#I get stumped every night between being dumb and staying up to write or go to bed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

achliegh · 3 years

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Bronze

Alright, I had this wonderful idea come into my head about Clayton, honestly he deserves his own fic. So here is his version of events! Lots will tie together with Golden so I recommend you read that as well. But you don’t have to of course.

Explaining:

Before Letter is the present.

Letter is updating the lives of the people back home, of whoever wrote it mostly.

After Letter is memory.

The first few letters will be very awkward because writing letters and not being sure what to talk about and what not to talk about is hard and confusing. Stick with me! Yes, this prologue is just a letter.

TW/CW: Discussions of death, miliatry training, smut, cringy jokes, underage drinking, dumb choices, swearing, and more later on.

Beta: @walking-crisis

Some Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Chapter 3:

Dear Uncle Sam

Copperhead Road (Line Dance Skip to 1 minute)

It was an uneventful night, they had just gotten back from an assignment that came up with nothing. Taking off his boots Clay was sitting on his cot, rolling his neck to crack it. Stiff from looking through a scope all day. A song that Clay wasn’t familiar was playing over the satellite radio, something old.

As he took his boots off the picture he always keeps in his left boot falls out and flutters to the floor, smiling he picks up the picture of Leo, Reg, Eloise, and himself smiling at the camera during Christmas one year at the Dumias’ house. He sets it next to him and tugs off his other boot where his other photo falls out. He can’t help the sad and lonely smile that creeps onto his face. Running his thumb over their faces he reminds himself that he has two weeks until he sees them again.

Thomas and Noelle were the last faces he saw before a loud bang and bright lights were all he saw.

Sitting up as soon as the light dulled he felt a shock flow through his body and gasped for breath. Grabbing his chest a sudden heat shot through the back of his head to the left side of his forehead.

“Hey, hey, hey, it's okay.” A voice caught his attention, looking around he spotted a man that looked familiar but not at the same time.

“Where am I!? What happened? Am I dead!?”

“Do you feel dead?”

“... I don’t know”

“We’ll come back to that in a moment. Do you remember your name?” The man moves to sit at the edge of Clay’s bed from where he was standing in the doorway.

“Clayton London Bruss. Now where am I?” Clay lifts his hand up to his forehead where the pain still throbs and feels bandages.

“You’re in a recovery center, you were shot by one of your superior officers.” Clays eyes widen and he lays back down. Then he remembers his pictures and a feeling of guilt washed over him.

“I’m Grev Kinter, I’ll be helping you recover.” The man held out his hand for clay to shake.

He didn’t take his hand.

Dear Dancer,

Long time no write, haven’t heard from you in a couple months. I hope you’re still kicking ass out there. I do miss you… a lot. You come home in 2 weeks. I can survive, but I am getting impatient.

Oh! Remember that dance and song that made me realize I liked you? I finally learned the dance! That means we can dance when you get home.

I may be able to skate like it's nothing but I can’t line dance for shit. But, I learned for you… and because it gets stuck in my head all the time.

When you get home we have to go to this new restaurant that sells a bunch of southern foods because I need to know if it's authentic or not. I eat there everyday you're deployed just to remind me of you.

Was that too cheesy?

Well, I haven’t gotten to be cheesy in a while to you so… Deal with it.

I hope you get this before you are on your way home or else you’ll have no clue what I’m talking about.

All the love,

Thomas

P.S

Noelle says hello!

“I fucking hate those boots.” Leo runs the back of his thigh where Clayton just kicked him with his cherry red pointed toe boots. Smiling, he pats Leo’s shoulder.

“You're just jealous you can’t look this good.” They went to sit at their normal table, Reg sat in between them. It’s where he feels most comfortable. They ordered drinks as they waited for the team to arrive, the music was swinging, people were laughing. It was a relaxed night.

Clay was a bit nervous though, he had gotten close to a specific person on the team and he recently found out that that person was already in a relationship. He had gotten her number from Logan somehow, he didn’t know how those two knew each other, he had called the girlfriend to let her know that he and the teammate had been talking. The next thing he knew he was on the phone with her for hours, talking about him, life, hockey and how Clay had no idea how to follow the game.

She was something special, but Clay knew that those two were happy together so he tried to just be friendly with them. New friends never hurt anyone. Then he saw them in person again and being just friends suddenly became a lot harder.

Thomas, a whole 6’2” man of solid muscle broader than clay himself and just the light in the room. He has the nickname Talkie because he loves to chat with anyone, for hours, including Clay. It felt like he had known Thomas for years when really it was only a number of months.

Noelle balanced him out perfectly, she is smart as hell, quiet but still goofy with Thomas. She was taller than Logan by an inch and won’t let him forget it, her long brown hair was constantly up in a ponytail. She also plays hockey but not professionally, she plays for fun. Clay doesn’t know her job yet but he wants to know everything about her.

It was just the guys coming out tonight because Judy invited the women and whoever didn’t want to come out over to have a wine tasting of Garland’s homemade wine. Clay was out on the floor dancing with one of his friends from highschool when the team came in. He made his way back over to them when the song ended and joined them in a round of shots.

He makes eye contact with Thomas for a second too long and he quickly looks away to Reg who is coughing from the burn of the drink and pats his back. After a couple of minutes of chatting and joking Clay's favorite song came on.

“Leo! Come on!” Clay drags Leo onto the floor right in front as the music gets past the intro. Logan was supporting himself on the table next to a smug Finn. Thomas and James were watching as they started the dance. The light changed to this dull yellow light that swirled around the floor landing on dancers every once in a while.

Clay and Leo were constantly under the light because everyone knew them there. Anytime Clay looked up he always felt a specific set of eyes on him. Dark brown and soft. Clay lost himself in the music, dancing was something he enjoyed to a fault. Once he gets in the zone he can’t be talked to.

Swinging his legs, kicking to the beat, stomping in time he smiles to himself. Starting to sweat he untucks his tank top from his jeans. He tips his head back until the stomp comes up and whips his head forward when he stomps.

The words in this song always get to him, especially something that he was planning to do already… without telling anyone.

“I volunteered for the army on my birthday.” He hums along kicking in a circle and kicking Leo’s ankle just to mess with him. He laughs when Leo flips him off. Smiling as the song ends, he is panting and sweating.

“I always forget how that dance makes me feel out of shape.” Leo flings his arm over Clay's shoulder as they walk back over to the table and take gulps of their drinks. “I’m going for a smoke, anyone else?” Clay nods, Sirius and Logan follow them along with Thomas. Clay didn’t see him as a smoker but everyone has surprises.

“Light me.” Clay holds out his cig as Leo finishes lighting his own, rolling his eyes Leo does after he passes his own to Logan. Sirius came outside for some fresh air and is chatting with Thomas who also came out here for that reason. Taking a drag and leaning against the wall, he looks up at the stars that are poking through the clouds. Closing his eyes he falls back into his own world for an unknown amount of time.

“Coming back in?” Clay blinks his eyes open to see Thomas standing by himself in front of him. His heart feels like it stops beating for a moment. “I mean it is pretty nice outside, I wouldn't mind staying out here. Especially with you.” Clay choked on the drag he was taking from his cigarette when Thomas mumbles the last thing he said. He feels a large palm on his back, not patting but rubbing his back.

Clay looks at him and takes a deep breath and shrugs the hand off of him.

“Let’s go back in. this isn’t something you want, Thomas” He stumps out his cig on the bottom of his boot and pushes off the wall.

“What do you mean?” Clay looks back at him and his face softens when he sees a look of hope and confusion in Thomas's gorgeous eyes. “I mean, I’m straight… or I think I am, but maybe I’m not and I just- I don’t know anymore.” Thomas reaches out to Clay and grabs his pinky finger with his pointer and pulls Clay closer to him.

“I don’t think you are straight, maybe you forgot but I am a man.”

“I know.” Suddenly Clay's back is to the brick of the alley and rough hands are on his waist. He watches Thomas lean forward, pausing for a second to make sure this was what Clay wanted. Clay stares into his eyes then glances down at his lips. Nodding slightly he feels Thomas surge forwards and connect their lips.

It was like his blood turned to fire, a sensation he has never felt before. Their lips moved in sync with each, Clay constantly being pulled against Thomas with his greedy hands and his own arms gripping Thomas's t-shirt. After a couple of minutes they pulled away for breath and Thomas backed away.

Thomas Left. Clay went to find Reg.

Noelle needed to know.

#leo knut #clayton bruss #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #thomas walker #noelle tremblay #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #sweater weather #lumo

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periminkle · 4 years

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Orphic | 02

After moving into your own place, it seems life is finally going your way; the path to independence leading you to a quaint suburban town where even the grass seems to grow a little greener. Although a shocking encounter leads you to believe that perhaps appearances can be quite deceiving.

pairing: hybrid!jk x reader (first person)

genre: hybrid au, angst, fluff

word count: 7.0k

rating: PG-15

warnings: animal cruelty, death, blood, swearing

author’s note: I cut this chapter into two parts bc it was turning into a monster :((( i did try to research DNA and genes and all that fancy stuff but it was too much for my small brain, so beware of inaccurate facts!!! also wanted to say that my heart hurt writing this </3

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The light breeze fluttering through the back door enveloped the bare skin of my legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

I couldn’t recall the last time I lounged around the house in the morning—not flurrying around like a chicken with its head cut off, in a rush to catch the bus. If it wasn’t work then it was grocery shopping, borrowing articles and studies from the library or filling my car’s empty gas.

Consequently, I refused to change out of the oversized sweater and the lousy pair of bright yellow shorts that currently adorned my laden figure. With any luck, the comfort from the soft articles of cloth would somehow seep into my mental state as well.

Yet the optimistic notion wasn’t proving its validity thus far, becoming a more of a burden due to the lack of a proper barrier between my humble abode and the wilderness outside.

For the most part, the structure of the door was left unharmed but the handle containing the lock that had been smashed into was another matter completely. Upon further examination, accompanied by an hour of fiddling around with the busted latch, it seemed to be a problem beyond my capabilities. I reluctantly admitted defeat and ordered a replacement.

With nothing to secure the door to the adjacent wall, it remained slightly ajar.

Another hour whizzed by, scouring through the limited resources at my disposal to—at the very least—find a temporary fix. I tried taping it shut, propping a chair, a step stool and a table up against the remainder of the handle to no avail.

A stroke of genius hit when I stuck a command hook on the wall nearby, fastening a broken hairband from the latch to the hook. However, the placement of the hook was a little too close and the hairband a little too loose to keep the occasional draft from finding its way inside. My fluffy pokémon shorts provided meager defence at best, but I could hardly spare a thought to the lower temperature when my mind was fully occupied with more urgent matters.

After the run-in yesterday night, I remained by the fridge, shaken from the events that had transpired for longer than I’d like to admit. I was unsure if the familiar sylvan scent that lingered was a result of the stranger or simply a waft from the forest, which wasn’t unlikely, considering my defective door.

Once I’d finally gotten a hold of myself, I dialled the police, doubting that my shaky limbs could safely carry me to the nearest station at such an hour. Other than an aching wrist and some medical supplies that could be restocked, my physical well-being and that of my house were surprisingly fine.

Excluding my poor back door, of course.

I was rather fortunate that the robbery, if stealing bandages could even be labelled as such, was more mentally taxing than anything. The drops of blood were rather annoying to clean off my tiles too, I guess.

Trying to get any rest that night was fruitless, tossing and turning, worried that the man might return for something more valuable or another fiend finding his way inside to do worse.

It struck me as more than a little odd that he would come to my tiny cottage, of all places, for first aid supplies. If he wasn’t looking for some extra coins to pocket, why wouldn’t he go to the hospital? Where had he gotten a wound that couldn’t be treated by a doctor? Maybe he had partaken in various illegal activities that couldn’t warrant the suspicion of a governmental figure? Ugh, my brain hurt the more I thought about it.

Along with my raging thoughts, the perpetual feeling of being watched disturbed my slumber as well. It was if another set of eyes were locked on my vulnerable form, peering past the closed blinds and under the protective layers of blankets I’d piled on. No matter how many times I peeked into the darkness though, I was only met with the sight of my backyard enshrouded in the night sky.

When the rays of dawn broke through the tenebrosity, I abandoned any notion of sleep and hesitantly called Jin, unsure if the busy man was even conscious yet. His bright and cheery voice quelled my worries and I informed him of what had transpired within the past twelve hours. Relief flooded my lethargic frame as he delved into a crazed panic, which I greatly appreciated, accepting his offer to take a day off.

Jin was excessively sympathetic and compassionate, reminding me of a mother goose with how he squabbled over staying somewhere else for the time being and taking a week-long break. But I didn’t want to be a burden on any of my new friends and going back to the city wasn’t an option at this point. Reflecting on the matter for more than day wasn’t necessary either.

I haughtily believed that the criminal didn’t deserve any more free real estate in my mind than he’d already occupied.

In order to comprehend the situation, as well as the fact that I would be utterly useless if I went to work with my mind engrossed in other matters, I thought one day to digest everything and get it out of my system would suffice. Though I knew it would come more so with time, I also had to work on regaining an impression of security within my own walls.

