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koyagifs · 8 months ago

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𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝔂

pairing: mingi x reader au: college | supernatural | genre: angst word count: 9.720k synopsis: everyday a different body. everyday a different life. everyday in love with the same girl. warning(s): mentions smoking, bad boyfriend, very toxic relationship. bad yunho and wooyoung. mingi is a simp for the reader. author note: sorry not sorry :(

Mingi hadn’t planned for this. When he first realized he was waking up in someone else’s body each day, his priorities were simple: blend in, figure out their routine, survive the day, and move on. It wasn’t a glamorous life, but it was manageable. He didn’t expect to stumble into anything that would shake the fragile balance he’d created for himself.

But then you happened.

At first, it was just a fleeting curiosity. You were someone who kept popping up no matter where he landed. Your smile, your laugh, the way you carried yourself—it started to stick with him, even when he moved on to another body, another life. He found himself looking for you in crowds, wondering what you might be doing, and hoping, against all odds, that the universe would align and bring him back to your orbit.

When it finally did, he wasn’t prepared.

Being near you felt like everything and nothing all at once—a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t name, but knew he wanted to hold onto. He tried to act casual, but his heart betrayed him every time you were near. The problem wasn’t just falling for you—it was knowing he couldn’t stay. Tomorrow, he'd be someone else, somewhere else, and you wouldn’t remember him.

But Mingi couldn’t stop himself from wanting more. Against his better judgment, he let himself care. Even if it hurt. Even if it was fleeting. Because with you, every borrowed moment felt like it belonged to him.

When Mingi opened his eyes that morning, it took him a moment to adjust. The light filtering through the blinds was unfamiliar, the weight of the blankets heavier than what he was used to. But that wasn’t new—this was his life now.

He pushed himself up, his limbs sluggish in a way that felt wrong. His hands. They weren’t his. As usual.

Rolling over, he reached for the phone on the nightstand, the first step in piecing together whose life he was borrowing this time. The screen lit up, and his breath caught in his throat.

The wallpaper was you.

Your radiant smile, the one he had memorized, shining back at him. But you weren’t alone. No, your arm was wrapped around the guy he was stuck in—your boyfriend.

Mingi froze, staring at the photo. His stomach twisted, a mix of guilt and nausea washing over him. He hadn’t even known you had someone in your life, let alone someone who clearly meant so much to you. He ran a hand down his face, the unfamiliar contours of another man’s jawline reminding him of his predicament.

His first instinct was to put the phone down, to shove it away and pretend he hadn’t seen it. But the truth stared back at him, undeniable. For the next 24 hours, he was this guy—the man you loved, the one you trusted.

And all he could think was how wrong it felt.

Mingi leaned back, clutching the phone tightly. He knew he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be privy to this part of your life. But he was. And for the first time since this strange cycle started, he wished he could undo it all. Because loving you was already complicated enough.

Now? It felt impossible.

───

When Mingi saw you, it was like the world shifted on its axis. You were standing at the edge of the park, waving toward him with that warm smile he had come to adore, your eyes lighting up in a way that made his heart ache. For a second, he froze, his body betraying him as if it belonged to him again, as if you were waving at him, not the man whose body he was borrowing.

He had to do a double take, the weight of reality crashing down on him like a cold wave. You’re her boyfriend today, he reminded himself, the thought laced with guilt.

He forced a smile, the one he imagined your boyfriend might give you, and waved back. Each step closer felt like walking a tightrope—one wrong move and you’d see through him. But you didn’t. You rushed up to him, your hands brushing against his as you leaned in for a quick kiss.

Mingi stiffened for a fraction of a second before he leaned into the moment, knowing he had no choice but to play the part. Your touch was gentle, familiar, and it broke his heart because it wasn’t meant for him.

“How was your morning?” you asked, your voice filled with easy warmth as you laced your fingers with his.

Mingi swallowed hard, nodding as he struggled to answer. “It was... good,” he managed, his voice steady even as his heart raced.

You didn’t seem to notice his hesitation, instead tugging him toward the coffee stand nearby. As you talked about your plans for the day, your excitement bubbling over, Mingi tried to focus, tried to memorize every detail of this moment even as it tore at him.

Because tomorrow, he’d be gone. And you’d still belong to someone else.

Mingi shook his head, snapping out of his thoughts as your voice cut through the haze of confusion that had settled over him. He blinked a few times, realizing that he had been staring at you, lost in the swirl of emotions he didn’t know how to process.

"Hello? Earth to Yunho?" You said, waving your hand in front of his face with a teasing smile, clearly unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

Mingi forced a laugh, his heart pounding in his chest. Yunho. Right. I'm Yunho for the day.

"Sorry," Mingi muttered, giving you a sheepish grin. "I just... got distracted."

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "hm well, i'm surprised you're not smoking right now. Did you finally quit?"

He glanced at you, forcing himself to meet your eyes. You were smiling, but there was a softness there, a genuine curiosity in your expression that made him feel even more like an imposter.

“Quit?” Mingi repeated, his voice a little too sharp, a little too detached. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Mingi’s heart skipped a beat when your smile widened, a playful glint in your eyes as you leaned in, going up on your toes to place a kiss on his lips. It was brief, just a fleeting moment, but it hit him like a thunderclap. He had prepared himself for this—knowing he would have to mimic Yunho’s actions, act like the man you were in love with—but nothing could have prepared him for the rush of feelings that came with that kiss.

You pulled back, still grinning, and linked your arm with his, as if the gesture was second nature. But then, the words slipped from your lips, completely catching him off guard.

“Thank god,” you said, your voice light, teasing, “I always hated kissing you because you would just taste so nasty.”

The words felt like a punch to his gut, a bitter reminder that Mingi was only pretending to be Yunho. That he wasn’t the one who got to share these intimate moments with you. The taste of that kiss, even if it was fleeting and meant for someone else, still lingered on his lips like a cruel joke.

His throat tightened, and for a second, he didn’t know how to respond. His hand clenched instinctively, wanting to pull away from the contact, but he forced himself to stay still, to play the part.

“Yeah?” Mingi forced out a laugh, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to see I’ve cleaned up my act.”

You chuckled, completely oblivious to the turmoil under the surface. “You better have. I think I can finally kiss you without feeling like I’m about to puke.”

Mingi’s chest felt like it was caving in, the weight of your words suffocating him. It was hard to reconcile the way you spoke to him, so casually, so affectionately, with the gnawing truth that he wasn’t the one you were supposed to be with. It made the whole thing feel so painfully temporary, like a dream he’d eventually wake up from, leaving him with nothing but emptiness.

" have you seen the news baby? I'm really proud of you and wooyoung, i know how much you've been practicing "

Mingi’s stomach tightened at your words, the unexpected shift in topic almost making him forget where he was for a moment. The news? His mind raced, trying to process what you were referring to.

You smiled up at him, clearly excited, but Mingi felt a rush of panic. What had Yunho been practicing?

He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual, even though his heart was pounding in his chest. "Uh, news? What about it?"

You squeezed his arm, your eyes sparkling. "They mentioned you and Wooyoung in the sports segment! You two have been working so hard on your routines. I know it's been tough, but look, it's paying off."

Mingi smiled, trying to mask the unease with a lighthearted tone. “Oh yeah—uh, no, I didn’t see it. I’ll make sure to talk to Wooyoung later,” he said, his words flowing easily even though his mind was spinning. He hoped it sounded convincing enough, but the truth was, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was playing a part in a story that wasn’t his.

You beamed at him, completely unaware of the internal conflict brewing inside him. “You should! I’m sure he’ll be so proud to hear how much you’ve been pushing yourself,” you said, the excitement in your voice only making Mingi feel more like a fraud.

“Yeah, we’ve been at it for a while now,” he replied, the words coming naturally enough, but there was an edge of strain in his voice.

You squeezed his arm again, leaning in a little closer, and Mingi couldn’t help but feel the warmth of your affection. He wished things were different—wished he could be the one deserving of it. But all he could do was wear this borrowed life and act like he belonged.

“I wish i could see you guys in action but i know you don't want me to embarrass you”

Mingi’s chest tightened at your words. You said them with such lightheartedness, as if teasing, but there was an undertone that made him pause. Embarrass you? Did you really think you’d embarrass him? The thought made him ache in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

Mingi’s fists clenched in quiet frustration, the rage bubbling up inside him like a storm he couldn’t control. He was trapped in a life that wasn’t his, playing a part he wasn’t meant to play.

Instead, he forced his breath to steady, his heart still racing as the anger and the ache bled into one overwhelming urge. Without thinking, he pulled you into his arms, his hands wrapping around you tightly, needing to feel your warmth, the pulse of life that reminded him he wasn’t completely lost in this borrowed reality.

“Come to the next one,” Mingi said, his voice low, rough with a mixture of yearning and pain. He could feel your body against his, the steady rhythm of your breath, and in that moment, everything seemed so achingly close—so impossible. “I’d love to see you there.”

His words were sincere, more so than they had been in a long time, but there was an undercurrent of desperation there that even he couldn’t hide. He wanted to believe that, for just a moment, you could see him, not as Yunho, but as someone who really wanted to share a life with you. Even if he couldn’t stay.

You tilted your head back, looking up at him, eyes sparkling with that familiar affection, unaware of the storm brewing inside him. “I’d love to,” you replied with a smile, brushing your hand over his chest in a gesture that felt so intimate, so real. “I’ll be there. You know I’ll always support you.”

And in that instant, Mingi felt the weight of it all—a love he couldn’t claim, a future he couldn’t have. But it didn’t matter. Right now, he had you in his arms, and for once, that was enough to keep him from falling apart.

───

Mingi’s eyes narrowed as he scrolled through Yunho’s phone, the light from the screen casting a cold glow on his face. Each message he passed felt like a punch to the gut. The number of girls Yunho had messaged, the flirtatious banter, the innuendos, it made Mingi’s stomach turn. But it wasn’t just that. It was you—your name kept popping up in the conversations, scattered across messages that were anything but innocent.

Mingi’s eyes burned with fury as he stared at the messages between Yunho and Wooyoung, his hands trembling with a mixture of rage and disbelief. The words on the screen were a blur, but he didn’t need to read them again to know exactly what they were saying. They were talking about you—about how stupid you were to believe in all the late-night practices, how you were just another pawn in their game.

He swallowed hard, trying to push the sick feeling in his stomach down, but it wouldn’t budge. The worst part came when he scrolled further, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the photos. Nude pictures of you—your trust, your vulnerability, turned into a joke between two people who should have known better. They were laughing at you, making fun of you like you were nothing more than an object for their amusement.

Mingi’s vision blurred, his body trembling with the sheer weight of the anger crashing through him. His hands clenched into fists so tightly, his nails digging into his palms, but the pain didn’t even register. How could they do this to you? How could Yunho—betray you like this?

He kept reading, unable to stop himself, the disgust building with every word. The way they laughed about the pictures, talking about how easily they could manipulate you, how you would just keep coming back no matter what they did. And the worst part? They thought you were nothing more than a game. They treated you like you were some toy to pass around, to laugh at, to degrade.

Mingi’s chest felt tight, like the air had been sucked out of the room. His mind raced, the voices of Yunho and Wooyoung echoing in his head, and all he wanted to do was scream, to tear everything apart, to make them feel the weight of their betrayal.

He could already imagine you, the way you must have trusted them, believed in them, thought you were loved. And they had taken that and twisted it into something ugly, something unforgivable.

“How could you?” Mingi whispered, his voice barely audible, as he stared at the screen in disbelief. The phone felt like a foreign object in his hands, the connection to a life he never wanted to be a part of. His throat tightened with the need to lash out, to make things right for you. But in that moment, he couldn’t. All he could do was sit with the rage, the helplessness, and the heartache of knowing that you, of all people, didn’t deserve any of this.

───

Mingi woke up to the sound of a different alarm, the familiar buzz jarring him from sleep. His hand instinctively reached for the phone, his fingers brushing over the screen to silence it. But as he looked at the wallpaper, a picture of a cat stared back at him—A small, irritated groan escaped his lips, a frustrated sound that escaped before he could catch it.

He pushed himself up, groaning in frustration again, running his hands through his hair, trying to clear the fog in his mind. The frustration bubbled up again as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor beneath his feet grounding him.

