’okay, Harry. We’re both okay," you reassure him too, and just hearing the sound of your hoarse voice is enough to calm him some. He brings you in a bear hug, tucking your face underneath his chin and draping is other arm over your back. You don’t hesitate before you return his embrace by wrapping your arms around his waist.

For a hot minute you remain intertwined in silence as you breath each other in and revel in the fact that you both survived the crash. Once your heartbeats have lowered down to healthier levels, you slightly part from each other and your eyes glisten as you lock them with his. "You saved my life, Harry," you whisper out to him with a tender caress at his cheeks, trying to ignore the small cut at his brow bone. "I just- thank you, thank you so much."

He answers with a small shake of his head, "don’t thank me, pet. I can’t imagine what I woulda done if y- if I couldn’t-" he struggles to let the words out and his face turns into a grimace at their implication. "M’just so relieved you’re alive, I’m the one thankful for that if anythin’," he ends up saying against the palm of your hand before leaving a small peck there.

As you move to stand up, you feel a sharp sting at your shin as soon as you apply pressure on your right leg. Looking down, you spot a gash at the skin, it’s not too profound that you won’t be able to walk, but it definitely needs tending to if you don’t want it to get infected. You let out a quiet ‘fuck’ in frustration before catching the look of concern of Harry’s face. "It’s fine," you brush it off, "just gonna need to clean it out. That cut on your face as well," you motion at his injury and he brings his hand up to feel out the cut in confusion. He hadn’t noticed the small wound, you realize. "Right, yeah," he answers after inspecting the patch of blood coating his fingers now.

Now that the shock of the situation is slowly dissipating and that reality is setting in, you both start thinking about the next course of action. You’re both alive and relatively unscathed, but now what? How do you get out form this place? Where even is this place? And how do you go home? It becomes increasingly obvious that you don’t have much resources and that you need some sort of plan if you want to survive.

"What about Sophia and the pilots? Do you know what happened to them?" you suddenly remember the rest of the crew. Perhaps they know more about how to proceed in such a situation. They might even know where you’re located, how far you are from home and what’s the procedure to ensure everyone’s survival and rescue.

"I dunno, love. Didn’t see them when we were in the water, I think they might have been on the other side of the plane," the somber look on his face betrays his pessimism as to their fate. They would be on the beach as well if they had survived. As the same reasoning courses through your mind, you look down in sadness at the vicious image of them struggling in the water before succumbing to the fatigue. Harry notices your pained expression and brings you back against his frame to leave a small comforting kiss at your hairline.

"Alright, it’s gonna be fine," you declare in pretend confidence. "People will start looking for us, right?" you try to make light of the conversation. "Hell, there’s probably going to be a whole unit created to find you as soon as we don’t show up in London and I’m sure they’ll find us fast." Hope is emulating in your belly where water had previously drown your vigor. You’re probably right; surely, if the one and only Harry Styles disappears in the middle of a plane crash, the response will be worthy of the man.

He doesn’t seem to quite share the sentiment however, if the small frown and nervous nipping at his lips suggest anything. "Love, I- Jeff’s the only one who knows we were going back to England. He might not notice right away." It’s his own fear talking, the idea that it might take more than a day for people to notice their unsettling absence.

On a normal schedule, him and Jeff would be in constant contact, sharing details for the next day’s agenda, planning tours, interviews, promotions and pitching in ideas for new projects, but be that as it may, Harry was currently on vacation. He’d taken a couple weeks off to relieve the pressure from the last busy months and catch up on some much needed time with you, and Jeff knew that meant a little less consistent contact for this break to be as rejuvenating as expected. Would he think much of the absence of texts from his friend? At some point definitely, but how long would it take for concern to replace dismissal?

Talk about rejuvenation.

"What about the plane company?" you ask, not ready to see your hopes dwindle down.

He seems surprised at the thought for a second before the anxious lines on his face smooth out some, iridescent eyes locking with your own in renewed faith. "You’re right, Jeff was the one who made the booking, so the company will have to contact him once they know about the crash." You let your lips quirk into a soft smile at his optimism before he adds, "we just have to survive until then."

"Right," you dial back on the heart-talking and dares your brain to recall any tips about survival behavior you’ve ever heard. "So we need find water asap and to make a fire before the night falls." You know water should be your priority, you have three days before you die of dehydration, maybe even less under this blazing sun. And despite behind surrounded by water, you know that the sea can’t help you with that. It’s quite ironic in a sense, you find yourself trapped by water, yet the biggest threat to you in that instance is the lack of water consumption. As for the fire, you also know temperature can drop very low at night in places like this and since you don’t have anything to bundle yourselves in, hypothermia is your second biggest threat.

Harry nods in approval before looking around. The beach is enclosed between the sea and endless stretch of luxuriant green tropical jungle. "Come on then, we should try and see if anything from the plane made it out on the beach. I think I saw some pieces earlier, maybe we’ll find something to store water." You think it’s a brilliant idea since you will need some kind of container should you be successful in your quest for water. And with that, you both start walking back towards the edge of the shore, Harry’s hand holding tightly to your shoulder keeping you close to him.

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #best friends to lovers #reader insert #creative writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles ou

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rachelbethhines · 3 years

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Vintage Shows to Watch While You Wait for the Next Episode of WandaVision - The 60s

So the 60s is the era that Wandavision pulls most heavily from for it’s inspiration. So much so that one could make the argument that each of the first three episodes are all set in the 1960s. Episode one pulls from the early 60s with multiple Dick Van Dyke refences, episode two is very Bewitched inspired, and episode three is aesthetically very similar to The Brady Bunch which started in ‘69. As such it was hard to narrow down the list for this decade and I had to get creative in some ways.

1. The Andy Griffith Show (1960 - 1968)

The Andy Griffith Show gets kind of a bad rap now a days for being, supposedly, a conservative’s wet dream. People claiming it as such have apparently never actually seen the series. Oh yes, it’s very much set in white rural 60s America and will occasionally present the obliviously outdated joke, but the story of a widowed sheriff being the only sane man in a small town full of lovable lunatics, who prefers to solve his and others problems with negotiation and hair brained schemes as opposed to violence has far more in common with modern day Steven Universe than whatever genocidal fantasy fake rednecks have in their heads.