To take a rest from my turbulent concerns, I made a trip to one of the populated parks within the small town, figuring that I would feel more safety in the numbers that would surround me. Ridiculously, I found myself stumped when I got there, drowning in my own vulnerability, so I promptly headed back.

At nightfall, I skipped out on meeting with the cat yet again. Evidently, I lacked the mental capability to tend to my own needs the day before, never mind another being, thus I didn’t visit the little guy. I felt a wash of regret and worry that I hadn’t even set out some food. As a result of yesterday’s blunder, I put a heaping mass of tuna on the porch this time, hoping the animal would understand my apology.

The hours flew by as I sat there, stirring in my own solitude. In order to bring the negativity of the day to an end, I invited the trio I’d gotten close to as of recent, although Jin adamantly refused due to his papers that, “wouldn’t write themselves.”

I took the steaming pot of ramen off the stovetop right as the clear ring of the doorbell resounded throughout the cramped place. Hastily, I placed the noodles onto the table with careful hands, grimacing as I realized it took up a bit more than a quarter of the surface.

With a brisk shuffle, I pulled open my front door to the sight of a disgruntled Yoongi, hidden behind the towering stature of a rosy-nosed Namjoon. I barely made out the mutterings of, “it’s freezing out here,” and “took you long enough,” before I was being shoved aside.

As they trudged over to the kitchen, following the scent of freshly cooked ramen wafting around the house, Yoongi scoffed at my tiny table. Since I only purchased two chairs for the space, I cracked open the step stool to act as another seat. I honestly wasn’t sure what I would have done if Jin had tagged along too. Maybe pulled out the ladder too?

The shorter man grabbed the handles of the pot, heading over to the direction of the living room as Namjoon and I trailed after him like baby ducks. “If we’re going to eat like poor college students then we might as well keep up the act and sit on the floor.”

Although Yoongi’s cold and distant facade perplexed me as I was getting to know him, eventually I picked up on the hints of affection he’d drop every once in a while. Mostly, I found that I was able to burn time fooling around with Taemin as he completed enough drudgery for the both of us or a piping hot mug of hot chocolate would be waiting for me in the break room after long hours.

Even now, though he acted irritated, I knew Yoongi well enough to decipher his true intentions: that he was trying to be considerate of my humble living conditions and opted to play it off as a joke. At this point, I was even inclined to believe he harboured a soft spot for me.

In response, I pretended to be peeved by his actions as I ambled back to gather the bowls and utensils I placed at the table, carrying them to the spot we’d occupied on the floor. It was difficult to hide the growing smile on my face.

Once I’d gotten a few drinks down my throat, I finally felt the tense muscles between my brows and shoulder blades relax, forgetting about the worries that echoed in my head all day.

The TV screen flashed with the intense scenes of an action movie that Namjoon had picked out. I was only half paying attention to the redundant plot line, more interested in the outrageous story spewing from Namjoon’s lips.

“-and now he’s bragging about how one of his puns got milk spilling out of Yoongi’s nose!”

The tipsy state I was in got me laughing harder than I should have, but with both men around me in a relatively similar state of mind, no one seemed to care.

“That’s literal bullshit, Eunmi told me that I was drinking the milk meant for Taemin right when Jin finished telling his dumb joke,” Yoongi complained despite the gummy smile stretching across his features.

I clutched my chest at the mention of one of the creatures who had stolen my heart, “aw, my pretty little Taem, I miss him so much and it’s only been one day!”

“You’re getting too attached to him Y/N, you know that he’s not gonna stay at the lab forever,” Namjoon lightly warned. I knew he was concerned for my emotional welfare, but even the mention of Taemin being taken away got me stewing in my own misery.

“Joon, why would you say—I don’t even want to think about that!” My inebriated state obviously enjoyed to spill more information than necessary when I stated, “I need to cuddle Taemin enough for the both of them.”

“Both?” The younger man spared a questioning glance at his companion in before turning back to me, “do you have a cat?” The two of them began scoping out the area, trying to locate the nonexistent bundle of fur.

“Oh no, no, I wish I could afford a pet but I think taking care of myself is challenging enough for now.” At their probing eyes, I continued, “I was just talking about a little kitty that visits me every night in my backyard.”

Yoongi’s dark eyebrows scrunched together, a huff escaping him. “If you’re talking about a domestic cat, there’s no way it would be living out there,” he pointed to the forest outside with a tilt of his chin.

With the shake of my head, I felt myself sober up a bit as I explained, “I think it’s just one of my neighbours’ pets.”

Namjoon and Yoongi stared at each other, appearing baffled. “Well, it’s definitely not Eunhyuk, his son is allergic.”

“But you think mean old Sangmin would have a cat? We’re talking about the same guy who refused to have kids because he’s ‘not a bank’ right?”

Namjoon redirected his attention to me. “Are you sure it’s a cat? Maybe you just saw a rat or something.”

“No, it can’t be...” Their insistent refusal planted seeds of doubt that began to fester the longer I thought about it; they both lived here for longer than I had and obviously knew the area much better as well. It wasn’t like I had the best eyesight, anyway. But I remembered the piercing emerald green irises peering back at me, slit pupils honed in on my form with vibrant clarity. “It’s definitely a cat. It has to be a cat.”

A teasing snort came from Yoongi, who was leaning back on his palms with disbelief written all over his face. “You’re just seeing things, Y/N.”

I pouted at their lack of trust in me. An aggressive urge to prove them wrong began bubbling in the pit of my stomach and with a glimpse of the time from the clock above the stove, I noticed that it was well into midnight—around the hour in which I’d meet the kitty.

“Yeah, well, if you don’t believe me you can come see for yourself.”

“Is it outside?” I revelled in the satisfaction Namjoon’s widened eyes brought me and loftily smirked at him.

The plentiful amount of alcohol I’d indulged in forbade my legs from gracefully standing, wobbling like a newborn fawn instead as I fumbled over to the door, slipping the loose hair tie off and yanking the faulty mass open. Strangely, the night air was deathly silent, even the usually chirpy crickets seeming to have migrated to another yard.

“Hey, buddy. You out there?” I mumbled, scanning the bushes nearby, trying to pick up even the faintest flutter. “Bud?”

When I felt two pairs of curious eyes pierce my back, the pressure skyrocketed. I couldn’t let them believe I was spouting utter nonsense earlier, but the lack of response wasn’t proving my case very well.

After a few minutes passed with only the low whistle of the wind to keep us company, I felt a tinge of worry knot itself into my belly. “Okay, that’s enough Y/N. Let’s go back in.”

“No! It’s just scared because there’s a lot of people out now, you two go back in. I’ll call you when it’s out.” Desperately, I examined every inch of the stationary woodlands.

“We believe you, just get back in here! It’s cold and you’re not wearing a jacket, come on.” Namjoon’s long fingers wrapped around my forearm, tugging on my hesitant form.

As the dark-haired male dragged me back, I caught sight of the abundant helping of tuna I’d left on the last step of the porch yesterday. A pang resounded throughout my chest, disquiet settling into the recesses of my mind. Why didn’t the creature eat the offering, was it angry that I hadn’t shown up the last few nights? I couldn’t stop myself from imagining the worst; if it got lost somewhere, collapsed from starvation or was brutally killed by another animal.

If either one of the guys noticed the unusual pile of food, they didn’t comment on it.

Once back inside, tucked into Namjoon’s comforting shoulder and Yoongi’s warm side pressed against mine, I found myself unable to focus on anything of value. It was as if all my senses had dulled to an absolute minimum, barely processing what flashed on the bright TV screen and only picking up bits and pieces of the conversation between the two males. All I could think about was what could have possibly happened to my poor kitty.

My eyelids began to droop, heavy from the weight of the last few days’ events. With my body molding itself into Namjoon’s sturdy torso, I welcomed the peaceful darkness.

Taemin’s entire body shook from the force of his tiny sneeze and I could have sworn that my heart ceased its endless beating right then and there, was I in heaven?

Unaffected by my inner turmoil, the baby jaguar started bouncing around, weaving in and out of my legs as if he was participating in his own agility competition. I crouched down to his level to reach for his lithe body. The little guy always transformed into a flurry of excitement whenever I stopped by his cage, elated that he was free to play around without his constricting muzzle.

Once I’d discovered what a sweet bean he was, I couldn’t help but comply to his wishes. It didn’t take a mind reader to see how he consistently pawed at the contraption, even clawing his face a couple times on accident.

The reasoning behind all the safety measures wasn’t lost on me though, as I had witnessed the terror he instilled in most of the staff. About a week prior, I caught Minzi trying to lure Taemin out of his cage with some treats, but all her attempts proved unsuccessful when he didn’t even spare a glance her way.

With an annoyed sigh, she reached into the pocket within her lab coat, retrieving a syringe that I knew she had filled with telazol, a tranquilizing fluid for small animals. That prompted a reaction out of Taemin, his haunches tensing and lowering towards the ground, mouth peeling back in a snarl. The low growling sound vibrating from his small body instantly put me on edge; it was the first time I’d ever seen or heard the animal’s anger.

Before I could move a muscle, the irate woman stuck the needle into his hind leg. Taemin yowled in pain, but sunk his claws into her arm when he got the chance, only able to exact his revenge for a couple seconds before his body fell limp. Minzi detched his paw to find a stream of crimson red besmirching her white coat.

Now that I thought back to it, his growl eerily reminded me of the night of the break-in. Funnily enough, I thought the criminal had the more menacing vibration between the two—and Taemin was a jaguar for god’s sake.

What I found truly inhumane was the assistant assigned to handing Taemin his meals. The callous woman didn’t have half a mind to remove his muzzle before placing a handful of dog kibble in his cage.

At a glance, Taemin appeared severely underweight for his size, but I could have never chalked it up to his nutrition being fed through the bars around his snout. He struggled to attain such inadequate portions that weren’t even created for his species in mind.

Nevertheless, the instant I’d seen his horrifying feeding conditions, I dismissed the careless assistant and took on the task of keeping Taemin alive, a job that I didn’t think someone could fail so terribly at.

Taemin blindly swiped the air, bringing me out of my reverie. I chuckled as I saw he was a just a couple centimetres off the sleeve of my coat and I brought my hand, palm turned upwards, to meet his paw.

His eyelids were shut closed as tightly as they had been the first day he’d arrived at the lab, a fact that Yoongi informed me of when I’d inquired about Taemin’s lack of sight. Neither him nor Namjoon knew why he refused to, or simply couldn’t, open his eyes and my chest ached thinking about the unfulfilling life he was leading.

The memory crushed the lighthearted atmosphere that had arisen from fooling around with the dark-coloured feline. I rubbed the fur covering his foreleg while stealing a glimpse of Yoongi, seemingly hard at work from his hunched form.

“Hey, Yoongs?”

“I thought I told you not to call me that.” The low murmur was slightly muffled from the microscope covering the entirety of his face.

Disregarding his previous statement, I voiced out my thoughts. “What if Taem can actually see? I mean, we could just check whether the PDE6C gene—”

A lengthy exhale interrupted my speech. “Wow, now I guess I know how Jin feels.”

“Listen, I know what you said before but—”

“Y/N, we have tons of gene sequences to analyze, we don’t have time to waste looking for a faulty PDE6C, okay?” He finally tore his gaze away from his work to peer into my pleading eyes, running his fingers through the strands marring his forehead. “You’re lucky I’m even letting you play around considering the amount of work we have to finish.”

At that, I shut my mouth and concentrated back on Taemin’s restless figure, a much better alternative to the DNA waiting to be analyzed at my desk. Since he was confined within his cage all day, I made it my goal to tire him out enough that he would be forced to rest until the next time I had the chance to abandon work, essentially getting paid to keep him amused.

I gently brought his paw to the floor and scurried away to collect his favourite toy; a fuzzy mouse I’d bought one day after discovering the building was devastatingly unequipped to entertain an extremely bored feline.

Although he whimpered at the loss of contact and the sound of my retreating footsteps, I swiftly grabbed the rodent at the bottom of the drawer, by Yoongi’s legs, and hurried back.

Another half hour passed as I tried to exhaust as much of Taemin’s boundless energy as I could, although my plan backfired when I found that my own strength was depleting just as quickly. His natural hunting instincts were definitely still intact, what with the torn up toy in the corner, held together by mere threads at this point. I made a mental note to go shopping for sturdier prey next time.

Presently, he laid on his side as a content, black loaf, purring from the belly rubs he was receiving. To tease the cub, I would pull away every once in a while only to have his long tail wrap around my wrist, tugging my limb back to action.

“Y/N.” My head turned to meet Namjoon who had wandered over from the assistant researcher’s lab where I’d last seen him. “I finished the sequence for his canines. Do you mind leaving it on Jin’s desk?”

I guiltily stood from my seated position, a sheepish grin plastered on as I gave one last pat to Taemin’s head. “Yeah, of course. Could you lock up Taem for me?”

With his affirmation, I took the papers from his grasp and gave a pat to the crown of Yoongi’s bleached head. He shifted towards me in feigned annoyance, but I was out of his reach before he could get back at me and I celebrated my victory with sticking my tongue out.

I began to make my way upstairs, but not before picking up on Joon’s exasperated remark to Taemin, “I hope you know that I could build you from scratch if I wanted to.”