" san, hurry up! We're going to be late!"

Mingi froze for a moment, the voice pulling him back to reality. San? His mind spun as he realized whose body he was in now. So that's who I'm stuck with today. He grumbled under his breath, dragging his hand over his face, trying to clear his thoughts before walking towards the closet.

"San!" the voice came again, this time more insistent, and Mingi snapped out of his thoughts, his frustration boiling over once more. He slammed the closet door shut and moved toward the door. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" he muttered under his breath, trying to force the irritation down.

Mingi made his way down the staircase, his steps slower than usual as the weight of the morning pressed on him. The moment he stepped into the living room, he saw them—Wooyoung and Yunho. They were casually lounging on the couch, talking and laughing, but the instant Mingi's eyes landed on them, the irritation surged within him like a tidal wave.

Wooyoung was the first to notice, his eyes flicking up to Mingi with a mischievous glint. "Someone's in a mood today," he teased, leaning back and crossing his arms. "What’s up with you, San? You look like you’re about to murder someone."

Mingi's jaw clenched, the annoyance already building as he stepped farther into the room, trying to shake off the anger that was threatening to spill over. Of course, Wooyoung would point it out. He knew he wasn’t exactly hiding his frustration well, but it felt impossible to keep his cool when everything around him felt like a mess.

Yunho, lounging lazily beside Wooyoung, caught the tension in the air too, though he didn’t seem to care much. "What’s got you so worked up, San?" he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he knew something Mingi didn’t.

Mingi’s hand curled into a fist for a moment before he forced himself to relax, fighting against the overwhelming urge to snap. He hated that he couldn’t just be himself, that he had to pretend to be someone else when it felt like the world around him was falling apart. But the last thing he wanted was for them to know that he wasn’t really San.

" dude you with yn all day yesterday, what was up with that?" Wooyoung asked, looking at Yunho in confusion.

Mingi’s stomach dropped as Wooyoung’s words cut through the silence of the kitchen. He could feel his pulse race in his neck, the tension so thick it made the air feel suffocating.

" what the fuck are you talking about? why would i spend the whole day with her?" yunho asked.

Mingi gulped at he looked at the two. Wooyoung blinked, clearly thrown off by Yunho’s defensive response. “Dude, I don’t know, I just heard from a few people that you were with Yn all day yesterday. No one could get ahold of you, and you weren’t answering your phone.”

Yunho scoffed, " i don't even remember yesterday. All i remember is playing games with you the night before."

Mingi's throat went dry as he tried to process the exchange before he left. He needed to find you and quick.

───

You jumped when you San approached you, confusing you as you held your bag close to you. Mingi’s heart skipped a beat as he approached you, the sharp tension in his chest still lingering from earlier and last night.

" you're yn right" Mingi’s voice came out much softer than he intended, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you’d notice something was off.

You looked up at him, confusion flashing across your face. It didn’t seem like you expected him—San—to be the one to approach you like this.

“Yeah, I’m Yn...” Your voice trailed off, still unsure about his sudden appearance. “i'm sorry but- who are you? ”

Mingi froze at your question, his pulse quickening, trying to stay calm, he forced a smile, though it came off as awkward and a little too stiff. “Oh, uh… I’m San, don’t you recognize me?” His voice sounded off even to his own ears, not the usual warmth and familiarity that came with being in San’s body. He cursed under his breath mentally, wishing he could have gotten a grip on the situation before it escalated.

You frowned, still holding your bag close, clearly skeptical. “San?” You repeated, your eyes scanning him, trying to figure out if something was off.

Then your eyes widen as you recognized him, " oh! you're yunho's teammate. Sorry, yunho didn't really introduce me to his teammates, said it was too soon."

Mingi felt fury rush him as you smiled up at him, " yeah..his teammate. Sorry he can such a dick sometimes,"

Mingi’s eyes flickered with a mix of frustration and something else as you stepped back, your expression faltering. He could feel the tension building in his chest. Your defense of Yunho—he’s not a dick—set something off in him, but he tried to hold it together, the fury bubbling just beneath the surface. He didn’t have time to process it all, not when he was already teetering on the edge of control.

The hiss that escaped his lips surprised even him, sharp and filled with emotion he didn’t want to acknowledge. “Can we talk? Somewhere private?” His voice came out more intense than he intended, and he immediately regretted the sharpness.

You seemed to hesitate for a split second, but then you nodded, your voice soft as you agreed, “Sure, San, we can.”

Mingi fought the urge to sigh in relief. At least he had a chance to talk to you, to try to make sense of the situation. He led the way, his thoughts racing.

As you followed him, Mingi kept his pace steady, his steps purposeful. But every time he looked back at you, the soft, uncertain way you moved, the trust in your eyes, it stirred something inside him that made his stomach twist.

When you reached a quiet corner in the hallway, away from the others, Mingi turned to face you, his heart still hammering in his chest. He could feel his pulse in his ears, the silence between you both thick with unspoken words. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

“I need to know something, Yn,” he began, his voice low and tense. “What do you really think of Yunho?”

You looked at him confused, " that he loves me and that -"

“He doesn’t,” Mingi’s voice came out sharper than he intended, cutting through the space between you both like a blade. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, but he kept them still, the fury barely contained beneath the surface.

You looked at him, confusion and concern growing in your eyes. “San, what are you talking about? Yes he does.”

You sounded so sure, so certain that Yunho loved you, and that belief—those words—drove Mingi mad. He couldn’t let you continue to believe in something that felt so hollow to him, something he had seen with his own eyes—the lies, the distance, the way Yunho treated you like an afterthought.

“Sure, I don’t go to his games and I never met any of his friends, but he loves me in his own ways.”

Mingi’s heart pounded painfully in his chest, the words stinging more than they should have. He felt anger surge through him, but there was something else mixed in with it—a twinge of something darker, more personal, a mix of envy and bitterness that he wasn’t prepared to confront.

“No, Yn, he doesn’t love you,” Mingi bit out, his voice strained. He took a step forward, unable to hold back the frustration. “Not in the way you think. He doesn’t love you, not like you deserve.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, as if the fury and the hurt had finally found their voice. He wanted to take them back the second they left his mouth, but it was too late. The damage was done.

You blinked, the confusion on your face slowly turning to something else—hurt? Disbelief? “What are you saying? Why are you saying this?” Your voice wavered, the trust you’d had in Yunho seeming to crack under the weight of his words.

Mingi swallowed hard, guilt flashing through him, but he couldn’t stop now. “I’m saying he’s not the person you think he is. He’s playing games, and he’s stringing you along. I’m telling you this because I care about you—” he caught himself, realizing how that might sound. But he couldn’t backpedal. Not now. “You deserve better than this, Yn.”

" ... but you're not any better and im surprised you're even talking to me right now. You hate me San, why should i believe anything you're saying?"

Mingi froze at your words, the sting of your accusation cutting deeper than anything he had expected. His breath hitched as you spoke, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air between you both.

Your gaze was intense, but there was hurt there too—a deep, raw kind of hurt that made Mingi’s throat tighten. His mind reeled, unsure how to respond. It was a moment where he could either try to salvage whatever fragile trust you might still have or tear everything down completely.

He wanted to say something, anything to make you understand, but his thoughts were muddled. The frustration, the anger, the guilt—it all tangled together in a mess he didn’t know how to untangle.

“You’re right,” Mingi finally muttered, his voice quiet and heavy with a mixture of frustration and resignation. He couldn't lie to you anymore, couldn’t pretend like everything was fine. “I… I’ve been a dick to you. I know that. I’ve been awful, and I’m not gonna pretend like I’m some perfect guy who knows how to fix everything.”

He exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself, the tension in his body palpable. “But that doesn’t change what I’m saying. About Yunho. About what he’s doing.”

He wasn’t sure if he was still speaking in Yunho’s voice, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. He just needed you to see the truth.

“I know I’ve treated you badly, but you’re right about one thing—I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you. And I wouldn’t say any of this if I didn’t care.” His voice softened, the anger and defensiveness fading, replaced by something more raw. “You deserve more than someone who isn’t there for you. You deserve better than Yunho.”

Mingi bit his lip, unsure if the words were enough. He wasn’t sure if you’d believe him, but he couldn’t stand by and watch you fall for someone who was lying to you.

Mingi stood frozen, his chest tightening with each step you took away from him. The sight of you walking away, tears streaming down your face, hit him harder than he ever expected. His anger, his frustration—it all seemed meaningless in that moment, swallowed by the guilt that gnawed at him.

I shouldn’t have said that. The thought echoed in his mind, but there was no taking back the words now. He had tried to warn you about Yunho, but at what cost? He had only made you cry, made you doubt everything.

He watched you retreat, each step further away from him, and a pang of regret struck him so deep it felt like a physical blow. He should have handled this differently. He should have been better—kinder, more understanding. Instead, he had let his emotions and frustrations get the best of him, and now you were walking away, hurt by the very person who had promised to look out for you.

“Yn, wait...” Mingi finally called out, his voice weak and desperate. He took a few steps forward, but his feet felt heavy, like he wasn’t even sure if you’d stop for him.

He wasn’t sure if it was pride, guilt, or something else that kept him from moving faster to catch up, but he felt rooted to the spot. The last thing he wanted was for you to walk away with that look on your face, feeling like he had betrayed your trust.

But it was too late.

Mingi could only watch helplessly as you walked away, his heart sinking lower with each passing second.

You walked right up to Yunho who smiled widely at you, cigarette in hand. You seemed to hesitate for just a moment, your eyes flicking to the cigarette before you looked up at Yunho’s face. The memory of yesterday—the way Yunho had treated you, felt like a lie.

" I thought you quit?" you asked, your voice soft. It was a simple question, but it carried so much more meaning. The disappointment, the worry—it was all there in your voice.

Yunho looked at you with confusion in his eyes, as if the question didn’t even register. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his tone casual, like he didn’t even care that it might hurt you.

" yesterday - when we literally spend all day together?" you asked, confused.

Yunho put out the cigarette with a slow, deliberate motion, shaking his head as he responded, “Why is everyone saying that?” His tone was dismissive, almost annoyed, like it didn’t matter at all.

Your heart sank as you process his words. " we were at the park? you even invited me to the game..."

Yunho stood there, still distant, not understanding the gravity of the situation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, almost bored with the conversation. He clearly wasn’t taking you seriously, and that broke your heart.

" and don't bother coming to the game, you know how embarrassing you can be"

Your jaw dropped and was ready to speak but you felt a hand on your shoulder - pushing you back. You looked at San in confusion.

The sound of Mingi’s fist connecting with Yunho’s nose echoed through the air, and for a brief, horrifying moment, everything went silent. The sickening crack reverberated through the space, leaving you frozen in shock. You gasped, your eyes wide as you stared at the scene unfolding before you.

Mingi stood there, chest heaving with anger, eyes blazing with fury, while Yunho stumbled back, clutching his nose. Blood began to drip from Yunho’s nostrils, staining the front of his shirt as he glared at Mingi with a mix of shock and rage.

“What the fuck, San!?” Yunho shouted, his voice thick with disbelief and pain. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, his face contorted in a mixture of anger and surprise.

You stood there, unsure of what to do, your heart racing as your mind tried to process what had just happened. Mingi had—he had hit Yunho. It was almost like something snapped inside of him, like all the anger and frustration he had been holding back finally erupted. But now, the air between the three of you was thick with tension, and you didn’t know whether to step in, back away, or just scream.

Mingi’s hands were still clenched into fists, but his expression had shifted. It wasn’t just rage anymore—it was something deeper, something that had been building for far too long. The fury that had driven him to strike Yunho wasn’t just about the current moment. It was about everything that had come before—the hurt he saw you endure, the lies Yunho had fed you, and the way he had dismissed your feelings.

He took a shaky breath, his jaw tight as he stared at Yunho. “You don’t get to treat her like that anymore, Yunho.” His voice was low, controlled, but you could hear the weight of the emotion behind it. “You don’t get to belittle her, use her, and make her feel worthless.”

Yunho sneered, still holding his bleeding nose. “Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?”

But Mingi didn’t back down. He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “I’m someone who’s not going to stand by and watch you destroy her,” he spat, his voice thick with conviction.