As the gif above shows Andy Griffith was very subtlety progressive for its time. Andy was a stanch pacifist, pro-gun control, treated drug addicts and prisoners with respect, and all the women he would date had careers, ect. and so on. It’s not a satire making any sort of grand political statements but the series had a moral center that was far more left than many realize.

But if it’s not a satire, then what type of comedy is it?

The Andy Griffith Show excels in what I like to call, ‘awkward comedy’. See everyone in Mayberry is far too nice to just come out and tell a character they’re making an ass of themselves, so therefore whoever is the idiot punching bag of the episode’s focus must slowly unravel as everyone looks on in helpless pity until said character realizes the folly of their ways and the townsfolk come together to make them feel happy and accepted once more. Wandavision takes this polite idyllic awkwardness and plays it up for horror instead of laughs.

2. The Dick Van Dyke Show (1961 - 1966)

The creators of Wandavision actually met with Dick Van Dyke himself to pick his brain and learn how sitcoms were made back then. Paul Bentley also took inspiration from Van Dyke in his performance of the sitcom version of Vision, while Olsen stated Mary Tylor Moore had a heavy influence on her character of Wanda. But more than just being a point of homage, The Dick Van Dyke Show was hugely influential in modernizing the family sitcom and breaking a lot of the unspoken traditions and ‘rules’ of the 50s television era. It’s also just really, really funny.

3.The Alfred Hitchcock Hour (1962 - 1965)

Bit of a cheat here. Alfred Hitchcock Presents actually started in 1955 as a half hour anthology show, but in ‘62 the show got a revamp and was extended into a full hour tv series. I knew I wanted The Twilight Zone to be covered in my episode one recap, but ‘The Master of Suspense’ couldn’t be forgotten. While The Twilight Zone reveled in the surreal and supernatural, Alfred Hitchcock pioneered the thriller genre and made real life seem dangerous, horrifying, and other worldly.

4. Doctor Who (1963 - present day) vs Star Trek (1966 - present day)

Just like how westerns dominated the air waves during the 50s, science fiction was the center of the cultural zeitgeist of the 60s. From Lost in Space to My Favorite Martian, space aliens and robots were everywhere. So naturally I had to name drop the two sci-fi juggernauts that still air to this today. If you thought that the rivalry between Star Wars and Star Trek was bad then you’ve never seen a chat full of Whovians and Trekkies duking it out over who is the better monster, the Borg or the Cyberman. But which one has the more influence over Wandavision?

Well Star Trek owes it’s existence to sitcoms. As with The Twilight Zone before it, Star Trek was produced by Desilu Productions and it’s co-founder and CEO, Lucille Ball, was the series biggest supporter behind the scenes, lobbying for it when it faced early cancelation. As with all things sitcomy, everything ties back to I Love Lucy in the end. However despite that little backstory, it would seem that the series has very little to do with Wandavision itself beyond being quintessentially American.

I would argue that Wandavision owes much to Doctor Who though. Arguably more so than any show mentioned in this retrospective. Time travel, alternate realities, trouble in quite suburbia, brainwashing, people coming back from the dead, ect... just about every trope you can find in Wandavision has also appeared in Doctor Who at some point. As a series that can go anywhere and do anything, Doctor Who was a pioneer of marrying genres in new and interesting ways.

5. Bewitched (1964 - 1972) and I Dream of Jeannie (1965 - 1970)

It’s hard to pick one series over another because they’re essentially the same show. A mortal man falls in love with a magical girl who upends their lives with magic filled hijinks as they try their best not to have their secret discovered by the rest of the world. And both have their fingerprints all over the DNA of Wandavision.

There’s only two core differences; Samantha and Jeannie have completely different personalities, with Sam being confident and knowledgeable and Jeannie being naïve and oblivious, along with their relationships with their respective men, Sam and Darrin being married and in love at the start of the series and Jeannie chasing after Tony in the beginning in a will they/won’t they affair, finally only getting together in the last season.

6. The Munsters (1964 - 1966) vs The Adams Family (1964 - 1966)

Fans of these two shows are forever sadden that there never was a crossover between them. Because they’d fit perfectly together. Both shows are about a surreal and macabre family living in American suburbia and disrupting the lives of their neighbors with their otherworldly hijinks. Sound familiar?

The main difference between the two shows is the way the characters viewed their placement in the world they inhabit.

The Munsters were always oblivious to the fact that didn’t fit in. They just automatically assumed everyone had the same personal tastes as them. Whenever they encountered anyone who behaved strangely around them they would write that person off as being the odd one rather than questioning themselves. As such the main cast was structured like a stereotypical sitcom family who just happened to be classic movie monsters.

The Addams were well aware that they were abnormal and they loved it! They lived life with in their own little world and didn’t care what anyone thought of them. As such the characters were far more colorful and quirky as individuals but there was little in the way of refences to other horror franchises beyond just a general love of the twisted and strange.

7. Green Acres (1965 - 1971) and the Rual-verse (1962 - 1971)

So the MCU is not the first franchise to bring viewers an interconnected universe to the small screen. Far from it, as sitcoms had been doing this for decades, starting with the ‘rualverse’. Beverly Hillbillies, Petticoat Junction, and Green Acres were all produced by the same company and were treated as spinoffs of each other, complete with crossovers and shared characters and sets.

Of the three, the last show, Green Acres, has the most in common with Wandavision. A well to do businessman and his lovely socialite wife settle down in small town America on a farm in order to get away from the stresses of city life, only to find new stresses in the country. Eva Gabor, herself a natural Hungarian, plays the character of Lisa as Hungarian making her one of the few non-native born Americans on tv screens during the cold war. Despite her posh nature and original protests to the move, Lisa assimilates to the rural life far easier than her husband, Oliver. Who, as the main comedic thread, can’t comprehend his new quirky neighbors’ odd and often illogical behavior.

8. Hogan’s Heroes (1965 - 1971) and Get Smart (1965 - 1969)

So as comic fans have been quick to point out, it’s looking like both A.I.M. (Hydra) and Sword (Shield) will be players in the story of Wandavision. To commemorate that here’s two shows to represent those opposing sides. Although in truth, neither series has anything else in common with each other but I need to condense things down someway.