Once in front of the familiar wood of Jin’s office door, I decided to knock in case he had guests. I restrained the awkward memory of walking in on the whole board of directors from resurfacing and distracted myself by rapping my knuckles with more force when there was no response from within. “Jin? It’s Y/N.” I pushed the handle down and pleasantly found it unlocked. “I’m coming in.”

I waited a couple more seconds before opening the door, meeting the chaos that was the assistant director’s office. As per usual, I winced at the mountain of papers piled upon his desk, astonished that it only seemed to grow since the last time I’d seen it. At this rate, I was just waiting for the day that I’d walk in here to see the towers reaching the ceiling.

Striding over to Jin’s side of the desk, I laid the notes down in the dead centre, resting on top of three separate piles. Sympathy flooded my senses as my gaze roamed across the masses. How could such a hardworking individual accumulate so much work while he was working?

Even staring at the copious amounts of print made me feel queasy, hence I hurried to get out of the nauseating area. But, as I scuttled by, my gaze caught on a file with thick, messy letters scrawled on the front.

Jaguar.

To say my curiosity was piqued whenever Taemin was involved was an understatement. After a glance back to ensure that I was able to safely snoop around until my heart’s content, I reached for the file, making sure to keep my posterior to the camera in the corner, concealing my actions.

Ultimately, I knew Taemin was brought in to make progress on their “top secret, strictly confidential experiment,” which meant that I wasn’t to touch any of his files. At least, according to the brusque Minzi I wasn’t. However, an underlying, devious part of me enjoyed rebelling against her words and I secretly rejoiced as I directly disobeyed her orders, opening the folder.

Basic information was scattered along the first page, his name, birthdate, birthplace, so on and so forth. I casually flipped through the rest, finding the documents we routinely handed off to Jin when we’d written down sequences that brought about certain genes concerning the jaguar. This was probably where Jin would store the note Namjoon had made me deliver.

Losing interest, I flipped the bulk of the papers back to the front and seamlessly slid them into the file. When I unintentionally skimmed the first page once again, my eyes caught on a baffling sentence.

Heightened sense of sight, especially keen night vision.

I wet my suddenly chapped lips in my state of bafflement, double and triple checking that the file was indeed for seemingly blind Taemin; the very same animal that was probably napping downstairs. The statistics even matched up with what little knowledge I had about the animal, sending me into a greater spiral of confusion. They must have accidentally written the observation down on the wrong paper.

Unless...?

I shook my head, trying to dispel the outrageous thoughts swarming my mind.

Heading back down, I caught sight of Yoongi still wrapped around his microscope, jotting notes down with his other hand. My attention shifted to the unconscious feline next, muzzled and locked behind bars.

My fists clenched, fingernails engraving crescents into the palm of my hand as I resolved to finally clear out these murky waters.

An hour passed before I finally located it and then another few hours slipped by as I examined the sequence.

The PDE6C gene on chromosome ten. Perfectly intact and working exceptionally until the halfway point, around the thousandth base. Some of the letters got mixed up, binding with incorrect base pairs and bestowing Taemin with his current lack of vision.

Of course, I was prepared to deal with the repercussions of wasting precious time, examining a sequence that did not correlate to any favourable gene. But after connecting some dots, I recognized the agent that brought about such errors.

Ethyl methanesulfonate, or EMS for short. A chemical mutagenic that induces base substitutions, mutating the DNA molecule as a result. I couldn’t imagine why they’d inject a carcinogenic compound into the mammal, but it obviously had something to do with trying to enhance his natural vision.

Did they think the possibility of disabling him was worth the slim chance that his eyesight could improve? By the bases that were effected, I guessed that they were trying to sharpen his sight when submerged in darkness. If the guanine alkylation hadn’t spread so far, they might have succeeded in their experiment.

Nevertheless, their hypothesis was dreadfully incorrect and Taemin was blind as a result of their recklessness.

My grip on the pencil tightened in pure, white fury. In the fruitless hope that the EMS hadn’t affected his whole body, I took several samples of cells from various areas of his body. Albeit, samplings of his cheeks, ears and legs all provided the same conclusion that I’d reached earlier—deformed DNA from ill-fitting base pairs.

All the blood drained from my face from the appalling notion of just how much EMS they must have injected into his blood stream for it to have tampered with every cell in his body. My jaw clenched as my mouth ran bone dry.

They mutilated him.

Digust washed over me, for the false claims that the lab protected their lab animals, for every ruthless employee that harboured such barbaric morals, for myself, who blindly assisted in the cruel methods of this place. My heart rate picked up at my own helplessness, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I scrambled out of the corner I had holed myself up in.

I didn’t know if it was the bruising despair or the fuming rage that had me stomping my way across the halls, headed for the director’s office. The rational part of me was aware of the fact that I couldn’t do anything, change their twisted morals or bring down that metaphorical sword of justice that I was so fixated on. But that didn’t mean I had to play along as a clueless, complaisant pawn in their gruesome experiments.

Keycard or not, I was determined to wreak havoc until I could properly screech obscenities at one of the incredibly asinine brains that ran this revolting laboratory. Storming past the Namjoon and Yoongi’s office, I picked up on a shrill cry that seemed to douse my whole body in ice water, stopping me in my tracks.

A turn to my right gave me a direct view of Minzi struggling to pull a semi-conscious Taemin out of his cage, arms which he desperately wriggled against, thrashing violently to escape her hold. Now knowing what malicious behaviour deserved such treatment from kind-hearted Taemin, I rushed at her.

“How could you!” I roared, seeing red when she turned, glaring condescendingly.

Her calculated eyes examined my rapidly approaching, ruffled figure. “Oh, good, I needed a coffee. Could you fetch me a tranquilizer while you’re at it? I didn’t think he would wake up.”

I grit my teeth as my temper flared, resentment embedded into each of my features. Stopping a step away from her unbothered form, I seethed out, “you guys claim to look after the lab animals? Then why would you permanently damage his genes!”

“What have you been wasting time on instead of researching what we told you to?”

“Answer the question!”

She sneers. “I thought I warned you to stay out of anything that doesn’t concern you. That includes any testing subjects.”

“Testing subjects? How the hell do you think you can get away with—”

“Woah, what’s all the ruckus here?” Hyunho’s lazy form strolled in with a lax yet domineering countenance. The appearance of the other head researcher made my hair stand on end. “Do we need to put up a sign to remind some people that they’re to use indoor voices inside a laboratory?”

My eyes quickly narrowed at his patronizing remark. “I don’t know what kind of fucked up project you guys are conducting, but if you’re harming innocent animals, I don’t want any part of your imbecilic research.”

“Ooh, it seems that newbie is a feisty one, isn’t she?” He took a step towards me, the scent of a cigarette he probably smoked earlier invading my senses and invoking an appealing urge to regurgitate my dinner all over him. “Listen here girly, I don’t know what you’re trying to accuse us of here, but I’ll be sure to report your unruly behaviour to the director if you keep this shit up.”

“As if I give a flying fu—”

A hand wrapped around my mouth before I could unleash the rest of my resentful spew. “Ah, Dr. Lee.” I recognized the subtle undertone of panic in Namjoon’s deep voice as he addressed the burly man with respect that he didn’t deserve. “You see, Y/N had a pretty rough day, some family matters back home, y’know? I’m just going to take her outside to clear her head a little.”

“Yes, that would be a good idea.” Hyunho stepped back to Minzi’s side.

“If you would excuse us then...” I flailed about in Namjoon’s sturdy hold before he all but manhandled my to the back entrance. The refreshingly cool air grazing my overheated skin quelled some of my fury, although I felt its presence simmering beneath the surface. The tall man released my trembling limbs and I whipped my head over to examine Namjoon’s concerned countenance.

Did he know?

I couldn’t bear the thought of any of the limited friends I’d made in this place willingly taking part in such horrid research. They couldn’t have known. My heavy head fell into my hands, thinking of innocent Taemin who didn’t merit the attention of these corrupt individuals, who had no one to protect him.

If I quit my job here, would anyone care for him? Obviously his basic needs would be met, Namjoon and Yoongi would make sure of that, but were they aware of what exactly that experiment entailed? I’d only scratched the surface, but the prospect of finding out every gritty detail terrified me.

I felt an overwhelming weight crushed me, being helpless beneath it all. “Joon,” I managed to croak out, “I didn’t come here for this.”

With the low volume of my voice, I didn’t know how much he’d heard, but a tug on my wrist enveloped my body into his embrace. As he stroked my head reassuringly, I held onto his thin lab coat with clenched fists.

If it meant I could save Taemin, I would keep my mouth shut. If it meant I could act as some salvation to each animal that came into this wretched place, I would stay.

My disgust for the laboratory only multiplied.

“I didn’t come here for this.”

A pleasant tranquility took shape after a brief greeting had been exchanged, both Jin and I on a well-deserved break after too much time cooped up in our respective offices. Well, even though the assistant researchers’ office wasn’t technically mine in title, the majority of my belongings resided in that space. Namjoon didn’t mind much and Yoongi complained about everything under the sun, so I made myself comfortable there.

The hum of electricity powering the building and the whirr of the coffee maker spurring into action intensified as I closed my eyes, resting my head against the back of the sofa. I stared up at the ceiling with a vacant expression and tried to clear my thoughts for a bit.

A ceramic mug clinked against the surface of the coffee table in front of me. “Drink.” I lifted my head to take in the reassuring crinkle in Jin’s eyes. “You look like you’ll need all the energy you can get right now.”

I scoffed at his statement, the end of my own lips flitting upwards. “Just tell me I look like shit.”

Gratefully accepting the cup of coffee, the bitter taste on my tongue already started to rejuvenate my aching muscles. Jin was aware of my deep-seated aversion to the drink, but I guess my appearance revealed too much of the chaos inside my head. “I was going to, but I had a feeling you might just break down if I did.”

Although the work itself was tedious and relatively tiring on its own, the fact that all my efforts were going to fuel that wretched project made me feel rotten to the core. The knowledge sapped my stamina at an exponential rate that I wasn’t accustomed to.

“How’s baby Yeri doing?” I placed the pungent beverage back down, stroking my chin in faux deliberation. “Or I guess I should ask how Chaeyoung is holding up instead, huh?”

Jin let out a hum of aggravation around his own glass, swallowing the liquid before slapping his unoccupied hand against his thigh. “Don’t even get me started. Chaeyoung keeps telling me to take some time off work to come help, but honestly I would take the peace and quiet of the office over Yeri’s nasty diapers any day.” He shook his head at the thought, repulsed by the dealing with another one of Yeri’s accidents.

I’d heard the story one too many times not to let a giggle slip at his misfortune.

Abruptly, an alarming shriek disturbed the placidity. As my head shot up to identify the source, the sound was muffled, then silence resumed. I scrambled to discern who the perpetrator was when my gaze met Jin’s static form. “Did you hear that?” When his weary eyes met mine, appearing confused, I clarified, “that scream.”

“Oh, they probably just dropped something. Don’t worry too much about it.” But I couldn’t find a trace of compassion in his words, especially with how gut-wrenching the shout sounded. Rather than shock, every note was filled with agony and something felt vaguely off about the whole ordeal.

The look of guilt that Jin sported stopped me from prodding. I refused to believe the stubborn man who was always drowning in papers to complete, shoving fried chicken down his throat like there was no tomorrow, who had the sweetest daughter back at home knew anything about the experiment. Not what was really happening.

That’s why the regret and shame written all over his countenance made me pause.

More shuffling, whimpers and yelps filled my limbs with apprehension, seeping deep into my bones and making me restless. Jin kept his gaze trained on the floor, unable to look me in the eye as he excused each sound with the fault of a clumsy, irresponsible researcher and other rationalizations that I wasn’t sure he, himself, believed.

At this point, the raucous was becoming increasingly bestial and I couldn’t decipher the species that was belting out the miserable noises. I tried to grit my teeth and ignore them, distracting myself with Jin’s moronic cover-ups to keep me glued to my spot. Without a keycard, I had no access to the upstairs lab anyway, it was out of my hands for now.

When my thoughts strayed to Taemin though, I felt my heart drop to the pit of my stomach, recalling how I had been dragged away before I could stop Minzi from taking him. Suddenly, I lost the ability to think logically, fixated on Taemin’s well-being. I had to know if it was him.

Hastily, I jumped out of my seat, coffee long forgotten as I sprinted down the hall. Jin’s pounding footsteps followed after me, though I gave them no mind.

Once I reached the first floor, the sight of two unfamiliar men dressed in heavy gear greeted me. The bulkier of the two lifted the cage as if it were as light as a feather and I noticed how unusually clean it was. “No, you can’t take it upstairs!” I grabbed onto the bars, halting him in his tracks. “Where is he? Tell them to bring him back here!”

“Sorry, no can do miss,” he drawled out. “We were asked to—”

“I don’t care what you were asked to do! Tell them to bring him back!” He rolled his eyes at my accusatory tone and yanked the cage out of my grasp. As I reached out again in a frenzy, the other man blocked my path. The odds weren’t looking too great for me.

I saw Jin emerge from the staircase, following the ruckus I’d created. Relief flooded my veins as I sought his backup. “Jin, they want to take his cage.” Pursing my lips, I pointed to said object. “Could you tell them to leave it here?”