You still stood frozen, the shock of it all hitting you harder than anything you had ever expected. This was more than a fight—it was a breaking point, and you could feel the weight of it all crashing down on you. The air around you felt heavy with unspoken words, and you weren’t sure how to fix this.

But what was clearer than anything in that moment was that something inside Mingi had finally snapped. He wasn’t going to let you be a victim to Yunho anymore—not in his body, not in any world.

───

Mingi watched you shakily take the tissue from him, his heart aching at the sight of your tears. He never wanted to see you like this—broken and crying, caught in the aftermath of a mess that should’ve never happened in the first place. Your body shook with sobs, and it made everything in him ache with a kind of helplessness he hadn’t expected to feel.

“I... I didn’t want this to happen,” Mingi said softly, his voice breaking through the silence between you two. He stepped a little closer, but his eyes stayed focused on the ground, not wanting to invade your space too much. “I didn’t want you to see all of this. I just—I couldn’t stay quiet anymore.”

You sniffled, wiping your eyes, and Mingi felt a rush of guilt. He had never imagined things would go this far—never expected to end up so tangled in your life, in Yunho’s mess. But here he was, watching you struggle to piece things together, watching as your faith in Yunho shattered.

“San, you didn’t have to do that,” you whispered, still unsure of how to even respond to everything. The words barely escaped your lips, tinged with the disbelief that still clung to you.

Mingi hesitated, his fingers twitching at his sides, wanting to reach out, but unsure if you wanted him to. He felt so many emotions swirl inside him—anger at Yunho, guilt for hurting you like this, but also something softer, something protective.

“I couldn’t just stand there and watch him do this to you,” he said, his voice more steady now, but still laced with emotion. “You don’t deserve to be treated like this. You deserve so much better than him.”

Mingi’s heart ached as you shook your head, still trying to make sense of everything. He could see the confusion and hurt in your eyes, the weight of everything that had just happened pressing down on you. You barely whispered a “thanks…” as you took the tissue from him, and it made something in his chest tighten.

" yn.."

Mingi’s heart sank as you stood up and asked, “San, please… can this wait for another day?” Your words cut through him like a cold wave, leaving him frozen in place. His chest tightened, and his breath caught in his throat as he watched you walk away, leaving him standing there, helpless and unsure.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. He wanted to stop you, to tell you that he understood, that he was here for you no matter what. But the silence that followed felt like the only answer he could give.

───

Mingi’s stomach churned as he stepped into the house, the sight of Hongjoong and Yunho on the couch immediately making his heart drop. Yunho, with a bandage on his nose, was glaring at him with an intensity that Mingi could feel even from across the room. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and Mingi knew this was coming.

“San, want to explain what happened?” Hongjoong’s voice was calm, but the undercurrent of frustration was unmistakable.

Mingi’s mind raced, his thoughts tangled in the chaos of the day. The confrontation with Yunho, the way he’d lashed out, the look in your eyes when you walked away from him—it all felt like a whirlwind he could barely keep up with.

He opened his mouth, but no words came at first. He couldn’t just apologize. He couldn’t just pretend that hitting Yunho was some isolated incident. It was about more than that. It was about everything Yunho had done to you, everything he had seen you suffer through.

He let out a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. “I’m not sorry for what I did,” Mingi said, his voice raw but steady. He wasn’t backing down now. He’d already crossed a line, and it wasn’t just about the fight anymore. “He had it coming.”

Yunho's eyes narrowed, and he sat up straighter on the couch. “What the fuck are you talking about?” His voice was laced with disbelief and anger. “I don't know what your fucking problem is, but that doesn’t give you the right to hit me like that.”

Mingi clenched his fists at his sides, the anger that had been simmering all day bubbling back to the surface. “You don’t get to treat her like that, Yunho. You don’t get to make her feel worthless, and you sure as hell don’t get to talk about her like she’s nothing.”

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing his temples as if he’d seen this coming. “San…”

“She’s not nothing,” Mingi shot back, his voice louder now, the emotion he’d been holding in finally breaking through. “She deserves more than the way you’ve been treating her. She deserves more than the lies you’ve been feeding her.”

Yunho looked at him like he was insane. “You don’t know anything about what I’ve been doing, San.”

Mingi took a step forward, his eyes locked onto Yunho’s with an intensity that surprised even him. “I know enough. I know how you’ve been treating her, and I’m done letting you get away with it.”

There was a long silence, the tension between the three of them palpable. Mingi felt like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t turn back from. He knew that what he’d done—what he’d said—had pushed things too far, but he wasn’t going to apologize for standing up for you. Not now.

Hongjoong finally broke the silence, his voice calm but firm. “San, you’re not wrong to be angry. But this isn’t the way to handle it.”

Mingi’s chest heaved with frustration. “I don’t care anymore, Hongjoong. I’ve had enough.”

Yunho opened his mouth to argue, the anger still clear in his expression, but as Mingi turned to leave, something about the finality in his stance stopped him. The intensity of Mingi’s words, the anger he had shown, and the unspoken weight behind them seemed to deflate Yunho, just a little. He sank back into the couch, a frown pulling at his features as he wiped his hand over his face in frustration.

Hongjoong observed the shift in the room, his eyes flicking between Yunho and Mingi's retreating form. He didn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze lingering on Yunho, who was now looking smaller than he had just moments ago. The tension was still thick in the air, but it felt different now—Mingi had made it clear that he wasn’t going to just let things slide anymore. Yunho's usual confidence seemed shaken, even if he didn’t want to show it.

Mingi didn’t look back as he walked away, his steps purposeful and heavy, the weight of the day still hanging over him. His chest still ached from everything he had witnessed, everything he had seen you go through. He didn’t know how to fix this, how to make things right for you. But one thing was clear—he wasn’t going to let Yunho get away with hurting you any longer.

And for the first time, Mingi didn’t feel the need to apologize. He wasn’t wrong.

When he made it to his room, he collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing with everything that had happened. He wasn’t sure if you would ever forgive him for getting involved in such a mess, but he knew one thing for sure: he was done sitting back.

───

You stood there, a little taken aback by Seonghwa’s sudden appearance and his nervous demeanor. His usual calm, collected nature seemed to have been replaced by a subtle unease as he rubbed his palm against his jeans. The way he hesitated made you feel even more confused, wondering what he wanted to talk about in this empty classroom.

“Seonghwa, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice softer, but still unsure about the situation. “You look like you’re about to confess something.”

Seonghwa blinked, his gaze flickering away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I… uh… I need to talk to you about something,” he started, his voice a little more hesitant than usual. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small frown pulling at your features. “What’s going on? Is this about Yunho? Because honestly, I don’t—”

“No, it’s not about Yunho,” Seonghwa interrupted, though his voice still carried a tone of uncertainty. “It’s about… something else. It’s about me.”

You stared at him, the confusion only deepening as Seonghwa’s words seemed to hang in the air. “About you? What do you mean?”

Mingi let out a sigh, " i'm not seonghwa- at least, not for today."

Your eyes widened as you processed Mingi’s words. The room seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment, you couldn’t quite believe what you were hearing. Seonghwa wasn't himself? Not today? The realization hit you like a cold wave.

“Wait, what do you mean you’re not Seonghwa?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, confusion overwhelming you. You took a cautious step back, looking at him closely, trying to see if there was something you missed. But everything about his demeanor felt like Mingi—yet the way he spoke felt different, too.

Mingi let out a small, frustrated chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not expecting this reaction. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I’m actually in Seonghwa’s body right now. It’s… complicated,” he explained, glancing away for a moment. “But it’s me, Yn. Mingi. I don’t know how to make sense of all this either, but I’m the one here.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you felt tears weld up " if this is some sick joke -"

Mingi’s expression hardened at your words, and he took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions. He could see how upset you were, how hurt—and that only made him feel worse. He had never intended for you to think this was a joke, but he understood why you might think that, given everything that had been happening.

“It’s not a joke, Yn,” he said quietly, his voice carrying an edge of pain. He took a step closer, careful not to invade your space, but wanting to make it clear that he was serious. “I swear to you, this is real. I’m in Seonghwa’s body right now, but I’m still the same Mingi. I’m not playing games with you.”

You took a step back, feeling the lump form in your throat. You couldn’t tell if you were angry, confused, or just emotionally drained from everything that had been going on.

" hwa, you know how much i miss mingi but you playing this stupid trick on me is ridiculous "

Mingi froze at your words, his heart sinking. He knew this was going to be hard to explain, but hearing you say his name like that—believing he was someone else entirely—cut deeper than he expected.

“Yn, I’m not trying to trick you,” he said softly, the desperation in his voice unmistakable. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I know how much you miss me—because I miss you, too. But I swear, it’s me.”

You shook your head, backing away further as tears welled in your eyes. “Stop it, Seonghwa. Just... stop. You don’t get to play games like this. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but pretending to be Mingi? That’s low. Even for you.”

Mingi stepped closer to you, holding you by your shoulders, " yn, please you have to believe me. I've been searching for you since -"

You tugged away from him, " just stop it seonghwa, did yunho put you up to this?"

“Yn, this isn’t Yunho. This isn’t Seonghwa. It’s me, Mingi.” His voice cracked with desperation, but he forced himself to keep going, knowing that if he gave up now, you might never believe him.

You stared at him, your chest heaving as you tried to process everything. The way he spoke, the way he looked at you—it felt familiar, but your heart couldn’t let you believe it. It was too much, too surreal, and it felt like a cruel trick. “How am I supposed to believe you?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “How am I supposed to know you’re not just saying what you think I want to hear?”

Mingi hesitated for a moment, his mind racing. He knew he had to say something that only he would know—something to prove to you that he wasn’t lying. “Do you remember the night we got stuck in the rain?” he said, his voice quieter now, almost tentative. “You were so mad because I dragged you out without an umbrella, but then you started laughing because we ended up dancing in the middle of the street. You said it was the happiest you’d felt in months. You kissed me right there, even though we were soaked.”

Your breath hitched, the memory rushing back like a tidal wave. It wasn’t something you’d ever shared with anyone else, not even Seonghwa. Your walls started to crack, the anger and confusion giving way to something else—something terrifyingly vulnerable.

“How... how do you know that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mingi stepped closer, his expression softening. “Because I was there, Yn. It was me. It’s always been me.”

“It’s not possible,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

Mingi felt a lump in his throat as he watched you struggle with everything he’d just said. He took a hesitant step forward, his voice softer now, pleading. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I promise you, it’s me. Look at me, Yn. Really look at me. Can you honestly say you don’t feel it? That you don’t recognize me?”

Your lips trembled as you glanced up at him, and for a moment, you let yourself meet his gaze. There was something in his eyes—something achingly familiar—that made your chest tighten. But it didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

“Stop it, Seonghwa,” you said again, though your voice was weaker now, less certain. “Just... stop. Please.”

Mingi swallowed hard, his heart breaking at the sight of your tears. He wanted to reach out, to hold you, to make you believe him—but he knew that pushing too hard would only drive you further away.

“I’m not giving up on you, Yn,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the pain he felt. “Even if you don’t believe me right now, I’m not going to stop trying to show you the truth. You mean too much to me.”

Without waiting for a response, Mingi turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, torn between the impossibility of his words and the nagging feeling in your heart that maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth.

───

Seonghwa glanced up from his phone, his sharp features softening when he saw you. He nodded, offering a small smile as he slipped the phone into his pocket. “Of course, Yn. What’s up?”

You shifted on your feet, suddenly second-guessing your decision to approach him. The memory of your last conversation with him—or whoever he’d been that day—still lingered, leaving you with more questions than answers.

“It’s about... the other day,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “What you said to me... about Mingi.”

Seonghwa’s expression froze for a split second before he quickly recovered, his brow furrowing in concern. “i'm sorry ynie, but i can't remember anything from yesterday. Did i say something to upset you? "

Your heart sank at his words, the weight of confusion and frustration pressing down on your chest. His tone was sincere, his expression genuinely concerned—but that only made it worse.