In Hydra’s corner we got Hogan’s Heroes. A show all about taking down Nazis from within.

I love, love, love, ‘robin hood’ comedies where a group of con artists try week after to week to pull one over the establishment. The Phil Silvers Show, Mchale's Navy, and Top Cat, just to name a few examples are all childhood favorites of mine. However while those shows had a lot of morally ambiguous characters, Hogan’s Heroes has very clear cut good guys and bad guys, cause the bad guys are Nazis and the show relentless makes fun of the third reich as should we all. In fact I was watching Hogan’s Heroes while waiting for the GA run off election results. Fortunately my home state decided to kick out our own brand of Nazis this year.

For Shield, we got the ultimate spy spoof, Get Smart. Starring, Inspector Gadget himself, Don Adams, as the bumbling Maxwell Smart. Get Smart, is a hilarious send up of Cold War espionage but the real selling point of the show, imho, is Max and his co-worker 99′s relationship. You can cut the sexual tension in the air with a knife all while laughing your ass off.

9. Batman (1966 - 1968)

First was Superman and then came Batman. Yet while Superman was a serious action show, Batman was a straight up comedy. Showcasing that superheroes could indeed be funny.

Also shout out for Batman being the only show on this list to have an actual crossover with it’s competitor, The Green Hornet.

10. Julia (1968 - 1971)

Since episode two features the first appearances of Herb and Monica, let’s highlight the first black led sitcom since the cancelation of Amos ‘n Andy over a decade earlier. The show focuses on single mother and military nurse, Julia, as she tries to live her life without her recently decease husband, who was killed in Vietnam, as she tries to raise their six year old son on her own.

The series is cute. It’s more of a throw back to earlier family sitcoms where there’s no fantasy and life lessons are the name of the game. It’s the fact that the main character is a single black woman is what made the show so subversive and important at the time.

Runner Ups

There’s much good stuff in the 60s, so here’s some others that didn’t make the cut but I would recommend anyways.

Car 54, Where Are You? (1961 - 1963)

I call this the Brooklynn 99 of the 1960s. Bumbling but well meaning Officer Toody longs to do good in the world and help anyone in need, but often screws things up with his ill thought out schemes. He often drags his best friend and partner, the competent but anxiety riddled, Muldoon into his escapades.

Mr. Ed (1961 - 1966)

The grandfather of the sarcastic talking pet trope.

The Jetsons (1962 - 1963 and 1985 - 1987)

Hanna-Barbera often took popular sitcoms and just repackaged them as cartoons with a fantasy theme to them. The Jetsons has no singular show that it rips-off but is rather more a grab bag of sitcom tropes that feature, robots, computers, and flying cars.

The Outer Limits (1963 - 1965)

The Outer Limits was The Twilight Zone’s biggest competitor in terms of being a sic-fi/horror anthology series.

Gillian’s Island (1964 - 1967)

The only comparison to WandaVision I could think of was that this is a sitcom about people being trapped in one place. But by that point I was running out of room on the list. Still it’s one of the funniest shows on here.

So yeah, this took longer than expected cause there’s a lot, here. Hopefully the 70s will be easier. Which I’ll post on Friday.

#wandavision #sitcoms #1960s #dick van dyke #bewitched

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dramaticsnakes · 3 years

Text

It starts with love and it ends with you

Hello! I wrote this for the @sanderssidesgiftxchange! This is my gift for @doing-my-demibest (I can’t @ him properly for some reason but I’ll send it too). You wanted to get some moxiety (any dynamic), a high school au, or a soulmate au. All of which are things I’ve never written before. Thus, I decided to do all of them ajlkfdjslkg. I really hope you’ll enjoy Benji!

Thank you so much to @anxiously-creating @rainbowbutterfrosting and @larrymalecsolangelo for all reading through the fic at different times and help me fix it up! I took the title from Meteor Shower by Cavetown because I honestly wasn’t entirely sure what to call it akfldsklghl.

Pairing: Ambiguous Moxiety (Could be considered queerplatonic)

Word count: 6757

TW: Cursing, and references to feeling unwanted. I think that’s it though. Please tell me if I missed anything.

Summary: Virgil never wanted a soulmate. The concept was frightening to him. That however, did not stop Patton Morales from showing up in his life.

Virgil Capule didn’t like the idea of soulmates.

He had tried to like the idea once. Tried to imagine being with someone who cared for him unconditionally. He tried to imagine someone touching him, a colorful mark appearing on his skin. A mark that proved that this was someone he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with. And there was nothing that could be done about it.

Shit, there was nothing he could do about it.

It was a definite factor in Virgil’s life, however, it was a factor that was entirely out of his control. Virgil didn’t like it when things were out of his control. It filled him with a lingering sort of dread, that made his heart beat faster in an unpleasant way.

It was absolutely terrifying to him, that one day, he might encounter someone, who he would essentially be forced to spend the rest of his life with in one way or another. Who’d be forced to spend the rest of their life with him?

Virgil didn’t like being touched anyway. It made him feel uneasy. He wasn’t sure what his excuse was for that anymore. He didn’t really need one, but often he felt as if he did. As if he needed a reason to take a step back whenever someone got a little too close.

The soulmate one was alright for now, and that was probably part of it. There was no reason to touch any stranger he came by, even for a brief moment, because it would change his entire day, his entire life, if a mark appeared.

And Virgil couldn’t imagine a single time in his life, where he’d be mentally prepared for that.

So when he could avoid it, he did so, and when he couldn’t he always inhaled sharply, never quite daring to look down at his hand or any other spot that might’ve grazed someone else's skin on accident. It helped to wear hoodies, he’d learned, which was great, because he never wore anything else anyway.

Virgil lived his life as an irrelevant sophomore, sitting in the corner by himself, because he was never quite sure how to get the hang of talking to anyone. Miraculously, he had managed to befriend two seniors, Janus and Remus, who he hung out with during the lunch breaks. They had essentially ‘adopted’ him one day, and Virgil had initially thought it was a joke or a prank of sorts when they asked if he wanted to eat with them. He’d become more and more doubtful of that over time, however. Both of them were quite unique individuals, and neither of them seemed to have too many friends in their respective classes, but they always had each other. And Virgil too, because they didn’t mind his presence, and Virgil often found that he enjoyed theirs too. The fact that they were seniors however, could of course prove to be a problem later on, because it meant that he would be pretty much friend-less once they left.