“No, Y/N. Get out of the way.” My breath hitched at Jin’s steely tone, locking onto his fatigued gaze. I tried to remind myself that he was oblivious to the horrors that they’d already inflicted upon Taemin, but the back of my eyes still burned at the betrayal I felt. “Come on, let them do their job.”

Though I refused to show how dismayed I’d become, I couldn’t bear the idea of Taemin residing upstairs, where they could inject anything without suspicion. “Please, Jin. Please. Believe me when I say that he won’t last a day up there.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, let’s go finish our coffee, hm?” I huffed out through my nostrils in frustration, wringing my fingers together as I debated whether or not to tell him the truth I discovered for myself not too long ago.

“Oh, my. What’s this? I believe I told you what would happen if you caused a commotion again, didn’t I?” Feeling defeated already, I didn’t even turn to meet Hyunho’s form as I heard him approach. “I’ll need you to get out of the way now, girly.”

“It’s Y/N.”

His fake grin put his crooked teeth on full display. “Yes, yes. Scurry along now.”

“No.” With a hardened resolve, I glared back at him. “Bring Taemin back. Let him stay on this floor.” Hesitant but desperate, I added a barely audible, “please.”

At my plea, he brightened up, utterly pleased with watching me grovel at his feet. “You should use that tone more often, newbie, it could really get you places.” The stealthy once-over of my chest didn’t go unnoticed by me and I wrapped the lab coat around me tighter. He pulled back a little, satisfied with my discomfort. "You didn’t hear? He died of natural causes, so we have to clean up this mess for the new tiger cub coming in. Don’t worry though, he’ll be staying on this floor when he gets here.”

I took a step back, skin stinging as if he’d slapped me across the face, feeling my blood run cold. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted the bewilderment reflected on Jin’s features, as well as the sudden appearance of Namjoon and Yoongi, both looking as distressed as I felt.

When my breaths came in heavier and burning droplets rolled down my cheeks, I knew the dam had broken. “Don’t feed me that bullshit... You monsters.” I felt my bottom lip quiver as my voice cracked. “Killed him.”

One of Hyunho’s thick eyebrows raised in amusement at my shattered state. “Haven’t you been taught not to mess with fire, girly?” He crossed his arms after giving a flick of dismissal to the man still carrying the cage. “You could get burned.”

A pair of arms wrapped around my torso and dragged me away before I could wail anything out. Through the blurry mess of tears, I made out a discarded, mangled mouse toy by the corner.

tags: @aurorakingsley @bubbletae7 @iamunrecognized @bangtanloverrrrr @walkingdeadfan25

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #jungkook hybrid au #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagine

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ser-jorah-the-andal · 5 years

Text

MINE WOULD BE YOU

*84 years later: shows up with part two of @wizfrog fic request.*

@gameofthrones-fam hope part II doesn’t disappoint...

@clarasimone thank you so much for betaing this and for being an all-round amazing person! 💓💗

WARNINGS:

Major character death!!

Graphic-ish depiction of body trauma

I made myself cry while writing this so proceed at your own risk.

PART I

Echoing between her ears she hears Viserion’s screams again and again, and she’s trying her best not to lose her composure, not to think of her child’s blood falling from the sky like rubies, or how his body slowly slid beneath the ice, never to rise again. She also tries not to think of the other body that had slid beneath the ice, the one belonging to Jon, the man she had come to save.

The Night King throws another spear, this time at her, at Drogon, and her dragon banks, barely avoiding the deadly weapon.

A scream, then a curse word. That’s all Daenerys hears and when she turns, she sees Jorah falling off Drogon’s back, his hands searching for purchase and failing to find it.

No!

A moment later, a puff of snow is thrown in the air as his body hits the ground below.

No! No! No! Not you too! She thinks, and before any other thought can form in her mind, Drogon banks this time, back. The dragon has read her mind even before she knew it.

“He’s dead!” She hears a harsh voice from behind her, it belongs to the man with the burnt face, “He’s dead!” he says again, “And you’ll kill us all if you go back for him!”

Dany pays no mind to the man, instead, she searches the sky until she finds Rhaelgal, Go! She screams inside her head, hoping he will understand. Fly! Fly away! Rhaelgal screeches then veers off, and Dany finds a moment to exhale.

Please be alive, oh, Gods, please let him be alive! She believes in no Gods, yet she prays in her mind as Drogon dives toward her fallen knight.

“Can’t you hear me you stupid cunt, you’ll kill us all!” The man says, then she hears another man she doesn’t know trying to shut him up.

Do they not know that she cares nothing for them? Do they not understand that she would trade them all in an instant for her knight?

“I didn’t sign up for this just to die in this fucking wasteland, turn your damn dragon around!”

Two bats of Drogon’s wings later they land just feet from to her knight.

Dany snaps her head back to the men. “Go fetch him!” She orders the strongest looking of them all, the one with the foulest of mouths, “If you do not I will have Drogon burn you alive.”

The man eyes her for a moment and Dany holds his gaze. “Cunt!“ He swears again under his breath, but dismounts and runs for her knight.

“Goddammed fucking Mormonts!” The redheaded curses then joins in the rescue.

She wants so badly to look at Jorah, to see if he’s alive or... But she can’t. She must keep herself and everyone safe and alive.

The wights have spotted them, they’re running for them, but they’re still far enough that Drogon’s fire won’t reach them. Her eyes search for the real threat, for the Night King. She finds him, and he’s just acquired another ice spear.

“Faster!” she barks as the two men climb aboard Drogon with Jorah’s limp body in their arms. There are streaks of blood oozing out his nose and mouth. Oh Gods, No!

“If you drop him I’ll shake all of you off Drogon’s back!” She threatens as the dragon takes flight.

The red-headed’s eyes bulge and he drapes his body over Jorah’s, keeping it still. “Fucking Mormonts!” He grumbles.

All her attention is now focused on the Night King and the spear in his hands. Up! Dany thinks and Drogon obeys.

She’s looking the Night King dead in the eyes, waiting for his move. She will not let her dragon turn left or right, not until the spear has left the creature’s hand, not until she can guess where it will land. The Night King throws it. Yes, there you go, show me the path . The spear swishes through the air and Drogon banks left, it whizzes past them and now they are high enough that no other spear could reach them.

“Fuck me, the dammed Mormont is alive!” She hears behind her and her heart skips. Thank the Gods!

“You sure?” The one-eyed man asks.

“I can feel his breath on my fucking face!” The red-headed says. “Never thought I’d be this close to a fucking Mormont and not put a sword through his gut.”

“He’s broken every fucking bone in his body and he’s bleeding through every hole, but sure, yeah, the fucker breathes.” The burnt man barks.

Dany’s heart sinks and her vision tints with red.

“One more word out of any of you, and I swear...” She doesn’t continue, but the look she gives them is enough for the burnt man to avert his gaze and the redhead to press himself tighter to Jorah’s body.

PART II

“Get in the fucking boat!” Clegane barks at Tormund and Beric after dropping the wight like a potato sack and kicking it for good measure.

Tormund shakes his head, “We’ll stay and guard the wall. This is the furthest south I’m ever going.” The man says with a stupid smile on his face.

Clegane grunts. He should say nothing more and just leave. Fuck them, they want to die here, they can fucking die here . Yet he finds his mouth opening. “You saw what’s out there, how the fuck you gonna protect the wall and yourselves from an army of dead men?”

“The Lord of the Light—“ Benric starts.

“Oh, shut up with your fucking Lord! We were attacked by a damned dead polar bear and thousands of dead men. Now that… thing that can raise the dead has a dragon. What the fuck can you do against a dragon?”

The two men blink in surprise at him.

“You gotta be shitting me! None of you fuckers thought of that?”

“Shit!” Benric says. “We can’t stay here.”

Clegane rolls his eyes and groans. “Get in the fucking boat, and bring with you however many wildlings you can. Have the rest walk south.”

Tormund grunts.

“You’d rather be dead than go south?” Sandor asks. “You truly are a dumb cunt!”

Tormund seems to be contemplating his options for a moment and Clegane wants to backslap some sense into him.

“I’ll gather everyone.” The wildling says and turns towards the wall.

The boat is crammed full and still many were left to travel by foot towards Winterfell. It will be a long, hard walk, but better than the alternative. Anything is better than the alternative. Almost anything .

Inside her cabin, Daenerys wipes the blood from Jorah’s face. It’s the least she can do, the very least, for she knows of no way in which she can help him. There are no Maesters onboard and she fears he won’t make it to Dragonstone. If she thought he’d make it through the journey inland she’d take him to Winterfell or anywhere else he might stand a chance.

Ser Davos came and examined him a few hours ago. He had thought it a miracle that her knight had no bones piercing through his skin but that was all the good news he had given her and she was not sure if it had been good news to begin with. The man had not stayed long, for the red-headed wildling had barged in with news of Jon’s arrival, alive, but frozen stiff.

Her heart had skipped then, her feet moving towards the door, following in Ser Davos’s footsteps, but she had stopped right before the threshold. It had been strange. Something had pulled at her heart as if… as if there was an invisible tether attached to it. She had stood there, her eyes moving from the open door to her bed, where the other end of the tether seemed to have attached itself. Dany wrapped her hand around the doorknob and closed it, then turned back to her bed, to her knight. The tether went slack.

“You just returned to me, don’t leave me again so soon, my bear.” She says now, her voice low as she wipes away the last of the blood. His face is drawn and pale. “Do not leave me.” She commands as she puts her hand on top of his, but her tone is soft and pleading. His hands are cold as death.

The hours pass and Jorah remains the same. They are still a long way from Dragonstone and Dany’s thoughts are filled with fears. Fear that she will lose her knight, fear of what she saw behind the wall, fear that another one of her children might fall prey to the Night King’s spears. Her heart is torn, shredded to pieces, and yet it still beats.

“Your grace,” she hears Ser Davos say from the threshold of her cabin. “I��m sorry for your loss.”

Jon must have told him , she thinks but says nothing. Viserion’s screams fill her head again, tearing at her heart further.

“I wanted to let you know that Jon Snow is recovering well.”

“Thank you.” She’s happy for it and she’s been meaning to visit Jon, the man she had traveled behind the wall to save, but every time she urges herself to do so, her legs refuse to move, to hold her weight, to let her step away from her knight.

“How is he?” The man asks as he moves closer to the bed.

“Alive...”

“May I?” He asks, making a head movement towards Jorah.

Dany nods.

The first time around, Ser Davos had undressed her knight to his undertunic and breeches before examining him hastily. He lifts the covers off Jorah’s body and Dany winches, from ankle to knee his left leg is swollen and blue and purple. The marks were not there before and Dany curses herself for not looking under the covers all this time. Davos grabs her knights leg and moves it, Jorah’s foot dangles as if the ankle bones and tendons had been cut. Further up his leg, the broken tip of a bone threatens to pierce through the bruised skin. Dany swallows.

The man moves to Jorah’s right leg, it’s bruised and swollen too and there’s a finger-wide gap where the ball of his knee used to be and Dany has to turn her head at the sight, inside her mouth bile gathers. Davos continues moving his good hand and stump over Jorah’s body. “His right arm is broken too, from shoulder to wrist,” he says, “I can feel the shattered bones underneath the flesh.”

Dany bites her lip to keep it from shaking.

“And his back…” he clicks his tongue, “I can’t tell if it’s broken, but if I were a betting man, I’d say it is, and if so, then he will never walk again.” Ser Davos cups his hands behind his back and fidgets for a moment. He looks at her from under his brows as he says, “I’m sorry your grace, I know you do not want to hear what I have to say, but you should.”

You’re right, I don’t! Dany thinks.

“It’s a miracle he’s still alive and he might die before we reach Dragonstone, but if he does not, I hope he goes in his slumber and never wakes, for if he does… ” the man lets out a huff of air, “he’ll be in such agony he’ll wish for nothing more than death.”

“He is strong and stubborn, he’ll make it to Dragonstone and–”

“And then a Maester is going to sew all his shattered bones back together?” He asks lifting his eyebrows.

“Bones heal and mend!”

“Shattered as his?” Ser Davos asks, his brow moving further up. “Every movement will be torture, the touch of a fly on his flesh will be as painful as the blow of a mace.” The man fidgets some more. “I’m sorry your grace, but there’s nothing anyone can do for him, nothing save put him out of his misery.” (we need all of this too)

Dany swallows hard, she wants to slap the man across the mouth for his words, but instead, she says. “Thank you, Ser Davos, you may take your leave.”

Ser Davos nods and takes it.

Night has fallen long ago, the grey light of dawn is starting to trickle in and Daenerys is still by her Knight’s side, sitting on a chair next to his bed, next to her bed. There is no change in her knight, save for the increased swelling, and the bruises turning darker.

She hasn’t slept much since the men left for the Wall and she hasn’t slept at all since she climbed on top Drogon and followed them behind the Wall. She’s not quite sure when she ate last either.

She is tired, her body aches but her mind more so, and her heart, oh, her heart.

Ser Davos words have been swirling inside her mind since he had uttered them, pulling at her heartstrings, driving her to a ledge where nothing but darkness lies beyond .