“You don’t remember?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Seonghwa shook his head, his brow furrowing deeper as he took a step closer to you. “No, I don’t. Yn, if I said something to hurt you or upset you, I’m really sorry. It wasn’t my intention.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign that he was lying. But all you saw was sincerity, which only made the situation more confusing. “You didn’t hurt me, Seonghwa. It’s just... the things you said—they didn’t make sense. You talked about Mingi, about things only he would know, and... I don’t understand how you could know them.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something—panic, maybe—crossing his features before he quickly masked it. “Mingi? Yn, are you sure you’re not mixing things up? Maybe I said something that reminded you of him, but—”

“No!” you interrupted, your voice trembling. “It wasn’t just that. You knew things, Hwa. Personal things. Things I’ve never told anyone. And now you’re telling me you don’t remember?”

Seonghwa hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced away for a moment, as if searching for the right words. When he looked back at you, his gaze was softer, almost pleading. “Yn, I swear, I’m not trying to confuse you or mess with you. I really don’t remember anything from yesterday.”

Your shoulders slumped as the lump in your throat grew. You wanted to believe him—you really did—but the nagging feeling in your chest wouldn’t let you let it go. “I don’t know what’s going on, Seonghwa, but something isn’t right. And I can’t just ignore it.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. If I were you, I’d feel the same way. But I promise you, if I remember anything or figure out what’s going on, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

You nodded reluctantly, though the unease in your chest remained. “Okay.”

As Seonghwa gave you a reassuring smile and walked away, you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing something—like there was a truth just out of reach, waiting to be uncovered.

You glanced up, your heart still racing from the sudden interruption. The person next to you gave a sheepish smile, their presence radiating a kind of easy charm that put you slightly at ease despite your initial shock.

“hi ynnie,"

Your face paled as you looked at the stranger. " can i help you?"

The stranger put his bag down as he put his and your laptop close together. " sorry i disappeared a few days. I got stuck a couple hours away. I'm actually glad i woke up in Yeosang body."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your body tensing as you stared at him. “What did you just say?”

The stranger—Yeosang, or whoever was claiming to be in his body—smiled softly, leaning in slightly to keep his voice low. “I said I’m glad I woke up in Yeosang’s body. It’s me, Yn. It’s Mingi.”

Your breath hitched, your mind racing as you processed what he’d just said. “This isn’t funny,” you whispered sharply, glancing around to make sure no one else was paying attention. “If this is some kind of sick joke—”

“It’s not a joke,” he interrupted, his tone calm but firm. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s me. I’ve been trying to get back to you ever since... well, since everything started happening.”

You shook your head, your hands trembling slightly as you clutched the edge of your desk. “No, this doesn’t make any sense. You’re not—Mingi’s gone.”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but think about it. Think about what I told you when I was in Seonghwa’s body. Or when I was in San’s. You know it’s me, Yn. Deep down, you know.”

His words sent a chill down your spine. He was saying things that no one else could know, things that lined up too perfectly with the strange events of the past few days. But how could it be true?

“If it’s really you... prove it,” you demanded, your voice barely above a whisper.

Yeosang—or Mingi, as he claimed—nodded, his expression softening. “maybe we can go somewhere private?

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to Yeosang’s—or Mingi’s—face. The sincerity in his eyes made your heart ache, but the sheer impossibility of his claim left you rooted to your seat.

“I... I don’t know,” you stammered, glancing around nervously. The other students in the room were too focused on their own conversations to notice the tension between you two, but it still felt like the walls had ears. “This is... a lot.”

Mingi nodded in understanding, his voice soft but steady. “I get it. It’s overwhelming. But please, just give me a chance to explain. Somewhere quiet, where no one can overhear us.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Against your better judgment, you found yourself nodding. “Fine. After class.”

Relief washed over his face, and he gave a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Ynnie. That’s all I’m asking for.”

The professor walked in moments later, starting the lecture. You tried to focus, but your mind kept wandering to the person sitting next to you. You didn’t know what to believe, but one thing was clear: whatever was happening, it wasn’t ordinary.

When the class ended, Mingi—or Yeosang—waited for you at the door. He didn’t say anything, just gestured for you to follow him. You walked in silence, your nerves twisting into knots with every step.

Finally, you found yourself in an empty corner of the library, tucked away behind rows of bookshelves. The air felt heavier here, as if the truth you were about to hear carried its own gravity.

Mingi turned to face you, his expression serious. “ask me anything, to prove that i'm mingi"

You looked up at him, " what did i say to you on our last night together.."

Mingi’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the confident façade cracked, revealing the vulnerability beneath. He hesitated, as if the memory was too precious to put into words. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet and tinged with emotion.

“You said... you weren’t ready to say goodbye.” His gaze met yours, unwavering. “You kept trying to act strong, but I could see how much it hurt you. You held onto my hand like you never wanted to let go, and you told me you’d wait for me, no matter how long it took. That you’d always believe in me.”

Your breath hitched, tears pricking at your eyes. “And then?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“And then, I told you I’d come back to you. That no matter what happened, I’d find a way. I promised you, Ynnie, and I meant it.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of the truth you couldn’t deny. No one else could have known that—no one but Mingi.

Your legs felt weak, and you stumbled slightly, gripping the edge of a nearby bookshelf for support. “Mingi... it really is you, isn’t it?”

He stepped closer, his hands hovering as if afraid to touch you, afraid this moment wasn’t real. “It’s me, Yn. I’m here.”

A sob escaped your lips as you covered your mouth, overwhelmed by the whirlwind of emotions. Relief, confusion, anger, and love all collided, leaving you breathless.

“How is this possible? How are you here, in his body?” you choked out.

Mingi looked down, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know. I don’t understand it either. I’ve been waking up in different people’s bodies for months, trying to find my way back to you. Every time, I get closer, but I don’t know how to stop it or why it’s happening.”

You reached out instinctively, grabbing his wrist as if anchoring yourself to the moment. “I thought I lost you forever, Mingi...”

He shook his head, his voice firm. “You’ll never lose me. I’ll keep fighting to stay with you, no matter what it takes.”

You sobbed on his chest as he held you tightly. " what happens now?"

Mingi shrugged his shoulders, " hopefully, i wake up in my body and i make my way back you. permanently this time,"

You clung to him, the weight of his words sinking in. “But what if you don’t? What if this doesn’t end?” The fear that had been gnawing at you all this time crept back into your chest, tight and suffocating.

Mingi’s hands gently cupped your face, lifting your head so he could look into your eyes. There was a softness there, but also determination. “I don’t know what will happen, Yn. But I know this...” His thumb gently traced the edge of your cheek. “No matter what, I’ll keep fighting to come back to you. I promise.”

His voice, though full of uncertainty, was unwavering in its conviction. And even in the face of the unknown, you felt the weight of his promise settle in your heart.

You nodded, wiping your tears away, trying to steady your breathing. “I believe you. I just... I just want you to stay.”

Mingi gave a soft smile, his hands still holding you gently, as if afraid to let go. “I’m here now, and I’ll be here as long as I can.”

You took a deep breath, trying to gather yourself, to believe that this wasn’t just a dream you’d wake up from. But even if it was—no matter how impossible it seemed—you weren’t willing to give up on this, on him, on the chance that somehow, someway, you’d be able to find your way through it together.

"Then I’ll wait for you, Mingi.” You whispered, your voice filled with determination of your own. "No matter how long it takes."

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victorian-writez · 2 months ago

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Peaky Princess 1

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Mafia Princess!Reader Setting: 1900s | Post-Grace’s death | Pre-Michael Gray Name: Chiara Mikaelson-Corleone [Peaky Princess M.S]

The Garrison thrummed with noise—voices, laughter, clinking glassware. Chiara leaned against the bar, a third whiskey burning down her throat. Her stormy blue-gray eyes swept the crowd and locked onto him.

Tommy Shelby. Dark hair slicked back, tailored suit like sin. He was nursing a drink, but his gaze was already on her—sharp, assessing. There was a spark. A challenge.

He pushed off the wall and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. “You look like trouble,” he said, voice a low rumble.

Chiara smirked, switching to English with effortless charm. “And you look like you can handle it.”

He took the stool beside her, his knee brushing hers—a flicker of heat. She ordered another drink; the liquor scorched her throat. His hand landed on her thigh, heavy, possessive. She didn’t move away. Instead, she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear.

“Want to fuck?”

Tommy’s eyes darkened. A slow, dangerous smile curled his mouth. “Lead the way, darling.”

They stumbled into a nearby hotel, indifferent to the peeling wallpaper and sagging mattress.

Chiara spun to face him, back against the door. Tommy’s mouth crashed onto hers—hungry, demanding. She tangled her fingers in his hair and dragged him closer, her tongue fierce against his. His hands roamed her body, rough and urgent. He grabbed her ass, lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He broke the kiss, lips trailing down her throat, sucking hard enough to bruise. She moaned, her head tilting back. He ground against her, cock hard against her center. She reached for his belt, undid it, and freed him. Her hand wrapped around him, stroking with intent.

Then she pushed him back onto the bed and dropped to her knees. She took him into her mouth—slow, deep, unrelenting. Her tongue teased the tip, her hand working his base. He groaned, fingers tangling in her hair.

She pulled back, met his eyes. “You like that, don’t you?” Before he could answer, she took him in again—deeper, faster. He bucked into her mouth, his hips meeting her rhythm. She gagged once but didn’t stop. Her lips were slick and tight around him, her eyes watering.

He yanked her off him, panting. “Fuck, you’re good at that,” he muttered.

Then he flipped her onto her stomach.

He hiked up her dress, slid her thong aside. Two fingers slipped in, then a third. She gasped, pushing back against him, aching. He teased her clit, circled it with his thumb.

“I don’t do slow,” she warned, voice ragged.

“Not tonight,” he growled.

He slammed into her, a sharp cry ripping from her throat. He was big, stretching her open. She buried her face in the sheets, nails digging in as he fucked her—hard, relentless. He leaned over, chest against her back, biting her shoulder, her neck, marking her.

She met every thrust, her body slick with sweat. He grabbed her hair, yanked her head back, exposing her throat. He bit down again. She moaned, shuddering, her body flushed and tight.

He slowed, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into her. She whimpered.

“You’re gonna make me come,” she warned, frustration laced with pleasure.

“Good,” he said roughly.

His hand slipped around her, thumb on her clit. She came hard, back arched, body spasming. He followed, groaning low as he spilled inside her.

They collapsed in silence. Chiara lay on the bed, slick with sweat. Tommy leaned against the wall, chest heaving. Their eyes met.

“That was... fun,” she said flatly.

Tommy just nodded, already pulling his shirt back on. “Yeah. It was.”

He didn’t know it yet, but this night would come back to haunt them both.

In the morning, Chiara was gone. No note. No goodbye. She didn’t look back as she walked toward her train, her thoughts already on Italy. She never told her siblings what happened. That night stayed locked away, just hers.

Two years later — Birmingham.

The air buzzed with tension. The Peaky Blinders expected the Corleones.

They didn’t expect Chiara.

She entered like a storm in heels: sober, suited, and furious. Between her three brothers and two sisters, she looked like war wrapped in silk and steel.

Behind his desk, Tommy stood still—expression unreadable. Until he saw her. Her.

The woman who swore like the devil and fucked like a storm.

Chiara didn’t flinch.

Niccolo stepped forward, calm and cutting. “We’ve reviewed your operation. Efficient. Brutal. Catholic enough for Mother not to scream at us. My proposal is simple, Mr. Shelby. We seal this alliance with marriage.”

Chiara blinked. “What?”

Vincent sipped his espresso, unbothered. “To you. Obviously.”

“To who?” Chiara’s voice cracked like a whip.

James, beside her, winced. “Chiara, we were gonna tell you—”

She turned, smile sweet as arsenic. “You fuckers arranged a marriage without telling me?!”

Nebula whispered something to Vedette. Both sisters shifted, suddenly fascinated with the floor. Tommy remained frozen, cigarette burning between his fingers.

Chiara grabbed a whiskey from the table—and hurled it. The glass exploded against the wall inches from Tommy’s head.

“That’s my answer,” she snarled. “You motherfuckers.”

#victorian writez₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊#thomas shelby #cillian murphy #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #cillian murphy x reader #peaky blinders #cillian x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby smut #cillian murphy smut

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seancekitsch · 11 months ago

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Can’t Stand Me Now; a modern Aegon x Stark! reader fic

CHAPTER ONE: The Party's Crashing Us

Y/N Stark and Aegon Targaryen. Aegon Targaryen and Y/N Stark. Inseparable since both eldest children met at Kings Landing University, until they weren’t. One night of drunken passion ruins it all.