But it was okay, he told himself. It was all going to be okay.

Virgil was content with being like that. Well, content was a big word. Virgil never thought he could consider himself content per se. He was always a little on guard. A little too reserved and defensive. But Virgil was okay. Concerned out of his mind of course. Terrified of being alone.

That was of course before Patton Morales came into his life.

Virgil didn’t remember exactly what day of the week it was, because honestly, who kept track of that? And it wasn’t as if it mattered to him at first anyhow.

He’d showed up one day, while Virgil was in his English class, clearly a new student, and Virgil hadn’t thought much of it. He’d been listening to music on his headphones, and was too caught up in the lyrics of a My Chemical Romance song to notice that someone was about to sit down right next to him, for whichever reason.

Virgil had glanced up, and moved a bit to the side to avoid getting in the way. The second Virgil had removed his headphones to get ready for the lesson, Patton had turned to him almost immediately with a big smile on his face. There was some awkwardness visible in it too of course, as most first encounters had. “Hi!” he said.

Already then, Virgil was quite surprised, because he couldn’t quite remember a time where someone had greeted him like that recently. Virgil muttered, “Hi…”

“What’s your name?” Patton asked.

“Virgil.” he replied, “Uh, you?”

“Patton.” he said, and reached out with his hand to greet Virgil. Virgil’s eyes widened, and he tapped the table with his fingers.

“Uh, nice to meet you,” he said, his heart beating as he awaited either a question or a strange resigned expression.

Patton merely made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth, and placed his hand on the table again. He smiled. “Same to you!”

And that was all their encounter really encompassed at first. Class started, and Virgil did his best to pay attention to the teacher. He succeeded more than he did in most classes. He quite liked English class, and he remembered getting quite a few positive comments on his work in it when he was younger. He’d never say too much about that out loud of course. He used to read quite a lot, and he always liked some of the classics, as well as poetry. That was a bit dorky though, and he wasn’t sure if anyone would really care about that. In high school, no one really seemed to receive that many compliments on schoolwork, at least Virgil didn’t. Though he did his best anyway. Something had to keep his grade up after all.

Virgil’s second conversation with Patton had been in that same class the next day. They were all asked to individually analyze a poem, and Patton was tapping his pen against the paper, chewing on his lip.

“Uh, you could comment on the semantics.” Virgil muttered awkwardly, which made Patton turn his head. “There are some words related to storms. It contrasts the ones about light and safety later on.”

“Oh!” Patton said, looking at the poem again, “I see. And lightning sort of uh… Ties the two together?”

“Yeah.” Virgil said with a nod and a hesitant smile. He turned to his own work once again, and Patton started to write.

The lesson continued, and once it was done, Virgil stood up and threw his bag over his shoulder. “I like your hair!” Patton said and Virgil looked up suddenly. He hadn’t quite expected the comment. “The purple suits you well.”

“Uh, thanks!” Virgil said, giving a friendly nod. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself for a few moments, before he hurried along to get out of the class. He quickly realized that that might’ve appeared rude, but he hadn’t been sure how else to react.

He thought about that quite a lot the time that followed, because Virgil didn’t like messing up. It made him think too much, and it made him groan at himself. He’d messed up his encounter, and now Patton was going to hate him forever.

Of course, Virgil knew that wasn’t objectively true, but his mind was pretty damn convinced and wouldn’t shut up about it at all.

A single class later, Virgil was sitting at his usual lunch table next to a grinning Remus and a Janus who was well into a rant about either society or his philosophy class. Virgil realized he hadn’t quite listened too much at first, his thoughts drifting to all sorts of places.

“And then that bitch had the audacity to suggest that lying was inherently a bad thing! Of course I brought up numerous examples of philosophers who said otherwise, but it turns out that this guy has his own collection of philosophical terms.” Janus spat, “You know, while he has some annoying views, he does seem… Reasonably knowledgeable about it all. Even if he forgot the names of all the philosophers he was talking about.”

“Awh, what’s wrong JanJan? You scared you’re not gonna be the favorite student anymore.” Remus teased.

“I am not the favorite student!” Janus said, “I am the most dreaded student, and excuse me if I’m a little annoyed that this unintimidating ray of sunshine Patton Morales is trying to draw attention away from how much I should be dreaded.” he smirked slightly, “Not that I mind a small challenge for once.”

Virgil looked up suddenly, his mouth gaping slightly. “Did you say Patton Morales?”

Janus laughed in the honey-coated way he sometimes did. “Well look who is awake all of a sudden.” he smiled, “Indeed I did. It’s a new student in my philosophy class.” he leaned forward slightly, “And where do you know him, Stormcloud?”

“We share an english class.” Virgil just said, “He sat next to me the last two times. I don’t know much about him.”

Janus nodded. “I see, I see…” there was a slight sparkling in Janus’ eyes, as if Janus knew something Virgil didn’t. Janus always had a tendency to look like that though, so Virgil didn’t bother questioning it too much. “Has he attempted to strike up a conversation with you?”

“I mean… I mean maybe?” Virgil said.

“Ooh you should start flirting with him, emo! I bet he thinks you’re real hot.” Remus exclaimed.

Virgil rolled his eyes, placing a hand firmly on the table. “Cause flirting with some guy I’ve barely talked to because he may or may not have tried to start a conversation with me to be polite is a great idea.” he said sarcastically, in a way that he was sure Janus gave him a small grin for.

“Well, he seems quite cheerful.” Janus said, licking his bottom lip thoughtfully as he crossed his arms, “He seems like he attempts to get along with most people. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d try his luck with you.”

“Huh.” Virgil said, “He’ll probably give up on that soon enough.”

Patton did, as a matter of fact, not give up.

The next day, Virgil didn’t even have a class with Patton, but somehow he managed to enter his day anyway.

Virgil noticed him down the hall, talking to someone from a different class. One of the theater kids, though Virgil couldn’t quite remember his name. Virgil walked by, looking down as he had grown so used to. Patton turned his head. “Hi Virgil!” he said, with the same sort of joy he had the other day.

There was something interesting about that joy. Something honest and genuine, that Virgil wasn’t used to from obligatory greetings, though maybe he was just reading too much into it.