I hope he never wakes.

There is nothing anyone can do for him.

Save put him out of his misery.

And by all the Gods she does not believe in, this is all too familiar. So damn familiar! Everything feels like a bad dream, unreal and almost trance-like. Her head is spinning, the cabin is spinning, the entire world is spinning and spinning and the sea beneath the boat turns into the Great Grass Sea and her cabin shifts and morphs into a tent, the smell of horses and leather filling her nostrils. She shakes her head, trying her best to focus, to grasp at something real.

Jorah, he is real.

She turns her eyes towards her knight and she blinks in surprise for the bed he had been resting on is now lower and covered with dozens of blankets and pillows, all of them spoils of war or tribute. And Jorah is no longer Jorah. His hair is much longer and darker, the face younger, the sea-colored eyes are now almost as green as the Grass Sea and they’re open, but they’re dead. There is nothing behind those eyes, and oh, how much there used to be. Drogo!

“No!” She says out loud her eyes closed, her heart pounding, her head shaking, trying to get the image of long ago out of her mind. When she opens them again, her knight is back.

Yes, this has happened before and her mind is reminding her of what she did then, but she can not do that now.

She can not!

She can not.

Can she?

She hates Ser Davos for his words, even if she knows them to be true. Her knight will never walk, never hold a sword again, and who will he be if not her knight? And the pain! The pain he’ll feel if he ever awakes. She fears not even milk of the poppy would lessen it. And oh Gods, what if he awakes before Dragonstone? There is no milk of the poppy on the ship. What if he wakes with a start, confused and in agony, screaming and screaming and looking up at her with his blue eyes, begging for help, for release, for death. No! No! No! She shakes her head trying to get the image out. I can not think of such things. He will make it to Dragonstone and then, and then…

And then what?

I can not let him suffer. I can not! But what can I do? What can I do? Her mind is spinning again, and there are talons gripping her heart and tearing at it, slowly, repeatedly.

The cabin swirls and swirls again and she’s back in the tent and she sees her younger hands gripping a pillow. Her eyes are filled with tears and short, broken sobs leave her mouth. Dany can feel the fabric of the pillow in her hands as she places it over Drogo’s face, pressing down on it with all her might. And she’s pressing and sobbing and pressing and sobbing. Oh, Gods! Oh, Gods! Drogo’s strong body is twitching beneath her much smaller one but she does not stop, not until he stops. Not until life leaves him. The pillow slips out of her hands. It is done. He is free.

Tears are blurring her vision and her stomach turns. It’s been so long since she’s thought of that night, so long she’s almost forgotten it. Almost.

Dany rubs her eyes and she’s back in her cabin again, her knight still on her bed, still broken into more pieces than she cares to count, still trapped inside a body that has failed him. She could set him free. Just how she had freed Drogo. He’s riding with his ancestors in the Night Lands because she had freed him, no matter how much it had pained her, she had done it.

Her hand grabs Jorah’s good hand. “What would you have me do, Ser?” She asks, tears dancing in her eyes, knowing she will receive no answer, but it does not matter, for she knows her knight. She knows him and he knows her just as well. They can speak with no words, just looks. Entire conversations, hundreds of words distilled in just mere glances. She knows he would not want to live such a life and she can not, will not , let him suffer.

It would be a mercy. She tells herself, assures herself. I did it once, no matter what it cost me, I did it once, I can do it again. The talons in her heart are digging deeper, shredding further.

Dany rises from the chair and takes a seat on the bed. “Oh, my bear… how can I let you go? But how can I let you suffer?”

Oh Gods, it is all too familiar and her mind is spinning again like in a feverish dream. I can do it again, I’ve done it before. I can... She grabs a pillow and places it on her lap. My sun and stars... I freed him, gave him mercy.

She leans over and cups a hand around Jorah’s face, caressing it, Blood of my blood! Tears swell in her eyes and her voice is shaky as she says, “Not you too! Not you too, not the same way. Please, don’t…I can not… ” Dany’s bottom lip shakes and she wipes the tears from her eyes. Jorah does not stir. “....but I know you wouldn’t want what awaits you, I know it, I know you, I… !” She’s sobbing in honest now and she keeps wiping away the tears that keep falling and falling from her eyes. I must be strong, she thinks as she swallows around the painful knot in her throat, I must be strong enough for the both of us, but how can I? “You were my strength, remember, Ser? You were my…. You are my… ” Dany closes her eyes and lets out a long puff of air, trying to pull herself back together. I can do this, I have done it before, I’ve done worse still, I can…

She opens her eyes and lets her hand slip from his face. “Goodbye, my sweet knight.” She says right before her lips touch his forehead. She lets them linger there for a moment, then another, not wanting to let him go, but she has too, so she clenches her jaw and removes her lips from his much too cold skin.

I can do it again. I can. She wills herself, her grip tightening on the pillow. I can. It is mercy! The pillow touches Jorah’s face and tears run down her cheeks like rain, whimpers escaping through shaky lips. She presses down harder. I’m setting you free, I can not let you suffer, you wouldn’t want the life that awaits you, I know it. I know it, I— She shrieks, loud and pained, like a pig before the slaughter, tossing the pillow from her hands. “I can’t! I can’t!” Dany cries out, her hands cupped around his face, her own face so close to his, her eyes on his every feature, every lash, every wrinkle. “Why can’t I let you go? Why can’t I let you go?” She asks between sobs, her hands caressing his face.

Her eyes find his lips and Dany stops. Stops sobbing, stops her hand’s ministrations, even her breathing and presses her lips to his. And finally,finally she has her answer.

She jumps up and away as if burnt, even though fire never touched her. A hand clasped over her mouth, she shakes like a leaf in the wind and her knees buckle under the weight of her sudden realization. Dany not so much sits, as falls back on her bed, next to her knight. Everything is spinning again even worse than before and there’s something very strange going on inside her belly and her heart. They’re both fluttering, like a swarm of insects had just eclosed there and they’re fighting to break through her flesh and out into the light.

How long?

That is all she can think to ask herself as she’s forcing her lungs to draw air again. She already has a thousand answers as to why.

Was it when you returned to me, when I wrapped my arms around you and did not want to let you go again? Was it when I could not bear the thought of you dead from Greyscale? Was it in the fighting pits of Meereen? Or when you returned with Tyrion? Was it before, when I sent you away instead of ending you, when I could not even look at you? When did it happen?

Her fingers reach for his and this time it’s different. There is something there that was not before. Her heart swells only to be crushed again because her hand clasped around his melts her insides faster than dragon fire melts ice.

“When did you crawl inside my heart, Ser?” She asks as she caresses his hand. “When did you built a home there? And how have I not seen it until now?” Tears swell in her eyes again. “Why do I see it now, now that it’s too late, now that you will never know. Now that I will never know...”

She leans over him, her hand flat on his cheek, thumb caressing his features. If he could only awake, just for a moment, if she could have just one last moment with him. Just one.

She knows she’s being selfish, she knows she’s being selfless. “I need to tell you something,” she whispers as her thumb runs up and down his cheekbone “Just wake my bear, just for a moment, let me give you this. I need to give you this.” Tears are streaming down her face again and her other hand is in his hair, brushing it, caressing it. “I need you to hear it before you leave, you must know it! I can not let you go without knowing!” Her eyes are filled with tears and when the tears fall from her face they land on Jorah’s. “Please!” She begs him, her lips shaking. Her words are shaking too as she continues, “You must know it before you go into the dark beyond, it will give you comfort, I know it will.” She presses her forehead to his, “You must hear it from my lips. Please, just… please wake up!”

Jorah stirs not. Moves not. But a breath of air leaves his lips.

Dany lifts her forehead from his. “Jorah?”

He is still, stiller than before and Dany moves her ear to his mouth waiting for his next breath. It never comes.

“Jorah?” She asks again as her eyes grow larger, as a fist clenches around her heart. No, no, no! No! Her hands grab ahold of his shoulders and she’s shaking him and shaking him, trying to rouse him back to life, back to her. “Jorah! Do not leave me!” She warns and commands. “Please wake up!”She begs as a hand moves to his face.

It’s too late, her knight is gone.

“No! You can’t, you can’t!” She says shaking her head, “You have not been dismissed, Ser!” Dany says between sobs and whimpers “You have not been dismissed!” Her head falls to his chest. The heart beneath that had once beat for her has stopped. “You have not been dismissed!”

“You have not!”

“You have…”

The sun shines its first rays through the porthole window, illuminating the cabin with its warm, pale light, but Daenerys cares not, for another Sun has just set.

***************************************************************************************************

Yes, there is going to be a second chapter and probably a third and a fourth.

You can follow this story on AO3

#mine would be you #jorah x dany fic #jorah x dany #red writes #Okay i need to focus on Her morghot now #and then #bless me father #I will get to the actual part of the prompt soon-ish

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lovren-la-vida-luka · 6 years

Text

Unbreak My Heart

This was an anon request for something “super mega angsty” with Krama. I’ve never written anything like this before, so I hope it turned out okay!

Pairing: Andrej Kramaric x reader Words: 2000 Warnings: some swearing, self doubt/low self esteem, arguing

“I love it when the sky turns pink,” you muse, pointing up at the cotton candy clouds above you. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“It is,” he replies, placing his hand on yours. “Not as pretty as you though.”

You laugh, jumping to your feet. “Let’s see if it’s reflected in the lake!”

Andrej follows you, and you find that it is. The parts of the water not shaded by trees reflect the pink and orange hues from above, and you resist the urge to jump in. It’s not hard to see why this woodland clearing is your favourite place. You came here stargazing on your second date, and it’s been somewhat of a second home ever since. Whether it’s a picnic on a sunny morning, or watching the sun go down and the stars appear with nothing but each other (and maybe some rakija), this is your place. Your initials are carved into a tree stump, and you’ve named some of the animals after his teammates – Dejan the raccoon actually comes close so you can give him fruit from your picnics now, and you both know that “Raketa” is a different squirrel every time, but that doesn’t stop you saying hi excitedly whenever you see an orange flash scurry up a tree.

This night is as perfect as always. But this time, you don’t say jokingly say goodnight to the animals when you leave. You say goodbye. Andrej doesn’t notice.

He chalks the quiet car ride home back to your place up to you being tired, and it’s only when you get into the house that he notices something is wrong. You look different. He’s not sure how, but you do. The spark you usually have after visiting your place isn’t there, and when he tries to hug you, you take a second too long to settle into his embrace.

He pulls back and looks at you, a confused frown taking over his face. “Y/N, are you okay?”

When you don’t answer, he gently tilts your chin upwards to look into your eyes. “Ljubavi, what’s wrong? I thought you had a good time tonight!”

“I did,” you whisper with a sad smile. “It was perfect. And that makes this even harder.”

Andrej stares at you, slowly coming to a realisation. He lowers himself slowly into his armchair – no, your armchair, just the one he’d always used, until today – shaking his head. “No…” he whispers. “Why? We were fine. Everything seemed perfect, did I miss something? I love you, you love me-“

“I loved you,” you interrupt, begging your voice not to waver. “Past tense.”

He looks up at you, tears beginning to roll from his warm blue eyes down his cheeks. “I don’t believe you,” he chokes. Part of you wants to tell him he’s right, hold him close and apologise a million times for ever saying it, but you know you can’t.

“Andrej, please. I don’t want to see you hurt like this… don’t make this harder for yourself,” you tell him, keeping your voice as cold and flat as you can, determined not to let him see that your words are destroying you as much as they are him.

“But… tonight…” he croaks, grasping at his T-shirt, his hair, anything in his reach, just desperate to hold onto something.

“I wanted one more memory,” you say, barely able to hold back your own tears. “I just wanted everything to be perfect one last time.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, it was,” he whispers. “Thank you, Y/N. For that one last perfect moment, and for every other over the past few months. For trying. For loving me… even if it’s past tense.”

It isn’t. “It is. I’m sorry.”

He nods in defeat and gets to his feet with a sigh.

You want to hit him, you know it’s unreasonable, and you don’t want to see him hurting any more than he already is, but part of you wishes he’d scream, shout, beg, trash the house, something. While you know you should be relieved that it seems easy for him, it feels like a dagger through your chest.

He walks out of the door without another word, and suddenly you feel lost. You regret never letting him buy the terrible ornaments he pointed out, or light his dumb candles, anything that would give your house even a touch of his presence, because right now it feels like he was never there. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to forget him, but still, it feels like he was never there and it’s the worst feeling you’ve ever experienced.

You sit in his – no, your – armchair and bury your face into the back of it, trying to convince yourself it smells of him. Maybe it does… you can’t quite tell. Somewhere between the warm, woody scent and the bittersweet memories, your eyes close one last time and you drift into sleep.

According to the clock, it’s midnight when you’re awoken by the doorbell. Still half-awake and hazy, you stumble to the door and realise a second too late that you shouldn’t have opened it.

“I tried to just walk away. I love you so fucking much, Y/N, and I just wanted you to be happy, even if that’s not with me. But please, at least tell me why.”

The pleading in his voice makes you feel sick, you can’t believe you’ve made him, your Krama, your everything, feel this way. Unable to take a second more, and knowing that an explanation will only make things worse, you whisper one last apology and push the door closed. You crumple to the floor behind the door, covering your mouth with your hand to muffle the howl of despair that escapes from your lips.