Five years later, Aegon is coming off a broken engagement to Larissa Lannister and sends a risky Instagram DM to none other than Y/n Stark.

series masterlist here

warnings for the series: smut, smoking, drinking, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, fluff, vomit, more to come as needed

It’s not that one dance club you like that Sara brings you to, but this one just might be better. It’s a theme bar, a little too influencer friendly in its decor, but it’s endearing. The whole thing is themed like a house from your grandsires’s day and age. Floral couches with ugly plastic covering line the walls as people sit and chatter or flirt, the bathroom has sickeningly pink tile and floral wallpaper, the bar is legitimately a gutted vintage kitchen with bottles stored in cabinets and a vintage stove and formica drink counter. The DJ booth is a second gutted bathroom with the walls knocked out, with the DJ standing on a platform that looks like a huge teal toilet and partitioned away with a cheap shower curtain with a weird squiggly pattern on it. There’s even a little kneeler and altar to the Seven stashed in the corner that people like to take ironic photos at while they take shots. Sara brought you here because it’s synth pop night, her absolute favorite genre, and she does not miss a chance to dance to this over club beats. You don’t mind that this isn’t a wild club, mostly because of the cheap cover fee and eclectic vibe of the whole place. Sara also was considerate enough to tell you to dress the part before you got on the train, congratulating you on a night out sans stilettos with a guarantee of letting absolutely loose.

“Cregan would hate this place,” Sara snorts, bringing you a cup of something that absolutely doesn’t look like the whiskey sour you asked her to get you on this round. She hands it to you, and the smell of rum hits you. You don’t drink rum, you don’t get along with rum.

“As if we could drag him off Dragonstone with his little boytoy,” you shout over the music, and point at the drink, “Didn’t have Whiskey?”

She just shrugs.

“This is what the guy gave me!” she shouts back and you don’t argue further, instead interlocking your arm with hers and knocking the drink back with her in unison.

The moment the rim of the cup leaves your lips, youre dragging her to the tiny dance floor, ready to mingle into the crowd with the beat.

“Someone’s eager,” she teases, her face close to yours so youre not screaming. You dance close, a habit you’ve still not broken, made out of a big sister need to protect her when she became of age right as you were graduating from University. You tried to shield her if at all possible from scuzzy men when out drinking with her. Men like… well, not unlike yours and Aegon’s group of school friends. KLU doesn’t have fraternities, but tight knit groups of men still formed on their own; Aegon, Arryk, Erryk, Martyn, Leon, Eddard all fell within that category. You’d perfected the evasion of walking in on their countless hookups, and knowing exactly how to navigate a party with the men that even they didn’t trust. Even though Sara is grown in her own right, and towers over you, you always protect her as your baby sister.

“Hard day,” you respond, not at all wanting to explain yourself further, but as if on cue your phone illuminates in your claw-like grasp in the same hand as your cup to expose you. You switch hands to drink the remainder of your drink while you scroll, and Sara being Sara, of course snoops.

“Aegon?” she practically shouts, and yes, there’s at least three more messages from Aegon on your instagram. Fuck. You throw your head back dramatically after you fully read everything.

Message:

@ eggtarg: im soz

@ eggtarg: i do miss u

@ eggtarg: can i call ?

(1) missed voice call from @ eggtarg

You break away from Sara, not even telling her, but you’re going to buy the next round. In fact, you’re buying double right now. You shove a bunch of bills towards the bartender, a little guilty but too anxious to actually care that the gesture was rude. Four more of the cups of the strong rum drink, which you learn is a theme drink for the night with an annoying name, and you maneuver them in your hands back to the dance floor with minimal spillage. She doesnt thank you, but she doesn’t have to. You cover each other, or convince men to buy you drinks on these nights. There’s no one party paying more or less, no reason to get anyone back. The two of you dance, and drink, and dance, and drink. Two rounds becomes three. For a moment, Aegon is actually forgotten.

Sara, at any point in time, has your free hand in hers; the two of you twirl each other like you did when you were girls, like you did when Cregan refused his middle child duties to play pretend with you. You take her photo sitting backwards at the kneeler, knowing she’ll make a snarky caption about nothing honoring the Old Gods like this in the city, you fix each other’s lipstick in the bathroom.

It’s the fourth round that has you a little unwise.

Rum is something you avoid for a reason. In college, there was always a point where you felt almost trapped within yourself with rum. You acted on an accord completely disconnected from your mind, the whole time your thoughts shouting on you to do or say something different. For that reason, for the fact that it usually made you upset, Aegon banned rum at any gathering. No tiki drinks in the summer, all because of your comfort and preferences.

You push off from Sara, a brief check in that she’ll be okay (she will be, she’s decided to talk the bartender’s ear off), and go outside with the intent of a smoke break.

As you walk down steps, you feel your stomach turn. Nothing a cigarette cannot fix, a tried and true trick for you.

The bouncer helps open the heavy door, a big smile on your face as you thank him and step out into the brisk air. It feels lovely, compared to the stale and sticky air and vape clouds of the bar. You move to sit on a chair from the little coffee shop that operates there during the day, fishing your pack and your lighter out from the tiny trendy purse you had shoved your ID and money in before you left your flat tonight.

Sighing, you immediately give in to temptation, finding Aegon’s messages to read and read and read them over. He misses you, he’s said as much twice now. But does he?

You click on his profile, and scroll back down to that picture of you. It looks practically deep-fried, the way that Instagram as a platform has changed so much since you were in University. You light the cigarette and take a hefty drag of it before you start a dissection, zooming in and pulling and prodding at the image.

In the photo, you’re half hanging off of Aegon’s lap, sat on his dorm bed. His parents, Viserys and Alicent, insisted he always live on campus in dry dorms to attempt to curbs the habits they did not approve of, but also ensured he got an entire dorm to himself for space. Despite this, it never stopped his room from being where you all met up before you headed out, or being the spot where you crashed at the end of the night. Your mouth is wide open, clearly mid laugh as your hair cascades down across both of you, Aegon’s arms holding you tightly against him. And although the camera is on both of you, Aegon’s eyes are on you, his wide smile and gaze trained directly on the side of your face. In the picture, you’re even in his clothes, his favorite emerald green sweatshirt embroidered with his family crest in gold thread. Falling off his shoulders is the blanket your mother had made for you as a child, crocheted with your own family crest in it, your most prized possession.

From the picture alone, if you didn’t know the people in it, you’d assume they’d be married by now. The two people on the screen look so happy, so care free, so in love. You were still only friends at that point, had never even kissed.

Bile rises in your throat, and you pull harder on the cigarette.

Both drunk and sober, clear headed and uninhibited, you go back to the message and press the little call button next to his contact.

Aegon picks up immediately, as if he was waiting for it.

“Stark!” he breathes on the other end, like a sigh of relief, as if this is a raft in the open ocean.

“Targ,” you greet, very much less enthusiastic, but you cannot deny it that hearing his voice ignites something familiar and comfortable in your bones as if your being had been missing him.

“I- I- I’m so sorry, really, I have so much to-“

“S’been five years,” you slur, not hiding the indigence or disgust in your voice, “Y’too late.”

“Your accent is stronger, are you drinking?” He asks, and it burns you how he still remembers your tells.

“What’s it matter?” You ask, because it doesn’t. Although, you think for a moment, he doesn’t sound drunk.

“Where are you?”

Genuine concern laces his voice, and despite your better judgement, you tell him exactly where you are. The moment the words leave your mouth, you know you should not have said them.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” he says, and hangs up the phone.

By the time he arrives, you’ve grabbed another drink, this time with enough sense to order a pint of cider instead of rum and you’ve already lit and half smoked another cigarette. You slink down into the chair as the black car pulls up, one that you instantly recognize as one of the family cars. Aegon had a car when you knew him, but he only ever drove it on his birthday, taking the train or getting a driver any other time. You pull the lipstick stained cigarette from your lips to take a hefty gulp from the glass, your eyes immediately settling into a glare as the car door opens.

Aegon looks exactly the same as he did the day he left, his hair still the same length, the light dusting of a mustache. He’s got himself wrapped in both a hoodie and a cardigan, completely unable to cope with any cooler shift in the weather. You always joked that he’d die if he ever came home to Winterfell with you.

“There you are,” he says, his tone incredibly and unfairly soft as he grabs another one of the chairs and pulls it up next to you.

“If I grab something do you promise not to run?” he asks, and you nod if not begrudgingly. You called him here, you should at least let him get a drink out of the ordeal.

You swallow thickly, staring at the toe of your boots and the absent patterns of the concrete. If you focus hard enough, you could trick your brain into thinking there was some divine structure there.

He returns quickly, but your eyes don’t peel away from the absent patterns; They can’t.

“I know it’s shit how I reached out to you,” he starts, and from your peripherals you watch him take a big gulp from his own pint. You stick the cigarette into your mouth and fumble to pass him the pack, your body working on autopilot and muscle memory long since past. His fingers brush yours as the transfer or the carton occurs, a traitorous warmth blooming in its wake. You will not ask for the pack returned.

“You’re hard to find these days,” He mentions, as if that was not your goal.

“I don’t meddle where I’m not wanted, Aegon,” you mumble, cigarette bobbing between your lips and threatening to fall.

“That’s not…” Aegon almost growls in frustration, and slams the rest of his drink back, “It was never me not wanting you. I meant it.”

If you were to look up, you don’t know what you’d see. Would he have tears in his eyes? Would they be dark with anger? Is he mocking you?

Instead of a response, your body jerks forward, bile threatening. You pull the cigarette from your lips as he swears and pulls out his phone.

“Don’t say shit like that,” You laugh, but there’s no real humor in your voice.

“I still mean it,” he assures you, and then begins a conversation with the person on the other line.

You stand, taking another small sip of the cider before placing what’s left on the ledge, allowing yourself to take the loss for whatever money that half a cider cost.

“What a fucking joke,” you mumble, more to yourself than anything.

You try to hide the lurching jerk of your body as bile rises again in your throat. You will not puke, you will not hurl; Especially not in front of Aegon.

You have so many things you want to say: questions you’ve had for half a decade, insults that you’ve held onto like a poison in a wound, weeping confessions that would make you weak and pathetic.

“Cole, can you please send someone,” Aegon asks, a hushed tone while he presses the phone to his ear, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, I need to make sure a friend gets home safe.”

A friend. You bark out a laugh.

Only thats not the right move at the moment, and you spill your last two drinks on the curb, enough sense in you to miss your shoes. Immediately you feel better, both physically and mentally. Clearly, much like Aegon, rum is not your friend despite its sudden reappearance in your night.

“Oh, holy shit!” Aegon swears, immediately fussing over you and trying to pull a tissue out of his pocket, trying to press it to the corner of your lip as you shove him away. In the distance, you can see the train stop. This particular line goes directly back to your stop and if you can make a run for it, you can escape him. Only you don’t move, as if you’re rooted to the pavement, your boots stuck in the concrete as the person you’ve been trying to evade in this city closes in on you. You push away every attempt for him to fret over and help you, refusing to let him help push your hair back, refusing the cup of water he requests from the bouncer, your hands shooing away every attempt of his to help.

Eventually the car pulls up, and to your own surprise you let Aegon lead you into the car and close the door for you. He slides in the other side, and urges the driver to head home. His home. Aegon’s home. You don’t protest, you don’t scream, you don’t open the door and tuck and roll even though you think it would be an effective way to escape if not at least a little funny. Despite in your mind feeling incredibly sober, you freeze up, absolutely letting all of it happen. Despite your mind screaming at you, despite the urge to cry, you relax into the leather of the car seat. You instead text Sara that you’re heading home, and to text you when she decides to do the same.

“Why now?” you ask, cutting through the uncomfortable silence as the car turns the block.

“Now?” Aegon parrots, as if he doesn’t understand the question.

“Why now when I’m just this? Why come back after all this time?” You choke back a sob, wanting to refuse to let Aegon see weakness.

He sighs, and wipes his hand down his face. Now that you look at him closely, he looks exhausted, even in the dark. Aegon looks like a man who hasn’t slept in a week.

“It’s complicated,” he says, barely above a whisper. Like fuck it is.