“Uh, hey Patton.” he said with a quick and awkward salute. He stopped walking though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Was the logical next step to keep walking or to stand still? It was too late now to re-evaluate his choice with any purpose.

“Thanks for the help with English yesterday. It’s not really my strongest subject.” Patton said with a laugh.

Virgil bit lip, mustered a little smile that appeared to come with a little less difficulty than he expected and looked at Patton. “Oh, no or well… I think you were kinda good at it actually.”

“Oh.” Patton said, looking a bit surprised. “Thank you!”

“Uh, yeah you’re… You’re good. Sometimes it's just the wording of the tasks.” he rubbed the side of his neck with his hand.

Patton chuckled, and Virgil realized that he quite liked the sound of that, but he wasn’t sure if that was a weird thought to have. “I was wondering if you wanted to eat lunch with us?” he prompted. He gestured to the boy next to him. “Roman and I were going to go do that.”

Virgil was very surprised at that request. His first thought was his unspoken agreement to eat lunch with Remus and Janus, but he’d missed that before a few times, if he was working on assignments. “Oh. Sure!” he said.

That was new. People didn’t usually ask him to hang out with them.

“Yay!” Patton said, “Let’s go.”

The other boy, Roman turned to him, and tilted his head curiously to the side. “Hold on a minute… Aren’t you that boy who usually eats lunch with Remus?”

Virgil’s posture became more cautious. “Uh, yeah? Why?”

“Nothing. He’s just my brother is all.” he chuckled, “Has he given you a headache yet?”

“Oh, multiple.” Virgil said, chuckling back, “But in the good sort of way I guess. He’s fun.”

Roman hummed, “He talks about you sometimes.”

The three found a little secluded spot near the library, where they ate lunch and talked. It was strange. Virgil wasn’t used to being around anyone else during the lunch break, but it wasn’t that bad at all. He kept an eye on Patton.

It was that day, Virgil noted that Patton liked puns, and made a lot of them. They were stupid of course, but Virgil liked them. They were terrible and stupid in the funny sort of way.

After lunch, Virgil was added to a group chat with Patton Morales, Roman and someone Virgil hadn’t talked to before, named Logan.

Patton had made friends quickly. After a few days at the school, he’d already made two. Or… Three perhaps? Did Virgil count as a friend? Not yet, probably.

For a moment though, the thought passed through Virgil’s mind, that maybe he kind of wanted to be.

The next day in english class, they were even more familiar with one another. They laughed and talked a bit right before class started, and Virgil didn’t hesitate to help Patton when he once again struggled with his work. Virgil had a hard time withholding a laugh when Patton doodled a little alligator in a vest in the corner of his sheet, and wrote the word in-vest-igator right above it.

Virgil was filled with an instinctual dread when the teacher brought up a group project. Virgil knew how this went. People would turn to one another and make groups, and he would be forced to be in a group with people who didn’t want him there. He wasn’t the type of person who took charge, but maybe he would end up doing all the work anyhow. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. His heart beat faster.

“Wanna work together?” Patton asked gently, turning towards Virgil.

“Huh?” he said, he shook the surprise off him, “Oh yeah, that’d be cool I guess.”

His body became less tense, and Patton smiled at him.

It made sense of course, because Patton was new, so Patton hadn’t had the time to make any friends in the class. Turning to Virgil was the only natural option.

The two of them worked on the project throughout the class, and Patton did his best throughout. It didn’t take that much explaining and reading before Patton understood the concepts they had to analyze in the story they’d received, and it was the first time in a while Virgil felt like the work was evenly distributed. It was the first time in a while Virgil felt like he was wanted and useful at the same time.

They didn’t finish the project in the class, which meant homework, which meant stress, which was unfortunate.

“Do you think it’d be easier to finish if we were together? We could do it after school tomorrow maybe?” Patton asked.

Virgil nodded. “Oh yeah. I can do that!”

Virgil didn’t usually like the idea of staying after school. It was a tiring place to be, and frankly it stressed him out a bit to be there more than absolutely necessary. But he needed to get the group project done, and for some reason it didn’t feel quite as dull if Patton was there.

It was strange how easily they clicked.

Before Virgil knew it they were staying after school to complete the work, and it took them a while to finish it, but not because it was difficult or tiring to do.

In fact, Virgil found that the secluded spot they’d found at the school was quite pleasant. They laughed and talked in between each bit of the assignment. Somehow the assignment turned into them talking about which species of duck would be the better baker, and Virgil felt a nice feeling inside. He was having fun, and so was Patton.

Patton seemed to glow, Virgil noticed. A nice and warm glow, that kept Virgil staring for a little.

Virgil went home later than he was used to that day, but he wasn’t quite as exhausted as he expected to be.

Patton became an increasingly bigger part of Virgil’s life, and Virgil wasn’t entirely sure what he thought of it at first.

Patton was… Nice. It became clear as day even if you only had the chance to spend a short amount of time with him. He always seemed to look out for other’s needs and boundaries, and Virgil really appreciated that. He felt less and less guilty about taking a step back when he needed to, the more time they spent together.

Patton always smiled, and Virgil liked his smiles he decided. Except on some days, when they seemed a little less real. A little less genuine. On those days, Virgil had an urge to ask what was going on, but he never quite had the courage to do so.

Patton was smart too, even if he didn’t always seem to think so himself. He knew a lot about a lot of things, and gave Janus a headache in philosophy class, which was really funny to hear about.

One day, Virgil got a text he hadn’t expected to get at all. It was a simple text. A request that Virgil should possibly have expected.

Do you wanna hang out this weekend? <3 It’s okay if you don’t, no pressure!

Virgil stared at the text for a few moments, all sorts of thoughts darting through his head and tangling themselves up in each other, and Virgil couldn’t quite get a grip on why Patton would ask him that.

Because he wanted to hang out with Virgil, was the logical response of course.

So why did his mind insist on giving him a million other ideas why?

What if Patton wanted to hang out with him out of pity? Because Virgil was all alone.

What if Patton planned on playing a prank on Virgil or something? Because Virgil was a loser and a loner and an easy target.

What if Patton wanted to murder him?

Okay maybe that last one was a bit too aggressive.