There’s an abrupt, hammering knock on the door, making you jump away from it. He calls your name, begging you to talk to him. His voice is wracked with sobs, and you clamp your hands over your ears, curling into a ball on the floor. “No, no, no…” you whimper over and over, listening to his voice becoming quieter as he resigns himself to the fact that you’re gone.

Eventually, everything goes quiet, and you assume he left. You stay where you are, unable to move, weeping silently as you replay his cries in your head on a loop. Suddenly, you hear the letterbox open, and before you have time to process it, a folded sheet of paper falls onto you, brushing your shoulder on its way to the floor.

Hands trembling, you pick up the paper and unfold it. There are wet specks on it, where tears have clearly fallen on it, and to save what’s left of your heart you convince yourself they’re all yours. Through the tears in your eyes and the smudged ink, it’s difficult, but you begin to read.

Dear Y/N,

I don’t know what I did, or where it all went wrong, but I’ve accepted that I never will, and I won’t bother you again.

This is my goodbye. To those perfect memories, and the imperfect ones too. To our inside jokes, even the ones you didn’t really get. To all of our plans, that are now what-ifs. To you.

I will never forget you. I can only hope that you’ll forgive me one day.

Yours forever, even if I never truly was,

Andrej

By the time he’d written his name, his handwriting was almost illegible. You try to shake the image of him, crying, hands shaking, writing his final words to you against the front door that you shut in his face, but you can’t.

You stand up, slowly, legs shaking and head spinning, and slowly open the door to find him sitting on the doorstep, head in his hands. “Andrej…” you whisper, and he looks up at you with red, puffy eyes full of pain and exhaustion.

“I’m going, okay? I’m just trying to calm down a little before I call a cab.”

His voice is flat and raspy, and it kills you. You can’t do this.

“Don’t,” you breathe. “Don’t call a cab. Come inside. Let’s talk about this.”

Andrej looks unsure, but as you offer your hand to help him to his feet, he takes it, and doesn’t pull away as you lead him indoors. You close the door behind you, and look up at him, not sure what to do next.

“Why?” he asks, and you gesture for him to sit down in his – your? – no, his, armchair. He doesn’t. He sits down tentatively on the edge of the sofa, looking at the floor, and you feel your tears start to flow again. He always sat in that chair. He’s acting like he doesn’t belong here… of course he is, you told him he didn’t. The least he deserves is the truth, you decide, and so you take a deep breath and explain everything.

“You deserve someone better,” you tell him quietly. “Your teammates have girls who look like models… hell, half of them are models. They’re all so perfect, and I’m just me. You deserve perfection too. Not me, and my average looks and emotional baggage and…” your voice trails off as he stands up and walks towards you, a storm raging in the blue sky of his eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Y/N?” he growls, his face inches from yours. You’ve never felt scared of him before, but you feel your pulse start to race as his lip raises into a snarl. “I SAID, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

“No,” you sniffle, avoiding his eyes. He takes hold of your face, firmly but gently, and forces you to look him in the eye.

“Are you finding it hard to look at me?” he snaps. “I hope so. I hope it hurts to see the damage you’ve done. You broke my heart, and all because you thought you weren’t good enough for me? Isn’t that for me to decide?!”

Unable to respond, you choke out another sob and push his hand away from your face.

“Don’t you understand? The fact that my teammates are with models or whatever the fuck… that means I could be too. Yet, I chose you. Because to me, you are perfection. If you’re average, there’s no hope for anyone else. And I don’t remember you kidnapping me - I chose you, you idiot. I chose you every day.”

He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is softer. “I’d still choose you every day. I hate you right now, but fuck if I don’t love you with my whole heart. Present tense. Future tense. Every tense.”

“I love you too,” you tell him, and somewhere deep within his aching heart he knows you mean it. “Not past tense. Present. Future. Not past… God, it killed me to say that.”

“Sorry if I don’t have much sympathy,” he snarks, and you step forward and gingerly touch his arm.

“I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say,” you admit, gently tracing your fingertips down his arm. “I’m an idiot.”

“Damn right you are,” he sighs, but a second later he takes your hand in his. “You absolutely are. But I still choose you. Can we try again? Molim te, ljubavi. I don’t want to lose you, especially now I know how ridiculous your reasons were.”

You nod your head, choke out a “yes” and pull him close, sobbing into his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne.

“I’m so, so sorry, Andrej,” you cry, grasping fistfuls of the soft fabric of his T-shirt.

“I know,” he whispers, and you feel his strong hand caressing your hair. “Let’s get you to bed, yeah? You’re exhausted, I can feel it.”

“Stay with me,” you plead, and suddenly, you find yourself lifted off the ground. You automatically wrap your legs around his waist and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Don’t you worry,” he says softly, placing a tender kiss on your head as he carries you towards the bedroom. “I’m going nowhere.”

Tag list: @living-lovren @domo-no-domo-yes @wordpuddle @croatian-nt @zadarskabagudina @ivan-rakitic @tinymodric @croatianstan @igecko1320 - as always, ask if you want to be added/removed from the tag list!

#fanfic #andrej kramaric #x reader #croatia nt #angst #croatia nt fanfic

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fenfyre · 7 years

Note

Fen I saw you ask for Voltron prompts and I'm swooning already thinking about you writing them. If you would consider writing shklance with insecure!Lance worried he doesn't fit in with Shiro & Keith's dynamic and getting reassured (ideally with boners involved), you would be truly fen-tastic. (I mean, you are either way really! Everything you write is a pleasure!)

They were incredible together. Fierceand strong and so painfully beautiful. It was hard to believe theywould want to be with him on the best days. On the worst days…Onthe worst days Lance felt his chest tighten at the slightest touchbetween them. On the worst days Shiro’s hand on Keith’s shoulder,nothing more than an appreciative gesture any other time, was enoughto make breathing hard for Lance and have him bite his lips bloody.It wasn’t jealousy. Lance didn’t want them to stop, didn’t wantto shove himself between them and demand their attentions instead. Hedidn’t want to see them apart or with him. He wanted them closertogether. Carefree and happy. Without anything between them thatwould endanger their happiness and pose a risk of breaking everythingthey’d ever yearned for down in the blink of an eye. Likehim.Lance knew he didn’t belong. That every moment he spent witheither of them was stolen from a happy future that should be theirsbut would fall apart around them sooner or later instead. It would betoo late by the time they realized he was an intruder. That hedisturbed the delicate balance between them beyond repair. And thatit would be too late to restore their equilibrium by the time theydecided to get rid of him. Lance knew he should leave and justlet them be happy together They were the ones meant to be, after all.But he was selfish and weak and every second close to them made himlong for so much more…“Lance?” Shiro’s careful voicewas accompanied by a soft knock against the door. Lance pulled theflimsy covers over his head. “Lance, are you sure you’re fine?You’ve been acting strange all day…”That was because it hadbeen a bad day. A really, really bad day. He’d seen them hug, tightand loving and beautiful, and the guilt churning in his gut at thesight had almost been enough to make him throw up on the trainingdeck. But of course he couldn’t tell Shiro that. Instead he optedfor his automatic response on bad days: Pretend he wasn’t there. Ordead.“Lance, if you don’t say anything we’ll come in, okay?We really want to check on you.” So Keith was with him. Fantastic.Lance would have protested had he been there. But he wasn’t, he wasin his blanket cocoon where nothing could hurt him but his ownstupidity. There were a few moments of silence before the doorbeeped and slid open with a quiet hissing sound. Steps. A deep hum.Then the bed beside him dipped as someone sat down on the edge. Abroad hand came to rest between his shoulder blades and slowly rubbedup and down his back.“Are you feeling sick?”, Shiro askedand Lance suddenly had to bite back a sob. First he intruded on theirbeautiful relationship and now he made them worry about his dumb ass.Just perfect. “Maybe you could spend a night in one of the pods? Wehave this amazing technology, might as well use it, right?”Histears pricked behind his closed eyelids and Lance shuddered, tryingdesperately to hold them back. It would be easier if he could onlyconvince himself that Shiro was here in his role as their leader,trying to make sure his team was functional and ready in case of anemergency. But there was a warmth in his voice that went deeper,making him yearn for touch and reassurance he couldn’t ever askfor.“Shiro”, Keith said and he sounded softer than usual,too. Careful. “I think he’s crying.” Great. How bad did he haveto fuck up to make emotionally stumped Keith take note of hispathetic state? Silently crying, trembling, hiding under his blanket.That must be a new low.Shiro’s warm, broad hand never stoppedstroking his back in slow, soothing motions.“Do you want totell us what’s wrong?”, he asked, calm and honest. Lance wanted toclimb into his lap, wrap his limbs around Shiro’s body and never letgo again. But he couldn’t do that, should never have climbed into hislap in the first place, taking something that was rightfully Keith’swithout even thinking about the consequences. “Whatever it is, youknow we’re here for you.”

Lance scoffed and the noise was wet andhorrible as it got harder to breathe through his nose the more itclogged up. “You shouldn’t be”, he sniffed without eventhinking, then bit his lip so hard he tasted copper. Stupid. Stupid,stupid.“Of course we should be. We love you”, Shirocontinued, sounding only slightly surprised. Well, it had alreadyhappened, he’d halfway left his blanket cocoon already by being dumbenough to talk to them. Maybe he could salvage this and do the rightthing for once in his life.Lance sat up, blanket slippingfrom his head and down into his lap as he looked at Shiro and Keithstanding behind him.“Well, maybe you shouldn’t do that”, hesaid and his voice trembled just slightly. Now there was realsurprise on Shiro’s face, surprise and worry and so many things Lancedidn’t deserve. Keith tipped his head to the side, brows furrowed.“What do you mean?”, he asked, not as rough as he could havesounded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. There wassomething restless about the way he held himself, something …helpless. God, Lance didn’t want to see him like that. “Youshould be with each other!”, he forced out, chest squeezing tightlyaround his heart. It was more than time he finally did the rightthing for once in his life. “Not with … I mean what am I even …I’m just gonna fuck things up! Like now…”“Lance…”,Shiro breathed. He looked like his heart was breaking and there itwas, the sob that Lance had been biting back all this time. It justbubbled up and spilled from his lips, wet and desperate and pathetic,his shoulders heaving under the strain “God, Lance, why didn’tyou…”He wasn’t sure if Shiro said more after that because thedam was broken, he shuddered and heaved, tears dripping down hischeeks and stupid needy noises breaking free. They’d leave. Lancehad never been as sure about something in his life. They’d leave andgo be with each other instead to save themselves the trouble ofdealing with him. And wasn’t that what he’d wanted from the start?For them to just be happy with each other…Lance didn’t knowhow much time he spent alone with his spiralling thoughts, crying andsobbing and hiccuping helplessly.But when he came back to himselfsomeone was straddling his lap, warm, strong arms wrapped around hisshuddering body. It was Keith, squeezing him tight while Shiro’sstrong frame was tucked behind him, hands resting lightly on Lance’slap as he buried his face in unruly brown hair. “… an idiot,can’t believe…”“You carried this around with you all thistime, didn’t you? You’re so much stronger than you think, Lance”,Shiro’s voice was warm and loving and Lance wanted to cry all overagain. But he seemed to have run out of tears, body shudderinguncontrollably between them. “I only wish you’d have told ussooner…”“Love you so much, you damn..”, Keith mutteredand he sounded so upset, squeezing Lance even tighter, pushinghimself closer as he pressed hot kisses along Lance’s neck.“Weare with each other, Lance”,Shiro continued, bending down to speak into his ear, making himshiver. “But we’re also with you. Because we love you just as muchas we love each other. You’re amazing, Lance. A wonderful boyfriend.And you deserve us just like we deserve you.”

Lancehiccuped again and Shiro smoothed a soft hand down his cheek andhummed a low, soothing noise.“Rest a bit, you must beexhausted”, Shiro murmured and only made Lance notice how veryheavy his limbs were, how foggy and slow his mind. How much heenjoyed them so close to him, holding him together with helplesstenderness a low words. “We can stay with you.”“Please”,he croaked without thinking, wanting them to stay and never leaveagain. Like his nerves were open and raw and the only remedy he couldget was their touch.“Of course.”They shifted untilLance could lie back down on the bad, Shiro holding him close frombehind and Keith curled up against his chest, still muttering lowcurses and lovingpromises.“We’ll need to talk about this, really talk, when youwake up. No need to be scared. We love you and we want to be withyou. And we’ll do anything to make you believe us”, Shiro promised,arms sneaking around his waist. “But sleep first. We’ll be herewhen you wake up.”Keith hummed his approval, pressing tenderkisses against Lance’s chest.Caught between them like thatLance wondered how he could ever think about giving this up.It didn’t take long for him to drift off into a peaceful sleep.[If you enjoyed this story, please consider buying me a coffee

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riobastayem-blog · 6 years

Text

Dream Diary 10

Well then. Another year, another diary entry. I would like to keep these updates at a constant rate (as I am sure my fans would too, if there are any) but to be honest I am a lazy fuck and ya know, dreams come when they want. But I have collected a few and I will write them when I find the time. Anyway, this dream is about school and supernatural powers. There isn´t really much else to say.