Either way, you remain quiet, anger growing as you watch the traffic lights go by, as you traverse neighborhoods. The car is headed south, and eventually stops not far from your stop at Fleabottom. If you were to flee, you’re only four stops away from home. But just like before, maybe its morbid curiosity, you don’t bail as the car parks and Aegon hops out, half jogging to the other side of the car to open the door for you. He holds out a hand, a hand that you refuse as you push yourself up and out of the car seat. If the driver knows you, if the driver knows what’s going on, they don’t say. The driver doesn’t even look back before driving off.

When he lets you into his flat, he immediately heads to the fridge. Sunfyre runs up to you, greeting you as if no time had passed. The big orange fur ball is all purring as he rubs up against you, and you bend down to scratch behind his ears where he loves it most. This is, easily, the most heartbreaking part of all of this.

“Aww, Sunfyre, did you miss her?” he coos, and then looks at you, “Thats amazing, he remembered you. He always ran from Lar-"

He stops himself before he finishes that sentence, but the damage is done. You were wrong, that right there was the worst part.

He hands you a glass of water, and you don’t deny it this time, eagerly gulping it down and placing it on the kitchen counter the moment you’re done.

“Right, so what did you expect?” you ask, shrugging at him.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he responds, and reaches forward. He cringes as you flinch away from his touch.

“Bullshit,” you exclaim, and then start to walk towards his couch, bigger and more plush than the campus apartment you’d last know him having.

“Guess I’m sleeping here?” you ask, pointing at it.

Aegon agrees, although you can tell there’s words that die in his mouth. His mouth opens and shuts, lips purse contemplatively. Good, you don’t want to hear those thoughts right now, even though you’ve needed them for half a decade. He grabs a pillow and blankets from a hall closet, and sets them like a bed for you. You half expected him to just dump everything on the couch, but then again, sleepovers with Aegon used to mean sharing a bed and you’ve never seen how he would do this.

“Do you need clothes?” he asks, already half turned and surely ready to grab some sweats from a drawer.

You shake your head no, and then start to get yourself settled under the blankets. It feels like the more of you covered, the safer from all of the anxiety bubbling under your skin you are. The more a physical barrier from Aegon exists, the more you can pretend this is a drunken nightmare, and tomorrow you can just sweat it out at dance class.

He leaves the room, and you only shake off your boots and jacket onto the floor next to your discarded purse, opting to keep your phone under your pillow and your person bundled up despite the fact that his apartment is warm.

When he returns he’s in that green sweatshirt from the picture, and a pair of grey sweatpants. He turns his head towards you, but ultimately decides against trying again, instead going to the fridge to pull out two water bottles. Even in the dark of the apartment, you don’t miss the fact that he also pulls out a bottle and takes two shots before walking away from the area. Your eyes feel heavy, wet, as you try in vain to blink away the emotions rising to the surface. Here, there is no concrete to focus on, here, you’re surrounded by Aegon in the dark. You opt to shut your eyes all together.

He traverses the main room, around the island to the living room, his bare feet against the flooring; depositing one of the water bottles on the coffee table directly in front of the couch you’re on. You keep your eyes closed, not daring look at him. However, you don’t miss the warmth of his hand ghosting over the blankets, almost touching, almost that reassuring weight of his hand that had gotten you through so much.

“Why wasn’t I enough when we were friends?” you ask, not hiding the watery tone of someone failing to conceal crying, still not daring to look at him. Your voice sounds so small to your ears, so vulnerable.

“You were,” he tells you, his voice betraying similar emotion. Aegon is probably crying, you realize, or at least close to it.

But before you can open your eyes, you hear him walk away, and you feel like any moment of honesty is over now. The sliding door to his balcony opens, and the clinking of a bottle signifies he’s staying up.

He keeps the door open, a silent invitation that you feel like you can’t accept. Many a night you’d stayed up talking and drinking with Aegon; a bottle, two glasses, and a heart to heart were common. But that seems wrong now, tainted what has transpired. Now it's silence as you hear the bottle clink against a glass, and then again a few minutes later.

Sleep is slow to find you, the space between the two of you both cavernous and claustrophobic, and the blanket smells like him.

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #modern aegon targaryen #modern aegon x reader

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dippindaz · 3 months ago

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Hiii, can I ask for a Nancy wheeler x female reader fic where Nancy and reader are dating but Steve and Jonathan don’t know and they both try to get Nancy back and reader finally snaps? Thank youuu

Oh, this is so cute. I hope you like it!!!

There was something deeply ironic about watching your girlfriend flirt with her ex-boyfriends.

Okay—technically not flirting. Nancy was being nice, which to Steve apparently translated to, “please keep leaning against the table like that and telling me stories from sophomore year.”

You leaned back in your chair at the Harrington kitchen table, sipping lukewarm coffee and trying not to make eye contact with the weird bowl of Jello Mrs. Harrington had left out. Across from you, Jonathan was scrolling through his camera roll like a man on a mission.

“Hey, Nance,” Steve said, voice a little too casual. “Remember that time we snuck into that movie theater with fake IDs and watched that terrible vampire flick?”

Nancy laughed, brushing her hair behind her ear, and yeah. There it was. That little smile that made your stomach flip—except right now, it felt like it flipped and then crash-landed in someone’s backyard pool.

You glanced at Nancy. She hadn’t looked at you once since Steve started reminiscing. Not in a guilty way—just... oblivious. Like you were part of the wallpaper. Cool. Totally fine.

Jonathan turned his phone toward her. “Found that picture from the Halloween party. You were dressed like a—what was it?”

“Bonnie,” Nancy said, squinting at the screen. “And you were Clyde.”

You were starting to feel like the ghost of girlfriends past. Except you were technically the current girlfriend. Not that anyone else knew that.

Nancy hadn’t wanted to tell anyone yet. “Not because I don’t want to,” she’d said that night in your car, her hand warm on yours. “I just… Hawkins can be a lot. And I want something that’s just ours, for once.”

You’d agreed. You had agreed.

But right now, watching the two ex-boyfriends basically toss rose petals at her feet, you were beginning to wonder if “ours” had started to feel a lot like “hers.”

Nancy looked at you finally, as if sensing your silence. You gave her a small smile, one that felt more like a bandaid than a real expression. She smiled back—quick, apologetic—and then Steve asked another question and the moment was gone.

You excused yourself to get more coffee. Not because you needed it. But because if you stayed at that table one more second, you were going to say something you couldn’t take back.

The walk home was mostly quiet. The kind of silence that wasn’t quite comfortable, but not exactly cold either—like both of you were waiting for the other to say something first.

Nancy’s hand brushed yours once, lightly, and you almost reached for it. Almost. But your hand stayed in your jacket pocket, clenched into a fist around nothing.

She glanced at you under the soft orange glow of the streetlamps. “You’re quiet.”

You shrugged. “Just tired.”

A beat. You heard her inhale, then hold it.

“Was it… weird?” she asked. “Back there. With Steve and Jonathan.”

You barked a laugh, short and sharper than you meant it to be. “Oh, you mean the ‘Nancy Wheeler Fan Club’ reunion? No, not weird at all. Very nostalgic. Touching, really.”

Nancy stopped walking. You did too, a few steps ahead, not looking back.

“Hey,” she said, softer. “You know I don’t feel that way about them anymore. You know that.”

You turned, finally meeting her eyes. “I know. I just—” You ran a hand through your hair. “It’s hard, okay? Sitting there while they both act like I don’t exist, and you don’t... I don’t know. Push back.”

Her face crumpled a little, guilt settling in her expression like a shadow. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should’ve said something.”

“I’m not asking you to make a grand speech in someone's kitchen,” you said. “I’m just—tired of pretending I’m not yours when it feels like everyone else is lining up to remind you they could be.”

Silence again. Then, quietly:

“You are mine,” Nancy said. “I’m just scared.”

You exhaled. Not annoyed—just... exhausted.

“I’m not asking you to shout it from the rooftops, Nance. I’m just asking you not to leave me in the attic.”

She stepped closer, brushing your sleeve with her fingers, and finally took your hand. It was a quiet gesture, tucked between shadows and wind, but it felt like something. Not everything—but something.

“I’ll do better,” she whispered. “Promise.”

You nodded, but the knot in your chest didn’t loosen.

It was supposed to be a movie night.

Popcorn, worn-out cushions, someone arguing over the remote. Just friends being friends. No drama, no weird tension.

Except it was Hawkins, and nothing ever stayed simple.

You were curled into the far end of the couch, Nancy beside you but not with you. She was angled toward Steve, who was sitting on the floor with one knee up like he thought this was a rom-com and he was the misunderstood golden retriever lead.

Jonathan was perched on the armrest near Nancy, close enough to brush against her shoulder every time he shifted. You tried not to keep track. Failed.

“I still don’t get why we’re watching this,” Steve said, smirking at Nancy. “You hated this movie in high school.”

Nancy laughed. “Yeah, but it’s kind of charming now. In a terrible way.”

“Terrible in a nostalgic way,” Jonathan added, nudging her with a smile.

Nancy smiled back.

Your eye twitched.

“So when I suggested it three months ago, it was a crime against taste,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else.

Steve looked over his shoulder. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you said tightly, forcing a smile. “Just enjoying the show.”

You meant the movie, but the irony wasn’t lost on you.

Fifteen minutes in, Steve made some dumb joke about “those long nights sneaking into Nancy’s room,” and Jonathan actually laughed like they were in on some private joke—and that’s when it happened.

Nancy didn’t shut it down. She smiled. A little awkward, yeah, but she smiled.

And that was it.

You stood up.

Sharp enough that everyone turned.

Nancy blinked. “You—”

You weren’t sure what you were doing until you heard your own voice.

“Okay,” you said, too loudly, “I get it. You guys miss her. You want to live in some 1980s John Hughes fever dream where she’s the perfect girl and you’re both the leading man. Cool. Cute. Love that for you.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Whoa, what’s—?”

“No,” you snapped, cutting him off. “Seriously. What the hell is this? You two have been circling her like buzzards for weeks, and nobody says anything because you’re exes, and that’s supposed to mean you get unlimited access? Newsflash—you don’t.”

Jonathan frowned. “We’re just friends.”

“No,” you said, stepping forward, anger catching up with your heartbeat. “Friends don’t reminisce about old flings like they’re romantic poetry. Friends don’t ignore the very obvious fact that she’s not single. Or are you both just that self-absorbed?”

The room was dead quiet.

Nancy stood now too, eyes wide, glued to you. “I didn’t mean—”

But you weren’t done.

“And you.” You turned to her. “You said you wanted privacy, not secrecy. But if this is what ‘private’ looks like—me sitting in a room while your exes flirt with you and you pretend not to notice—then maybe we’ve got different definitions.”

Nancy looked stunned. Hurt. But something else too—guilt? Realization?

“I’m done playing wallpaper,” you said, voice quieter now. “So either we’re in this, or we’re not. But I’m not going to keep standing here while they try to win you back like I’m some forgotten extra in the background.”

You turned to leave.

But then—her hand caught yours.

“Nobody’s winning me back,” Nancy said, voice shaking just slightly. “Because I’m not theirs to win. I’m with you. And I should’ve said that a long time ago.”

Steve’s mouth opened. Closed.

Jonathan looked down.

Nancy laced her fingers with yours. Firm. Sure.

“I love you,” she said, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “And I’m sorry I made you feel anything less.”

You looked at her—and finally, finally, the knot in your chest unraveled.

Taglist:@DeeSparticus @avengersz-biotch @swierzak201@liils-lu @lemonysweetheart @a-n-t0 @br66klynbaby @universallyneckhoagieshark @tiinkerbell

#stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things nancy wheeler x you #nancy wheeler x you #stranger things nancy wheeler x reader #stranger things nancy x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #stranger things nancy x you

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panda-writes-kpop · 1 year ago

Text

I'll crawl home to her ~ k. mj.

a/n: only one week late woo!! improvements are happening, y'all!! happy belated jiu/minji day! wrote this at the request of @dark-night-insomniac - enjoy, my platonic soulmate <3

tw: arranged marriages, love at her sight trope, running away from responsibilities (me too), quick mention of blood, reader is a professional little shit

wc: 1.8k

summary: your party-crashing antics go awry when you sneak into the engagement party that celebrates the union of the oldest Kim girl and another high-ranking member of society. you don't expect that Kim girl to be Minji, the one you've been dreaming of for weeks, or for Kim Minji to recognize you right away.