Virgil took a deep breath, trying to collect as much logic as his mind allowed him to gather, and replied. He had to delete the final piece of punctuation a couple of times, as he didn’t want it to be interpreted in the wrong way. Not too desperate, but not too bored either.

Sure thing!

And so they did.

Virgil was welcomed into Patton’s home with open arms, Patton’s mums greeting him with kind words and smiles.

Most of the visit was spent in Patton’s room, which was somehow everything Virgil expected it to be, yet not quite.

The room wasn’t too big. The bed took up a fourth of the room. The bed was a nice and calming blue color, which Virgil for some reason already associated with Patton. A nice and peaceful color, that felt welcoming, and the perfect combination of cold and warm.

The walls were plastered with posters and pictures, some looking slightly torn. Most of them depicted cute puppies or other animals that suited Patton quite well. Virgil’s favorite was that of a tapir, that hung in the top right corner. There was something kindhearted about it.

There was some old wallpaper, hanging on the walls. The edges were a bit tainted, and there were a few cat paw prints on it.

“Do you like cats?” Virgil had asked.

“Oh yeah! I love them!” Patton exclaimed excitedly, “I’m allergic though.” he added. Virgil snorted at it.

They sat on Patton’s bed for hours. They started out by watching a movie on the old tv, that Virgil suspected used to be in the living room of the house. They watched a couple of episodes of Avatar the last airbender too, which Patton fortunately had on dvd. Virgil hadn’t watched it before, and Patton, while looking nervous about it at first, thought that was a crime.

Virgil enjoyed sitting next to Patton as they watched, because Patton’s reactions to everything happening were always quite clear and emotional, and Virgil couldn’t help but join in on the vivid expressions at times.

Virgil stayed there until the evening, and their conversation had become more and more serious throughout the night. Virgil couldn’t remember the last time he had a conversation like that with someone. A genuine one.

“What was your old school like?” Virgil had asked. He wasn’t sure why Patton didn’t attend it anymore, because as far as Virgil knew, he lived a bit closer to that. Virgil didn’t think prying was needed though. Virgil understood keeping things to oneself.

“I wasn’t really… I wasn’t really happy at my old school.” Patton confessed. He didn’t look at Virgil as he spoke, “I felt sort of out of place.”

“How?” Virgil asked, hoping that came out the way he wanted it to.

“People… Didn’t really like me much…” Patton said quietly, “They talked behind people’s backs a lot, and sometimes you overheard what they were saying it wasn’t…” he clenched his fist, looking down, “It wasn’t very nice.”

For the first time in a while, Virgil sort of wanted to reach out for Patton, to place a comforting arm on his shoulder or something like that. Of course, a much more apparent instinct kept him from doing that, keeping his potentially treacherous arms at bay with a million uncomfortable what-ifs. “They were missing out.” was all Virgil said. ‘

Patton smiled a little at that. “Thanks kiddo.”

Despite himself Virgil couldn’t keep a sudden laugh away. “What the hell did you just call me.” he placed his hand in front of his mouth, “Sorry that sounded rude, it wasn’t bad or anything.”

Patton chuckled back. “I don’t know, it seemed fitting I suppose.”

Patton was about to gently punch Virgil, but Virgil instinctively pulled away. Patton looked surprised for about a millisecond before his smile was back to normal again.

“It’s nothing personal.” Virgil said suddenly, “That I don’t like being touched that is.”

“Oh, no I figured.” Patton said, smiling, “There’s nothing wrong with not liking that.”

Virgil’s mouth gaped slightly at those words. Virgil knew that of course, that nothing was wrong with it, but it felt different to hear someone say that. “Thank you.” he said, a little quieter than he would’ve liked to. “Maybe… Maybe I’m just scared of finding a soulmate. Or maybe it’s something else, I don’t know.”

“You don’t need an excuse or anything.” Patton said, tilting his head and giving Virgil a certain caring and attentive look, that only Patton seemed to be able to give. He took a deep breath. “Why are you scared of finding a soulmate?” he asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know.” Virgil said, “I don’t want… I don’t like big changes I guess.”

Patton nodded, “I get that, I think. Not wanting things to change.” he looked distant for a moment, and then he looked into Virgil’s eyes, “But I think if you found a soulmate it would be different. A soulmate would understand you, and if you didn’t want any changes I am sure they’d understand that too.”

Virgil took a deep breath nodding, looking down at the floor for a moment, “I… I just don’t know… I don’t want to want things to change, but what if I do? What if things are never the same again.”

Patton chuckled slightly at that, but it was the sympathetic kind of chuckle, that didn’t make Virgil feel singled out or uncomfortable. “Well darn, I don’t know.” Patton said, “I don’t know that much, but I think a soulmate feels simpler than that. I hope so anyway.”

“Have you found a soulmate?” Virgil hesitantly asked, but he wasn’t sure why.

Patton shook his head. “No.”

“Huh.” Virgil said. he wasn’t sure what he expected, but Patton liked to hug people and give them encouraging little Patton pats, so it seemed sort of strange to Virgil that no mark had appeared. “Guess we’re both free for the time being.”

Patton giggled. “You’re the first one who has ever described me not having a mark yet that way. Usually people just look like they feel bad.”

Virgil exhaled suddenly at that. “Oh fuck, I know that feeling.”

“Language.” Patton said, jokingly.

Virgil rolled his eyes, though the smile didn’t leave his face.

Virgil went home that night feeling… Something. He wasn’t sure what, but it was pleasant. Understood maybe. he felt understood.

Soon, Patton and Virgil were hanging out frequently. It was the first time Virgil had ever allowed this much free time to be taken up by someone else.

“He cares about you.” Janus said one day at lunch. Virgil still hung out with Janus and Remus at lunch every once in a while. His other group didn’t always meet up, and he didn’t wanna lose Janus and Remus, even if they insisted it was alright. “He thinks about you a lot.”

“How do you know that?” Virgil asked confusedly.

“He wouldn’t make this much time for you if he didn’t.” Janus said, calmly. “And he matters to you too, I can tell.” he smirked. “I haven’t seen you this happy before.”

Virgil realized that he was blushing. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do with him.” he said, despite himself, “I mean it’s stupid anyway.”

“Is it romantic or platonic I wonder?” Janus said, as if he was talking to himself.