I have forgotten how all of this began, but all that I know is, that we are at war. With each other. A war between classes and whoever wins, will rule the school. I am standing on the schoolyard. Behind me stands the building of our education and in front of me lies pure chaos. Students are fighting each other left and right. But at least nobody died so far. I think to myself. It´s hard to say who is winning, but I know that my class is losing. Suddenly a guy from another class runs up to me. I punch him right in the throat and he goes down instantly. No triumph makes his way into the cells of my brain. Only regret. I hate fighting. The only reason why I am still standing is because I have been trying to keep away from the fights. But now that I have finally been targeted I realize that my time of peace has come to an end. Like a wave the punching, kicking and screaming students consume me. When I reach the surface, my lungs grasping for air, I know there is no way out now. I have to fight. Some of the students have developed supernatural powers in their time of being alive. I would say all, but I can´t seem to recollect what my power is so I come to the conclusion that I probably don´t have one. A girl next to me flings her arms and vines shoot out of the ground entangling a few enemies. We strike them hard and fast until the vines are the only things that are holding them on their feet. With these enemies defeated we have carved a big chunk out of the sea of students. After we have relaxed a bit we look for new opponents. A young boy walks onto the path paved by unconscious students. He is holding a small, blue balloon in his right hand. He rips the balloon open without tearing it apart completely. Then he starts swinging it through the air in front of him. What the heck is he doing? Asks a friend of mine beside me. I don´t-. I begin but then the hemispheres of the balloon quickly fill with air until they are starting to look like stumpy legs. Way too late I realize what is happening. It´s that kid with the balloon pet! I shout. Get him before it´s too late! The other students around me run towards the boy but he is already done. He lets go of the balloon stumps that are now bigger than a grown man. They quiver and then begin moving on their own. Something huge and almost invisible moves through the air above the other students and then they are all thrown to the side like a child´s dolls. I lose sight of them as they are swallowed by the war around us. Around me. I am alone now. Alone against that boy with the balloon pet. But he doesn´t attack he. He is just staring at me with his creepy, baby blue child eyes. H-hey there. I say. Are you that boy with the balloon pet power? What a dumb question. I think. He nods. Can you show me how it works? I ask trying to keep up a fake smile. He nods again and the balloon parts deflate. I breathe out the air I have been holding in. In what kind of weird situation have I stumbled into now? The boy fuses the balloon back together and then looks at me. Probably waiting for my attention. Ok. I tell him and give him a thumbs up. Carefully, as if he was trying to show me every nuance of his power, he rips the balloon open again. Then with the grace of a seagull trying to land on uneven ground he guides the balloon parts through the air and they slowly begin to fill. I can´t help but to be in awe about his power. It seems so silly but cool. And there is no sound at all coming from the invisible creature that is forming within his hands. Or if there is I am unable to hear it with all this loudness of war around us. After a short while he lets go of the blue stumps and the creature is now towering in front of me. I think. I mean, I can´t see it. I just want to ask why it is invisible when some guy shouts. Hey, kid! Squash that idiot! The balloon kid sighs and raises his right arm slightly. Maybe it is luck or pure skill but either way I am able to dodge the attack of the balloon pet. I turn around and run as fast as I can back to the school building. Behind me I hear the stomping of the balloon stumps. Miraculously I manage to escape. When I am back where I originally started I look back and see the balloon creature throwing students around. Or rather, I see students flying and bloated pieces of a blue balloon running around in the schoolyard. All that is enough for me. I decide to retreat, to desert, to run away. Without being noticed I make my way to the door of the school building. Or so I thought. Inside is a teacher waiting for me. You can´t run away. He says to me. Watch me! I run through the long hall towards the staircase but before I can reach it I stop. Unwillingly. Something is holding me tightly. I turn my head around as much as I can and see the teacher kneeling on the ground with his hands touching the floor. Waves of gravity are drawn to him and me with them. I told you. He calls to me. No running away! That’s not fair! I shout back. No response. With all my might I try to shake off his powers but my effort is of no avail. Slowly I am being pulled back. My arms stretching to find anything to get a hold on but there is nothing here. Finally I am back at the door and the teacher loosens his hold on me. I look out of the window and see the sun going down. The night is nearing. The teacher says ominously. It is time for your upperclassmen to show up. A shiver of fear birthed from uncertainty rides down my spine. Good luck. He says and pushes me back into the warzone. To my surprise I don’t see any other students. In fact all I see is fire. A field of wheat enveloped in golden hellfire. Where did all these plants come from? And that fire? I can´t see the one responsible for this and I don´t have much time to think about it because without warning a giant flood breaks down upon the fire and extinguishes it. But now I am faced with a new problem: Drowning. The waves of actual water now truly swallow me. I see only darkness before me. Desperately I swim on against the weight of my clothes and with a burning sensation in my arms I am greeted with fresh air. I grab hold on the corner of a building and watch my almost watery grave. There is no one else around. Night falls and I let myself be swept away from this horror. The scene changes and I am sitting in a classroom surrounded by unfamiliar students. This is my new school. Before I was at a school for smart, talented people and now I am at a school for less fortunate minds. On the black board I read some math problems that I already learned to solve two years ago. With a smile I lean back in my chair. Now then. Says our teacher. I beautiful, young woman who probably has had some ideals about teaching these students in the past but now has given up on that dream. Why don´t you tell us something about your old school? She asks me. I look around at the brainless faces of my fellow students. There isn´t much to tell. I say. I am just glad that I am here now.

And then I kept on dreaming. School is weird man, especially if you have to fight against a child with a balloon pet. I can´t really decipher why I dreamt this though. I mean, I have a very active fantasy and since I am writing a book about a guy who goes to school in a world full of superpowers it is no surprise that something like that appears in my dreams but the whole concept of a school wide war and the burning field of wheats was what surprised me because I can´t remember any triggers for that. But that is your subconscious for you. Making some stupid stuff with ingredients you have long forgotten or never experienced. Anyway, there is actually a second dream I had during the night I had this one. That´s why I didn´t write “and then I woke up” like always. So yea, stay tuned for that.

#short story #dream #diary #literature #text #super #powers #school #field #wheat #fire #flood #drowning #war #gravity #balloon pet

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beingheldby-you · 7 years

Text

won’t let it go down (’til we torch it ourselves)

He’s dreaming.

He has to be because there is no way she’s just casually sipping a martini at the one hotel bar he decides to go to, on a night where he specifically needed to get some serious alone brooding time.

“Who even hangs out at a hotel bar?” He thinks to himself.

But the answer is glaringly obvious; people who stay at hotels hang out at hotel bars. And Addison Fitzgerald is staying at the hotel because, well, because she bloody well can.

Niall Horan on the other hand, is there because, well, he’s not sure why exactly.

It’s almost as if his pulse knows when she’s in a room before his head does. It speeds up, jumps and delights towards her, racing out of his heart and veins and very being, al over her like an invisible bloody mess.

Catching a glimpse of her, just a glimpse, and his throat has apparently decided to walk out of its usual job scope of bodily function; his skin is cold and the world suddenly feels a stranger place. His shoes are too tight, his shirt it too big, and it feels like he’s in school all over again, walking into class a newcomer.

The uppity lounge is surprisingly crowded but she stands out from the other faces, as she always does, conspicuously discernable. Always always so bright that she could probably direct ships in the dark. She’s not quite aconite like before, but something more subtle, leaving a trail of violet in her movements.

And Niall could already feel every inch of her presence inexplicably imposing on him like moonlight grazing over exposed skin.

The memories creep over him like ghost fingertips; her hands on his, dancing in delight, her fingers on the back of his neck, and his heart constantly fluttering in its offbeat rhythm in his throat.

He contemplates pushing and shoving his way out of there, possibly making a small scene, before he realises that he had no reason to leave at all. Apart from cowardice, that is.

It’s a terrible thought, selfish even maybe, but he just wanted to invade the places that she paints and writes from. A place that was just hers and untouched by anyone else, alone.

Especially on this night.

“Bardot?”

Her voice rings out, cutting through the clutter, and all blood rushes from his head to his fingertips and toes in an automatic fight or flight response.

Niall takes the moment of complete lack of brain-limb cooperation to remind himself that cowardice is always always the most viable option. But she’s making her way over with a dainty drink balanced in her hand and it becomes entirely too late for flight.

“So fight it is,” he thinks to himself.

Niall feels something twist in his stomach when she looks at him the way she is, but doesn’t quite know how to react to it. She stops short in front of him, about three feet worth of unsteady breathing, erratic heartbeats, and awkward wild eyes eating up the sight of one another, raising a quizzical brow.

“Thought I’d find you here, Red,” he says wry smile, without thought or any regard of its possible repercussions.

“Did you now, Dr. Horan?”

He lets out a delicate chuckle, the tension between the two of them palpable.

The moment sits between them uneasily.

And then, she smiles and he thinks that if she asked him to sacrifice his left lung right then, he would have gladly offered it.

“Come on, then,” she says, the silkiness of her voice and the unanswered question lingering like an expensive bottle of Vodka.

She grabs him by the wrist easily, maneuvering them both towards the bar with ease. She always did have that going for her; the slow deliberate manner of which she articulated and conducted herself was so smooth that you don’t quite taste the subtle quiet danger in its distilled notes. The type that lulls you into a sense of security that doesn’t quite exist.

Once seated, she signals to the bartender for two more martinis.

The barkeep complies and starts on the drinks right away. Because Addison Fitzgerald will get what Addison Fitzgerald wants. And as they launch into the pleasantries of old friends getting reaquainted, he decides that she’s exactly like Vodka. The kind where you don’t feel the burn until it’s too late and the fire is blooming through your chest and spreading to every inch of your body.

This is incredible reckless, he thinks to himself.

Evidently, the words slip out of his mouth too because she’s turning around and looking at his like she’s the cat who got the bowl of cream and it’s as though all his trepidation evaporates.

You can’t plan for everything, she smirks, sometimes it’s good to be reckless.

His entire life had seemed full of the things that are too big for him. He’s wearing all these shoes he can’t possibly fit and all these prospects are whizzing by him and he’s just there. Absentmindedly drowning.

A waiter slips by with a tray of champagnes and she lifts two glasses easily, one for her and one for him.

They chink their tall chutes of bubbly and he reluctantly takes a giddy sip, almost as it to toast their sneaking into a private party at the Metropolitan Museum of Arts. Although he’s not quite sure how unplanned the whole affair is; she had the forethought to buy a one way ticket to his dorm in Stanford and two tickets to New York with a fitted suit for him in tow, after all. It seems highly unlikely that she had not known that there would be a private function that they would not be allowed into without a bit of craftiness and a whole lot of on-the-fly lying.

But seeing her there in that dress, the whole ordeal is a red and gold mess in his mind. One minute she’s flailing alone in the intricate red dress she has on, hardly coalesced into the crowd of black gowns and black ties and barely making sense of her own lie, and the next he’s right there next to her selling the same story.

By some stroke of dumb luck, they’re let past the velvet ropes and she’s beaming so vibrantly that she’s everywhere. Seeping in through him and the layers of the suit she brought for him like rain covered clothes, sticking to his skin.

He expects for museums to be boring and hazy, but the colours are so bright that it looks like someone has just cut a glow stick in half and poured them everywhere. She is practically aglow as they weave between people and she points out certain works and talks and talks and talks about them for hours on end. But she’s kissing him between sips of champagne and shaking hands with people who introduce themselves and he feels like an overflowing sink.

She’s laughing and he’s laughing, and they are pretending to be descendants of some Dutch painter and married, and she’s kissing his laughter and it tastes better than anything in his twenty years of living.

In the entire scope of the universe, he is hardly important. That’s how he feels when she’s talking to him. The thing, whatever it is between them, hardly matters at all in the grand scale of things and he takes comfort in that. Because that makes the fact that so many of their firsts are intertwined, irrelevant.

The fact that he is hers completely and utterly, is only a peripheral matter.

Because she’s smart, and funny, and full of wit. Because he can see himself without her, just that it feels like something’s a little... off. Like his body is suddenly missing the important proteins that keep cells bonded together.

When he was thirteen and developed a crush for the first girl that he’s paired with for assignment and she barely bats an eyelid his way, he had yet to proper discover girls quite yet. He didn’t yet understand the softness of their touch and the harshness of their swelling hearts. But about just over a decade down the road, he’s like to think that he knows the one in front of him pretty well.

Even though about half of the decade was spent half a world from one another.

“So why haven’t you been painting?” Niall questions just as they are finishing up martini number five.

The crowd has dispersed somewhat, he can actually hear the soft tinkling of lounge music from somewhere, and he’s pretty sure he’s slurring. But he’s sick of the pretense. He’s sick of his heart and his head and his whole self and he really wants a little honesty. None of that pleasant small talk and exchanging little tidbits of their life.

“I have been painting,” she sits bolt upright, some kind of utter annoyance spelled across her features.

“No. You haven’t.”

“I send you those postcards.”

Often, he lays awake at night thinking about the said postcards. Handpainted on the front and handwritten on the back about everything and nothing.