♡ Masterlist ♡

To mask oneself is often a way of hiding emotions, to shield yourself from any physical, mental, or emotional harm. A mask hides your identity from the world and yourself, if you keep the mask on long enough. For you, a mask was most useful for some good, old-fashioned hell-raising.

Dressed in your second-best outfit (to sneak into the party required going through a muddy stretch of road, and your maid would’ve had a fit if you got something on your future engagement outfit), you slip past the guards and head inside of the Kim manor.

You adjust your mask as you’ve landed directly in enemy territory - the Kim family and yours have been feuding for many generations- and you didn’t need the backlash from your appearance.

Siyeon links her arm with yours as you navigate through the party, one that was supposed to celebrate the engagement of the oldest Kim girl to another. You felt bad for the girl - the Kim family was old-fashioned, and had taken to arranged marriages to marry off for the girl. At least your family lets you decide on your marriage partner, even if the stuffy clothes and constant public appearances could be a little much for you.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Siyeon whispers as you hand her a vial filled with a red liquid.

“No, but it’ll be hilarious if we manage to pull this off.” You say as she hides the vial within the deepest pockets of her overcoat.

“Why do I have to help with all of your schemes? Why not drag along one of my cousins?”

“Dami would never agree to do something this daring, and Gahyeon would babble to her parents and get us caught before we even started.” You explain before placing a hand on her shoulder. “Remember, if you get caught-”

“-Play the foreigner card, I know.” Siyeon finishes your statement before smiling to herself. “My life would be too simple if we weren’t friends.”

“There’s the Siyeon I know.” You rub her shoulder before offering her a parting sentiment. “Be careful, and make sure to keep your head down if you run into a Kim.”

“Got it.” She blends into the moving crowd too easily as you allow yourself to be pushed towards the main center of buzz and activity. The gardens surrounding the manor are gorgeous, but they don’t hold a candle to the interior of the manor itself.

The ballroom that you find yourself in is expansive and wider than you could’ve imagined, covered head-to-toe in expensive wallpaper, flooring, and decorations.

“It’s beautiful.” One of the party-goers stares in amazement as another comments on the interior.

It’s tacky, you think as you automatically roll your eyes, and you’re impressed too easily.

Is your home nearly as fancy as this? No.

Do you feel a small spark of jealousy within you? Perhaps.

You drown the negative feelings with a glass of champagne. Maybe two glasses would be the best way to enjoy the fireworks to come?

It’s all fun and games, games that you’ve played plenty of times before, until you see her.

You know who she is - she’s a Kim girl, but you were completely unaware that she was the oldest Kim girl.

Your first and only interaction with her happened when you were out with Siyeon, playing around as you normally did.

“Ah, I apologize, ma’am.” You bow to the girl who you’ve nearly sent tumbling to the ground, all because Siyeon has bad aim.

“No, it’s alright, my dress is the only thing that is harmed.” She turns and shows you the small amount of mud on the bottom of her skirt.

“Let me pay for it,” You say before noticing the Kim family crest on her attire, “and I can walk you home if you’d like?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” She nods before taking her arm. “Forgive my rudeness. My name is Kim Minji.”

“Minji,” You repeat to yourself, “what a lovely name.”

You both had chatted for hours, long past the time it would take to clean her dress and walk her back to the manor. Minji never questioned how you knew exactly where the manor was, or the fact that you made a few shortcuts to avoid your home.

“Thank you for your utmost kindness,” She smiles before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, “and good night to you.”

“Good night.” You mumble to her as she lets go of your arm and heads inside of the gates.

It was worth the lecture from your housekeeper for being late to dinner, and you weren’t able to keep the smug smile off of your face until you fell asleep that night.

You never forgot Minji, she was the girl in your dreams. The one you’d dream of running away from this fanciful life with. You weren’t sure that your feelings were mutual - you only met her once, of course.

Minji looks radiant in her princess-style dress that spills out over her feet and onto the floor. You’d swear she was a princess herself if the family crest on her arm didn’t give away her current familial standing.

You notice that her fiancé is off in the distance, drinking a little more than they should. They weren’t royalty, not by any means, but a respectable match for a lady of Minji’s standing.

Minji greets a few of her closest friends and family before wandering into the crowd. You find yourself pushing through the many people inside of the ballroom, wondering if you’ll even be able to catch her before she sees the one she’s supposed to marry.

Luckily, the crowd breaks just enough for you to see the back of Minji’s dress. Once you’re an arms-length away, you lightly tap her shoulder as you think of something to say.

“Thank you for coming to my party, you’re-” Her beautiful smile causes your heart to pound as you’re left speechless. “You’re the stranger from a few weeks ago, the one that helped clean up my dress and walked me home.”

“How did you know it was me?” You ask.

“I could recognize you in a crowd of millions, and besides,” She leans in close to you, “I saw the family crest on the inside of your overcoat.”

“Ah,” You shyly pull the overcoat closer to your body, “you know my secret, then?”

“It wasn’t much of a secret to begin with, really.” She shrugs before backing up and laughing. “What mayhem are you here to cause?”

“I wasn’t-”

“-I know of the things you’ve done, and I must say, I’m quite… amused by you.” Minji folds her arms after fixing her hair. “You have such a notable reputation.”

“Now you sound like my mother.” You roll your eyes before silently laughing. “I knew you were a Kim girl, and I was surprised by your kindness and grace. My parents had raised me to hate your family, but I’m starting to think that they were just blinded by past feuds and bitterness.”

“We should make new beginnings for ourselves, then. Wipe the slate new.” She offers you her hand, which you gladly take. “To new beginnings?”

“To new beginnings.” You take a sip of your champagne as she squeezes your hand.

“May I tell you something, in confidence?” She asks as a waiter takes your empty glass.

“Of course, Minji, you may.” You let go of her hand as she takes your arm and leads you to a nearby balcony.

“In all truthfulness, I haven’t been able to sleep without seeing your face. You’ve managed to consume my sleeping moments, as well as some of my waking ones. I never knew how someone could be so enchanted by a stranger, but you, you’re… so different.” Minji softly confesses to you. “I was okay with the arranged marriage, it was always going to be a part of my life as a Kim, but now I want so much more.”

“I’ve felt similarly, in all honesty. I never was one for balls and suitors, but you have completely changed my mind. My foolish tricks were not the only things that brought me here tonight. I was hoping you would see me, and maybe I would have a chance, but…” You trail off as you stare at her fiancé. “You have someone here for you.”

“I-” She pauses as a guard storms into the ballroom.

“There appears to be… unsavory company in our midst. We are requesting all attendees report to their nearest guard to be checked for the family crest that they adorn.” The guard announces as a few more appear behind him.

Well, shit.

“C’mon, I know of a secret passageway. I can help you escape.” Minji pulls you towards the exit as you try to hide your face with your overcoat.

Your escape from the party was a lot less eventful than you expected. You ended up in Minji’s private garden when the passage door closed behind you.

“I don’t think I will be able to express my gratitude for you, Minji.” You say before sitting on a park bench.

“It was my pleasure to help you.” She gently pulls up her skirt before sitting next to you. “Pray tell, how will you make your daring escape?”

“The hedges aren’t too tall or thick, so I could climb over or squeeze through them, depending on the durability of my pants.” You lightly pick at the stitching as she laughs. “Then, I will use the nighttime to sneak away to my home, where my housemaid will surely belittle me until I fall asleep.”

“It sounds perfect, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?” You tilt your head in confusion.

“Doesn’t the adventurer, after escaping near death, need to show their affection for the love interest before they leave?”

You chuckle before lightly smacking your head.

“Of course, how could I forget?”

You lean in and softly kiss her lips as her arms wrap around you. You deepen the kiss as your arms meet her waist, and you find yourself missing her lips as soon as they leave yours.

“Would the love interest like to travel with the adventurer, explore the world a bit, before settling down?” You unwrap yourself from Minji before standing up and offering her your hand.

“What would their family and friends say?”

“Nothing bad, if they truly cared for the person they were traveling with,” You smile as she grabs your hand, “and I truly care for you with all of my heart.”

“Then I suppose a bit of traveling couldn’t hurt, then.”

The two of you wander into the night, far away from the places you call home, in hopes of finding what truly lies behind the walls that have entrapped the both of you. Maybe you’ll find peace, or another place to stay.

Or maybe you’ll realize how much you need Minji, how you’d crawl home to her from the pits of hell if you had to.

Maybe you’ll find nothing at all and return back to your normal lives.

But as you hold Minji’s hand and run through the forest with her, it seems like everything is possible. The world is at your fingertips, ready for a new story to be told by a new generation.

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greghousescane · 1 month ago

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iii | the yard

THE

YARD

𝓥ivienne's luck hadn't exactly been in her favour today.

As she rushed down the busy London streets— after stopping for a map, of course— she began to feel it: the small, cold drops tapping her forehead.

Please don't rain. Please don't rain. Please don't rain.

Honestly, it was like the harder she pleaded, the angrier the sky got. A spiteful little god somewhere was clearly having a laugh, because within minutes the drizzle turned into proper rain. By the time she made it to the building, there were droplets clinging to her hair, her mascara had begun a very unfortunate migration south, and her sweater— her cozy, previously comforting sweater— was now damp and sticking to her like the biggest betrayal since Brutus.

"I'm, uh... looking for..." she cleared her throat, awkwardly fumbling with her phone, flipping it around like it was some sort of identification badge, though she doubted anyone could actually see the screen.

"Gavin..? Lestrade...?" she winced slightly— was that even how you pronounced it? It came out like she was taking a quiz she hadn't studied for, reminding her of her anxious primary school days.

A groan left the man's lips as he stood up, rolling his eyes. He was... quite handsome, honestly— or was that just some strong daddy issues talking?

"Yep... yeah... it's— it's Greg."

"Oh— oh, sorry, Jesus— uh—the text—" she stammered, shaking her head as the sheer weight of secondhand embarrassment crashed over her like a heavy wave.

"It's alright," he chuckled, brushing it off easily. "That's Sherlock for you—always.. pretends he can't remember my name."

"Yeah... Sherlock..." she echoed, voice a little distant.

Well, that confirmed the text earlier. It had been Sherlock. It was strange, honestly— how he'd gone out of his way to land her an internship like this. Or maybe, knowing Sherlock, it hadn't taken him more than a two-minute phone call and a veiled threat. Still... it was oddly thoughtful. Kind of sweet, in that emotionally stunted Victorian ghost way he had about him.

"Right—right... Vivienne, yeah?"

"Yep. Vivienne. Viv. Watson. That's me," she said, flashing an awkward smile she instantly regretted. God, why did she sound like a terrible cartoon sidekick?

"Alright, come with me—aren't you a little soaked?" he chuckled, leading the way.

The office was surprisingly... nice? In a sad beige government building sort of way. The carpet was dull, the wallpaper even duller, and the sound of typing echoed in loud, clunky bursts—not the nice, ASMR kind of keyboard clacks either, more like a very angry woodpecker.

"Well hello," a man popped around the corner, bluntly scaring the living hell out of Vivienne.

"Anderson..." Lestrade sighed, gesturing vaguely in his direction. Vivienne blinked. Why did this man look so smug? He looked like he'd just won an argument no one else was aware of during his first few seconds of life.

"Vivienne," she offered, nodding politely.

"So you're the one from the freak?" a woman's voice cut in sharply from behind.

"The... what?" Vivienne blinked between them, confusion mounting.

"—Sherlock," Anderson clarified, like it was obvious. And horrifying.

"Won't be long till he's the one committing the murders," the woman replied, dry as sandpaper. "Donovan," she added, like an afterthought. As if the name-drop would soften the fact she just casually implied Vivienne's new roommate was a future serial killer.

That sentence alone sent a weird shiver down Vivienne's spine. Because—well. Sherlock was her roommate.

"All right, all right—yes, Sherlock is... Sherlock," Lestrade cut in before Donovan could add more fuel to the paranoia fire. "Why don't you go make yourself some tea, just down the hall in the kitchen? I'll come grab you in a minute. We'll go over the latest files."