Virgil had asked himself that question many times, and he wasn’t sure what the answer was. Patton was amazing, but Virgil wasn’t sure if it was in the romantic sort of way. “I don’t know.” he said quickly, quietly.

Janus hummed. “Perhaps it doesn’t really matter. Either can be equally meaningful.”

“Yeah…” Virgil said, biting the inside of his cheek, “Yeah I guess you’re right.”

Virgil wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret any of this. Maybe he was desperate for a friend, maybe something else was at play, but regardless he found himself enjoying Patton’s friendship more and more. It made him happy to think about Patton, and whenever Patton messaged him, he couldn’t help but drop everything he was doing to see what Patton was saying to him.

It kept going. The two of them kept talking, kept hanging out on weekends, stayed at school for longer than they needed to, and that was definitely new. Virgil didn’t usually do that. It stayed like that for months, them talking as if nothing else mattered.

One day though, a particular event that Virgil would never forget snuck into their day. The two of them were standing right outside school grounds, and Patton had asked Virgil if he could show him something.

Patton looked at Virgil with a somewhat excited and somewhat nervous expression. “I uhm… I made you something!” he said, his typical bubbly energy shining through.

Virgil felt something inside him twirling. “Really? What is it?”

Patton reached into his schoolbag, taking out something that was wrapped in pastel purple paper. Virgil wasn’t sure what to expect. Patton carefully reached out and let Virgil take the object himself (to make sure there was no unwanted physical contact involved, Virgil noted) and Virgil accepted the object accordingly. He removed the paper carefully, revealing a little bracelet.

The bracelet was obviously homemade with purple and light blue string wrapped around one another as the thread, and a stormcloud bead attached to one side of it, and the rest having various other beads, in different shapes but very similar colors. Virgil turned it around in his hand for a little to get a proper look at it, his mouth gaping as he did so. It looked nice. Personal. “What-”

“It’s a uhm… It’s a friendship bracelet!” Patton said, taking out a similar bracelet from his bag. The thread was the same combination of blue and purple as Virgil’s though the bead was a heart, and the rest of the beads similar shades of light blue. It was quite nice to the touch.

And what the bracelets meant made Virgil feel nice and happy inside in a way he didn’t quite remember feeling before. Except when he was around Patton, he realized. Nice, happy, content, and with Patton being an almost constant thought in his mind.

What did that mean?

“This is so co- I mean I… I like it or… Or whatever. It’s cool.” he tried his best not to sound like a fool as he spoke, but Patton looked incredibly happy even at the hesitantly positive words.

Virgil looked from Patton’s bracelet to his own. It was too small to slip on, so he started fiddling with the clasp. “Uhm…” Shit shit, he was already messing this up.

“Oh! Here let me help.” Patton took a step closer and hesitated before he touched the bracelet. “If you don’t mind of course.”

Virgil inhaled sharply. He shook his head. “No no, no problem.”

Virgil could’ve ended up regretting that decision. Patton took the bracelet, carefully opening it, and almost absentmindedly he was about to gently put it around Virgil’s wrist.

He did it carefully, to avoid touching Virgil, and that was nice and considerate of him, but for a brief moment, Virgil almost wanted Patton to touch him anyway. Patton’s breath felt warm, as he was nice and close, and Virgil felt something fluttering inside him. He stood there for a moment, looking into Patton’s eyes to make sure it was okay.

And then Virgil did something he didn’t remember ever doing on his own accord before.

He pulled Patton into an embrace.

It was quick and sudden, desperate perhaps. Like lightning searching for a place to strike. A comforting and familiar place. His hand grazed the side of Patton’s arm, as he pulled him closer.

Virgil felt warm and safe, but some sort of adrenaline was still pumping through him. He quickly pulled back. “Sorry, I…” he looked at his hands.

And his world was suddenly shattered into a million shiny and colorful pieces.

The part of his hand that had grazed Patton’s arm had become a beautiful and familiar light blue and Virgil froze on the spot.

It didn’t take long for Patton to catch on too. In a millisecond, his expression had turned from unfiltered happiness to something cautious. Shocked. His mouth was gaping.

Virgil started breathing faster, but he wasn’t running, as he expected he would whenever this happened.

Virgil glanced at Patton’s arm, noticing a purple mark, matching Virgil’s own. Virgil studied both the marks carefully, taking in the shape.

Forever.

Virgil’s heart was beating rapidly, and he made eye contact with Patton.

“I…” Patton tried, still looking unsure what to say, “It’s… It’s gonna be okay.”

Virgil’s mind was racing. Going through a million what-if scenarios each second, way too quickly for him to fully experience anything. Scenes were flashing before his eyes. Him and Patton together. Sweet sunshine Patton, asking with an awkward and sad look in his eyes, if Virgil would just leave and never seek out Patton again. Virgil running and never returning on his own accord, leaving Patton alone and sad and confused.

Him and Patton together, holding hands and laughing. Joking around just as they had before.

Virgil’s breathing had become loud and fast, and Patton was standing a bit away, hesitant to step closer, as he always had.

Virgil didn’t know what he wanted.

Virgil never knew anything.

“V-Virgil I…” Patton tried, swallowing something, “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t wanna. Things don’t have to change if you don’t want them to.”

What did Patton even think of this? Why was Patton’s first instinct always to calm Virgil down? Why couldn’t Patton just express a desire, so that Virgil could react to that? Virgil didn’t wanna decide anything. Didn’t wanna say anything. Didn’t wanna do anything. He was frozen in place. Half of him was seeking out the warmth of the hug he’d initiated just a minute prior, longing to get close once again and hugging Patton tighter than ever before.

The other half wanted to run. Run away as fast as possible and avoid facing the inevitable.

Inevitable was such a dreadful word.

Virgil looked at Patton, who had such sympathetic and beautiful brown eyes. Virgil felt something fluttering inside him.

He didn’t want to lose Patton.

And maybe it was a good sign, that something inevitable was something Virgil didn’t want to lose.

Virgil didn’t like fate. He never did. He hated that something was beyond his control.

Yet, Virgil’s relationship with Patton hadn’t been entirely out of his control, had it?

Virgil kept staring at Patton, because he couldn’t get his body to do anything else.