The very postcards he never returns to sender but never responds to either.

He thinks about all the scenarios where that fateful day in the museum could have played out differently. If it had been raining and he didn’t get a chance to walk right out and leave so easily. If she had planned for their museum trip to be a Tuesday instead of Thursday. If he was a blue whale and could not understand the concept of human speech.

Instead, he finds himself avoiding her eye and taking way too long to verbalise his responses even though she is right there in front of him.

He sighs, hazily considering changing the topic before the words slip out before he could catch them, “I meant for your show, Red, it’s been four years, what happened to going big? Your first big gallery show?”

She shrugs, eyes devoid of any real emotion or answers, “I got busy.”

“With martinis at Dukes and planning charity galas?”

He doesn’t mean it the way it comes out, but she’s stumped at his words.

He doesn’t say anything further because her fingers are now running around the rim of the martini glass and his heart is clogging his throat.

The conversations run drier than their martinis and when she speaks again, breaking the ice once more, it’s not some sort of a monumental thing.

“You know I used to love coming here.”

“Yeah?” He says, filling in the gaps unnecessarily.

“I think you might have just ruined it for me,” she raises the martini glass to her lips, downing the remnants of the liquid in one graceful gulp.

Before he could stop himself, he asks, “How?”

He braces himself for the comeuppance. He knows how wildly, ridiculously fun she finds it, being sarcastic. And he’s accustomed to the quick quips. The witty repartee and the threats of I-will-remove-your-tongue-with-a-butter-knife-and-leave-it-in-your-mother’s-letterbox.

But for a moment, for that moment, her guard is down and she’s being bridge-burningly, disarmingly honest.

“By being here,” she says pointedly.

She says nothing and everything, and he feels like he already knows what she means by the three simple words.

“I think we’ve had quite enough of this,” he says, sliding the martini glass away from her reach. The glint in her eyes is distracting him far too much. The wiring in his head, he’s sure at this point, is similar to blown fuses.

His brain is completely overrun and overwired.

He can never concentrate when he’s around her.

He never could, really.

Everything is sweet and heady and too much for his weak weak heart.

Niall cannot be in the same room as her anymore. He also can’t be away from her for more than ten minutes. It makes the nights she spends in his room, his and Harry’s, absolute hell.

He bends over his notes and tries to concentrate while she in on his bed, sprawled on what was meant to be his space, with his guitar laying flat on her stomach as she plucks at random notes and says almost anything and everything that comes into her head.

Her voice in his head is cracking fissures into his spine.

Something bothering you, Bardot? She asks.

It’s become somewhat of a thing, she sneaks into their shared room and the boys pretend to be annoyed by it. She takes up far too much space in the already small space where he does his homework on the tiny desk.

Often, she ends up hovering over him and correcting his work because he’s apparently a monumentally crap scholarship student. But it’s hardly weird as fuck like Zayn says it is.

It’s just how they are.

But this particular night, he feels like the walls are closing in on him and the words on his coursework are rearranging before his very eyes too fast for him to catch let alone focus on.

Her question still hangs in the air unanswered like a thick fog rolling in from the horror pictures. Her fingers hit a low and mellow note on his guitar, months of fiddling with the thing without instruction has taught her a thing or two about plucking the right strings, and all he wants is to feel is her hands on his stretched paper thin skin.

He wants to say yes. Yes, Red, you’re bothering me. I’m trying to finish this coursework and not get my scholarship retracted but all I can think about is the fact that I want to be alive in every room that you are alive in for the rest of my life.

But he doesn’t say anything. Just shakes his head and goes back to his coursework.

Harry snorts and offhanded says something about sexual tension and Niall thinks he might have to kill his roommate now.

It’s probably more of a Buridan’s Ass situation, she muses aloud, deflecting Harry’s comment.

Buridan’s Ass, she repeats again into the silence that covers them as though it would make more sense the second time around. You know, a starving donkey put between two stacks of hay at an equal distance would probably starve himself in indecision?

And at once he’s taken aback by just how amazing this specimen in his bed is.

He is in love with a fourteen year old who can’t play the guitar but throws in quips about 14th century French philosophers into daily conversation like it’s nothing.

This new bit of information, however, is met with confounding astonishment from Harry even though she’s technically his friend first and the only reason why she feels so comfortable coming over and invading their space almost on the daily; Seriously Dee, there is something wrong with you, you know that?

She laughs it off and Niall wants her to stop, because it feels like he’s about to implode.

His finger and toes grow cold and he’s afraid because she’s right there within reach. Her eyes are boring holes into his back and he knows that what he wants is something he cannot have.

And he’s terrified because his heart is one step beyond broken, it’s missing, and he’s pretty sure she has it.

You’re a fuckface, Styles, she says instead, still laughing.

Her voice tinkering into the dead of night between just them three, and he wants her stop. Because he would bathe in that sound forever, drown in it like a bee drowning in honey, if he could.

He helps her find the keys in her little tiny clutch which is weirder than it sounds because he would never have thought she'd be one to carry clutches. But then again, he never pictured her as one who stays at hotels because she can, sipping martinis alone by the car either.

As she dumps out the surprising amount of content in the bag to find her room key, her phone lights up as it hits the ground. Half a dozen messages take over the mass spectrum that is her phone screen, lying ignored, as she goes straight for the keycard and inserts it into the slot triumphantly, dashing into the room soon after to take her shoes off.

He doesn’t mean to, really, but he inadvertently sees messages from group chats he’s not in. And individual messages from Poppy and Harry and even Zayn.

Niall passes the phone and her lipstick and her wallet and a small bottle of Channel back to her and even half drunk she knows that he knows and it’s weird and awkward and uncomfortable that he’s in her room all of the sudden.

He misses being a part of that. And it’s not that he wants to be in the exact same circles and the exact same group chats, talking about the exact same things.

He just misses her.

He misses her and it’s awful because it’s his own doing and he has his own friends and his own life, but the worst part of it all is that he would give it all up.

He would give it all up to have her back.

Not the her now, but the her before he left her in the museum alone. Her when they were fifteen and unsure, when they were sixteen and wading into unchartered territory, when they were seventeen and it was all bright and light and lovely. Even when they were eighteen and she goes off to France and it got... difficult. More difficult than before anyway.

The door shuts behind him with a thud, some kind of finality weighing down on them and anchoring him to reality.

The silence that follows clings to the air, thick and suffocating.

Silence.

And then.

“I was clearing your shit out,” she says loudly. Too loudly.

He’s confused with the silent rage burning below the surface of her voice.

“I was clearing your shit out, pissed off my arse, tossing them into a box when Poppy came over and asked me what I was doing and I coughed blood into her face because I’d come to California to see you and flown us both out to New York and—”

He starts to say something but she’s still going on, pacing around the room with her heels in one hand, waving them them as she spoke unsteadily. “I turn around for one second in the Met. One. Second.”

She pauses, almost for the dramatic effect tossing her shoes aside and swiping a cigarette pack he han’t noticed off the tea table in one dramatic move, “And you were just gone.”

“I know,” he says, lump in his throat back again and catching himself looking at the champagne coloured drapes and the possibly antique lamps and how his shoebox of an apartment also has off white curtains for an entirely different reason. Opposite sides to the same coin.

Always always on opposite ends.

She slides the doors to the balcony open before her hands deftly light a cigarette.

“You didn’t even leave a note or a text or an email,” she prods on at the never ending hole chewing away at his gut.

“I know.”

“You just packed up your things and left.”

“I know!” Niall snaps, jolting out of his long-concealed guilty man stupor for the first time, “I had just moved my entire life to a new country and was knee deep into a med degree, I was too tired to figure out what you being there meant.”

“Well, it should have meant that you wanted to spend some time with me,” she snaps right back, going for the jugular.

Her eyes soften and she looks over, gently, like he’s delicate and breakable, easily startled, “You left. You put yourself first and you left, so you don’t get to come back and poke holes into the life that I built without you just because you feel like it.”

She is staring at him, and it’s only then it dawns how goddamn awful the whole thing must feel from her point of view.

“That wasn’t my intention.”

“Well, that’s what it feels like.”

“I’m sorry.”

She stares, like she is about to say something, and then she just takes a long drag of her cigarette and sits. So he sits too. And they talk, and they don’t, and then they talk some more, sitting there for hours.

He’s there, all there. And no one knows better than he does how good it feels to whispering a secret aloud to scorch the ground before you.

Even if it’s just for yourself to hear.

She’s talking about doubt. And how she doubts everything now, because she’s stuck in this moment of just before. The moment just before your brush hits the canvas where anything is possible. She doubts every stroke and every move and the canvas is more daunting than freeing, so she just stopped painting.

He feels as though his brain is melting through his teeth as she looks at him, because she’s looking at him the way she’s always looked at him and that is all that there is.

He wants to say something but Niall had never been good with words the way she is. They come tumbling right out of him, spilling carelessly from his mouth before it hits the ground running, far too late for take backs. And he knows for a fact that if he’s going to try to explain to her why he ran from the museum or how when she looks at him it feels like she’s the earth’s gravity and he is the moon, it’d probably all come out wrong.

He can’t explain how his life has been split into two parts, before her and after her.

Because how could she understand? How can he explain to her that there are no small moments in his head, only things that give him shots of joy that course through his veins. That everything since her has been metaphors and bits of poetry he can’t memorise and swirling technicolour he can’t catch.

How can he begin to explain to her that all he ever wanted is her? Just her. Only her. That he had known on some level that she wanted him, but he wanted her more. But he waited then until she saw it too and then it’s like the stars fell straight into his mouth and down his stomach. He is so filled with her light that he spends most nights lying awake thinking about all the ways it could work.

And how hard he wishes that it would be enough.

It wasn’t then, but maybe it can be now.

She’s looking at him with those damned eyes and if he is dead right now, he knows he would come back for her. He would swallow the dirt and walk across the ocean to where she is. So when she leans in to catch his lips with hers, he drinks it in reverently as though he lived and breathed for it.

Despite knowing that in less than twelve hours, she’s set to marry someone else, he kisses her back, their bodies pressing impossibly closer and closer and closer together.

Because the feelings are there even if the courage isn’t.

He grabs her by the waist before she can fall.

They plan something stupid and reckless and childish and the boys are off celebrating. Poppy has disappeared halfway through the night and although the prank goes off without a hitch and without a single way of being traced back to them, Niall momentarily wonders how she can stand to be friends with them all.

Because it has to be more than just a shared childhood that bonds them.

But she is swaying in the dark in his room to some unseen music, and he catches her just as she is about to topple over.

It’s just the two of them. He can’t seem to remember a time where it’s just them both. Because the boys would always be there, crawling out and popping up from wherever they’ve been hiding like termites from woodwork at every opportunity.

But suddenly, they’re alone. They’ve been all drinking from the flask he has in his coat pocket all night but suddenly it’s just them and her hand is on his collar and he’s sure there isn’t much or any thought behind her movements, except the feeling of his heartbeat against his ribs and her hair curling across his throat spins the room on its axis.

Her hand sitting between them like some kind of a smoke screen from a really bad magic show.

Tension hung in the air like old curtains, all thick and heavy and swallowing. Their proximity far too intoxicating to be uncomfortable.

And then time came to a complete impenetrable halt.

Lips moving deftly over his, Niall’s head erupts into a series of volcanic reactions and an unrestrained hazy, burning heat.

He distantly feels himself kissing back, what with the alcohol running through his veins, but that was about the extent of his brain’s involvement. Conveniently shut off for the moment, he melts into the touch of the soft girl in his hands, every brush of skin eliciting some kind of other physical response.

Niall’s thoughts were swimming, the burning feeling of her touch, taste, scent of her. But common sense was teetering on the edge, waiting for the opportunity to jump in.

He pulls back, Red, how drunk are you on a scale of one to ten?

She blinks.

What’s a ten?

Of course, he thinks to himself.

He wraps her arm around his neck and carry her towards her room, lugging the surprisingly docile for a drunk girl across four hallways and a flight of stairs, wondering how she makes this journey almost every night without getting caught.

Propping her against her headboard, her roommate surprisingly still missing since she disappeared earlier in the night, her eyes trail him across the room as he moves things nearer to her bed like the bin for throwing up and water for hydration. He pulls her blanket up and ignore her steady gaze as she slurs, sounding all sloppy and tired.

Are you going to stay?

He freezes momentarily but she shifts on the single bed and he lies down next to her because... well, because.

And it’s like he’s ten years old again, poking inside three point power socket because he’s trying to stuff a two point plug in there, except he can’t feel the electric jolt. He’s holding onto the fork which he’s using as the third pin and he feels nothing.

Everything is muted the way the entire world seemed to have stopped when their lips touched.

He’s doing a stupid thing again, he knows on some level that it’s a stupid thing, like stabbing a three point power socket with metal cutlery. It feels odd that as a child he would do dangerous things without noticing. And odder yet that as an almost adult, he would dive head first into danger without a second thought.

If she is trapped in a painting she can never paint then he will lie, sneak and steal into art halls to be by her side, wandering around in empty hallways until he can find her.

Control is an illusion.

And he surrenders to it, an able bodied servant.

#dff #one shot / request #autumn fic exchange #niall horan #niall horan fanfiction

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