“You’re my soulmate.” Virgil suddenly said, his voice quiet and somewhat choked, as if the words that came out were forced and not quite his own, “We’re soulmates.”

Patton looked a little relieved to hear Virgil saying something, though the clear concern on his face didn’t disappear. “We are,” he said, shakily. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Virgil exhaled, in something that resembled a chuckle or a sob. “Why the fuck are you sorry?”

Patton looked a little caught off guard. “I… I don’t know.”

Virgil’s heart was still beating at a rapid pace, and he couldn’t quite place why.

Run. Run. Patton. Patton. Run. Patton.

Virgil closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm his breathing, but he couldn’t quite get a grip on it. He shook his head, and jumped forward.

He wrapped his arms around Patton, because Patton felt like the only link between Virgil and breathing in a stable way. Patton felt familiar. Patton felt like home. Like love. It was comforting, when Virgil was in an embrace like that, and it only took a few moments of shock before Patton reciprocated.

They didn’t say anything for a while, simply holding each other tightly, as if it was the only way to keep the world at bay. The only way to keep the terrifying what-if scenarios and the fears Virgil had spent his entire life building up, at bay.

Patton rubbed circles on Virgil’s back, and Virgil allowed himself to melt into the embrace. Virgil’s heart didn’t quite calm down, but his breathing did.

Virgil was the one who ended the embrace once again, pulling back to look at Patton’s face. Reality settling in. Patton was looking at him, his cheeks having gained a warmer glow. “Are you… Are you okay?”

Virgil’s breath was shaky. “I don’t… I don’t know.” he said, “I’m fucking terrified.”

“It’s… It’s some news for sure, huh.” Patton said, “We’re… We’re soulmates!”

“We are.” Virgil said quietly, “That’s… That’s new.”

“Things don’t… Things don’t have to change, you know.” Patton said, “We’re soulmates, but we’re around each other anyway.”

Virgil chuckled dryly. “I don’t know what I want.” he said.

“That’s okay!” Patton said, looking at the top of Virgil’s head, “We can figure it out. It’s gonna be okay. Can I… May I touch your hair.”

Virgil burst out laughing. “What?”

Patton blushed. “I’m sorry, that came out weird, it's just… It looks really nice and I always wanted to know what it felt like, and…”

Virgil couldn’t stop the smile creeping up on him. “Sure.” he said.

Patton gave a relieved sigh, and reached out to ruffle Virgil’s hair. His eyes lit up. “It’s so soft!” he said, “It’s even nicer than I expected.”

Virgil snorted, feeling something resembling a blush on his face, which was strange and out of character of him, in his opinion. “Thanks.” he mumbled quickly.

“I’m… I’m surprised, but also not surprised? That you’re my soulmate.” Patton said quietly, as if he was talking to himself.

Virgil breathed, “What… What do you mean?”

Patton giggled breathlessly. Awkwardly. “It’s… I don’t know. I just, really love spending time with you. You make everything feel so much more vivid and interesting. I love your little jokes and your smile… I don’t know how to explain it. It just… It feels like there’s a connection.”

Virgil didn’t really know what to say to that.

Because Patton enjoyed spending time with him and that seemed so strange and far-fetched that he always had to reevaluate the thought in his head a hundred times over and over, whenever it dared to sneak by. It filled Virgil with a bunch of strange and happy feelings, and he wasn’t sure what to do with any of them. Virgil liked Patton. Virgil cared about Patton. Virgil wouldn’t mind spending every single day with Patton, and that thought terrified him, because that was dangerously close to having a meaningful connection.

And they were soulmates, so maybe there was no backing out of the emotional vulnerability, Virgil had somehow digged himself into.

“I like you too, Pat…” Virgil said, his voice sounding slightly choked and strange, because all the words seemed to hesitate to come out. “You… You suck way less than most people.”

Patton smiled and laughed. That nice laugh he had, that made Virgil feel at home, because Virgil had gotten attached. “Don’t be so harsh on people, Virge. They surprise you sometimes. You can’t say they’re inherently bad.”

Virgil huffed, and smiled back hesitantly. “Don’t get all philosophical on me Pat.”

Patton looked at his arm once again, at the little mark Virgil had left, because they were soulmates. And Patton smiled. “I’m happy it was you.” he said somewhat quietly, as if he was afraid the words would be counterproductive.

Virgil glanced at the palm of his hand. It was surreal to look at the blue color on there, because it was so small, but it meant so much. It was supposed to mean so much.

And Virgil didn’t know what he wanted it to mean.

Patton knew that. Patton understood that. That was more than Virgil ever thought he’d get, and it made him feel… Content.

Well, content was a strong word, but he almost felt as if it applied. At least for a few fleeting moments, and perhaps it would for many more.

“I’m… I’m glad it was you too.” he whispered, a little surprised at his own words.

Patton looked Virgil in the eyes, looking for a sign of something perhaps. A way to interpret Virgil’s words.

Virgil took a deep breath. “Do you want anything to change?” he asked, “It’s alright if you do. I wanna know what you want.” he closed his eyes and swallowed, “Please.”

Patton hesitated. He bit his lip. “I… I’m not sure if I know either, honestly.” he said, crossing his arms slightly, rubbing the side of one with his other, “I just wanna be with you I guess. Somehow. I don’t think I need anything sudden, I just wanna be around you. See how it goes, and let things change if they do.”

Virgil exhaled, something that resembled relief. “Yeah.” he said, letting an awkward smile appear on his face, “Yeah that sounds nice.”

Virgil didn’t like change. He hated when things were inevitable, and he couldn’t stand things being out of his control.

But he liked Patton. He loved when Patton smiled and laughed, and he enjoyed how Patton listened and respected Virgil’s thoughts and boundaries. He loved being there for Patton when he needed it, and he loved how it never felt like an exchange, but rather just giving. Both of them giving, because they wanted to give.

And Virgil was still scared. Terrified. But he found that maybe he could take it, as long as Patton stayed by his side.

No, Virgil didn’t like the idea of soulmates.

But Virgil wanted Patton. He wanted Patton to be a part of his life, and maybe, it seemed, Patton wanted to be a part of his too.

#sanders sides #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #moxiety #qpr moxiety #platonic moxiety #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #dramaticwriting

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