Vivienne nodded slowly, offering Donovan and Anderson a small, very very awkward smile before backing away. The kind of smile that said please don't speak to me again. She felt their eyes on her the whole way out, like she was an exotic zoo animal or a living bomb with legs.

The kitchen was... functional. That's really the nicest way she could put it. Yellowish linoleum floors, mismatched mugs, and a microwave that looked like it could electrocute someone on a bad day. But honestly? After that conversation, the hum of the fridge and the rattle of the kettle were a weird comfort.

After wrestling with the coffee machine for what felt like a humiliating eternity— and nearly giving up out of pure shame before daring to ask for help on the first day of her internship—Vivienne finally got the damn thing to work. She grimaced as the sad stream of what might generously be called "coffee" oozed into a chipped, off-white porcelain mug.

Lestrade had said tea... but surely coffee was acceptable too? She prayed it was. The liquid looked more like muddy pond water than caffeine.

Turning around with the cup in hand, she scanned the room for signs of milk—real or plant-based. Her eyes landed on the first unfortunate soul in sight: a young officer minding his own business.

"Sorry—uh, do you guys have oat milk here?" she asked hesitantly, instantly cringing.

The officer blinked at her, then grinned. "Ey, think we've got some in the fridge, love."

He was tall. Not museum guy tall— but still tall enough that Vivienne cursed genetics just a little. And damn if that uniform didn't flatter him.

"Right... fridge. Sorry. Thanks." She returned a sheepish smile, already kicking herself internally.

"Pretty sure it's jarg though, love," he added with a chuckle.

"Oh..." she nodded slowly, pretending to understand instantly what that meant. (She very much did not.) After a beat: "Right. Of course. Jarg."

She turned back to her cup, accepting her fate. Maybe she'd just stick to the black sewer water and pretend it was artisanal.

"You the new intern then, hey?" he raised a brow.

"Uh—yep. Vivienne. Uh... I'm John's—Sherlock's... um, friend's sister," she nodded, stumbling over the titles and trying her hardest to shake off the awkward fog clinging to her.

"Ah, right—the lad with the cane. Theo," he offered with a grin, hand shooting forward. Vivienne braced herself for a polite, professional handshake—only to be jolted slightly when his palm clapped her shoulder instead.

"Nice to meet you," she managed with a breathy laugh.

"So, how you findin' it? Anderson givin' yous a hard time already?" He laughed with a knowing nod.

His Scouse accent was strong—at first, she'd had to concentrate to understand him, but the more he spoke, the easier it became. There was a rhythm to it, a warmth, that settled her nerves slightly.

"He's... uh—strange," she admitted.

Before she could say anything more awkward, Theo's expression softened a bit. He pulled open the fridge, grabbing the sad-looking oat milk she had asked about.

"Relax, love," he said gently. "You seem right tense an' all... no need for that, really."

After a warm, surprisingly relaxing conversation with Theo— and a few hours flying by as Lestrade introduced her to the office, showed her where the files were kept, and helped her sort out her badge— Vivienne was finally done.

By the time she pushed the door open, the fresh, cold air hit her face like a slap. It was dark. Not dim, not dusky—dark. The kind of pitch black that made the city lights look blurry and the sky feel too low.

She wasn't sure what time it was exactly, but the idea of taking a cab didn't sit right with her. It never really did. Something about it creeped her out—too confined, too unpredictable. She much preferred walking, or in case of emergency, sprinting home completely out of breath with her coat flapping behind her like a bat.

Somewhere on her way back, feet pounding against the pavement, she could practically feel the blisters forming from being on her feet all day. And as the wind bit at her damp sweater, she felt it creeping in again—that quiet sadness. It wasn't anything new. The heaviness always came around this time of night. Like something invisible and cold had dropped onto her chest the second the sun was fully gone. That was usually her sign to just go to bed.

That's how she found herself standing in front of a church.

She wasn't particularly religious. Not really. Not until John went off to Afghanistan, and Harry started drinking like she was trying to outrun something. Clara left, Harry spiraled, John was unreachable— and Vivienne was left alone, just her and her thoughts echoing too loud in her head. So she clung. Clung to anything that might offer the illusion of hope. Even if it was hollow.

She cursed under her breath, tugging on the church doors. Locked—of course they were.

With a sigh, she ran a hand down her face, pausing for a moment to take in the scent of the old building. It smelled like wet stone and something sweetly decayed. The street lamps nearby flickered faintly, casting the pamphlets by the door in a soft, golden blur. They shimmered faintly as the light caught their gossamer-thin paper.

Vivienne pouted to herself, sighing in quiet annoyance at nothing in particular. She plucked one of the pamphlets from the holder and squinted at the bold print:

SERMON THIS SUNDAY — LIGHT IN THE SHADOWS

Huh.

A sermon. She remembered those. Not fun, not really—though she sometimes tried to convince herself they were. The ones at the last church she went to had been quiet, dull, full of hollow phrases and tired smiles—but still, they'd meant something once.

Maybe attending would help her settle into this new life.

Maybe if she prayed hard enough, Harry would finally put the bottle down.

Maybe if she prayed hard enough, John wouldn't be so haunted anymore.

And maybe—just maybe—if she prayed hard enough, everything would fix itself, and she could find her way back to that childhood happiness she barely remembered anymore.

She quietly unlocked the door to 221B, fumbling with the keys. She tried the wrong one first—of course she did. She really needed to put a sticker or some nail polish or something on them. Her steps were nearly silent as she crept inside. She didn't want to wake anyone up.

The flat was... a little cleaner than before. Barely. But one of the boxes was gone, which felt like a sort of progress.

To her surprise, Sherlock was sitting on the couch. Not reading. Not typing. Not playing violin. Just—sitting. Staring at... well, nothing.

Okay...

She shut the door behind her quietly, slipping off her shoes and kicking them aside with a soft thud.

"How was your museum trip?"

His deep voice broke through the silence like a knife through still water.

Her head snapped up. "How did you—?"

"Oh, please," Sherlock cut her off, not even looking at her with a wave of his hand. "I said 'educational,' you looked around—of course you went to the museum."

What Vivienne didn't like about Sherlock was how intense his voice always was. Something about it scratched at her, a little too sharp, a little too close to the way their father used to speak. But from what she'd gathered, Sherlock just... always sounded like that.

"Yeah... it was nice," she nodded, hesitating.

Should she mention the internship?

"You went to Scotland Yard."

She blinked. "I did... um—thank you, by the—"

"Don't drink the coffee there," he said, interrupting again. A faint twitch of a smirk at the corner of his lips. "It's disgusting."

She parted her lips in surprise, then closed them with a small, meek nod.

"John's asleep," Sherlock added, tone softening just a fraction. "He was waiting."

Her chest tightened. "Right... I'll, um... goodnight."

A beat.

"Goodnight."

#jim moriarty x oc #jim moriarty x reader #jim moriarty fanfic #sherlock bbc x reader #bbc sherlock x oc #sherlock x reader #sherlock x oc #bbc sherlock fanfiction #sherlock fanfic #sherlock fanfiction #bbc sherlock

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mileygoneblogger · 2 months ago

Text

ghosts don't knock ✉️

A/N: hey everybody <3 i know i've been kinda slow with putting out new things for domestic disturbances, and i just wanna say: thank you so much to everybody who's been supporting me and my silly lil writing hobby and i promise i haven't forgotten about you guys. so, here's a gift! a lil angsty snack from me to you while you all wait for the next chapter ^_^ (it's wartime flavoured)

p.s: this is lowkey the beginning of me experimenting with the idea of 20th century WW1 jack (and maybe meg... heheheh) rather than modern au. let me know if you guys would be interested in seeing more of this <3

warnings: mild language use, alcoholism, grief, emotional trauma, hallucinations, canon-compliant angst + my own headcanons, RDR1 SPOILERS MENTIONED AHEAD. TREAD CAREFULLY.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

beecher’s hope, 1917.

the morning is quiet. not peaceful—just the kind of quiet that settles over a place that hasn’t seen joy in a long time. the wind moves through dry grass like a ghost. a storm’s gathering somewhere, but it hasn’t broken yet. just hangs there, heavy in the sky, waiting to break.

jack’s out by the chopping block, sleeves rolled up, sweat clinging to the back of his neck despite the chill. the wood splits clean under the weight of the axe, over and over. he likes the rhythm of it. the simplicity. it’s one of the only things left that makes sense.

crack.

in the distance, wheels crunch gravel. he doesn’t look up.

crack.

"jack marston?"

his name lands like a stone in his gut.

he wipes a hand over his face, turns toward the mail wagon. the young courier doesn’t meet his eye as he hands over the envelope—plain, cream-colored, with a thick red seal and his full name typed neat across the front.

mr. john 'jack' marston. beecher’s hope, blackwater.

he stares at it for a long time.

something about seeing the name he inherited in ink makes his stomach churn.

the woodsmoke from the chimney makes his eyes sting, but he doesn’t blink. doesn’t speak.

the wagon rattles off towards the main road.

he opens the envelope with a slow tear, like he’s hoping the world might stop before he finishes. it doesn’t.

the letter reads:

"greetings: you have been selected for induction into the armed forces of the united states…"

his breath leaves him in one sharp exhale, like he’s just taken a hit to the ribs.

he doesn’t finish reading.

he doesn’t need to.

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

inside the house, the floorboards groan under his boots. everything’s too still. the table hasn’t moved since his mother last set it for dinner. the fireplace is cold. his father’s rifle still hangs on the wall above it, dusty, untouched. like some kind of shrine.

jack drops the letter on the table without looking at it. his hands hang at his sides. limp. lost.

he stands there for a long time.

then, like something in him finally breaks, he kicks the nearest chair—hard. it crashes to the floor. a plate tips off the counter and shatters. their family portrait swings softly on the wall. he doesn’t flinch. doesn't dare make eye contact with their photo.

he grips the edge of the table with both hands, shoulders shaking.

"guess i really ain’t meant to have nothin', huh?" he mutters, half-laughing. the sound is cracked down the middle. bitter.

his voice echoes in the emptiness.

the ghosts of this place don’t answer.

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

armadillo. upstairs in the saloon, later that evening.

the bottle’s half-empty. or half-full, depending on how bitter you feel that night.

jack doesn’t even bother with a glass anymore. the whiskey burns the whole way down, but he likes it that way. it means he can still feel something. that he's still real.

he sits slouched on the edge of the bed, the same one his father used to sleep in whenever he wasn't home. same dusty room above the saloon, same oil lamp flickering against cracked wallpaper. the window’s open just enough to let in the desert wind and the sound of some poor, drunken bastard getting thrown out onto the street below.

jack barely notices.

the draft letter lies crumpled on the nightstand, stained with spilled liquor and maybe something else.

"you'd be real proud, pa," jack mutters, voice thick, wet with drink and something darker. his smile curls up the wrong way. it doesn't reach his eyes. "yeah. look at me now. all grown up."

he raises the bottle in a mock toast, letting the whiskey slosh. "bein' forced to go god knows where to die for the damn military of all things. 'serve my country,' my ass. country didn’t do shit when you got gunned down like a dog. didn’t do shit when ma was coughin' her lungs out, slowly witherin' away like she was nothin', all while i'm holdin' her hand the whole damn time."

he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. just emptiness, scraped raw.

"and what, now they want me to play the good little soldier for 'em?" he spits the words out as if they tasted like rot on his tongue. "to carry a gun and march off to die for a place that’s done nothin’ but take from me? fuck that."

" 'you’re a man now, jack,' " he mutters, mocking. " 'take care of the ranch, jack. be strong.' "

he takes another drink. the bottle’s already lighter in his hand.

"i did all that. i did everything i was s’posed to. and for what? no one left to see it. no one left to care."

his voice trails off.

silence, except for the storm beginning to build outside.

and then–

"that how you see it?"

the voice comes soft. gravelly. familiar.

jack’s eyes snap to the corner of the room.

and there he is.

john marston.

leaning against the wall, arms crossed, hat low over his brow. dressed in the clothes he was buried in—just like jack remembers. just like the last time.

jack blinks. shakes his head once, hard. but the figure stays.

"i ain’t drunk enough for this," jack whispers.

john tilts his head. "ain’t about the drink, boy. never was."

jack scoffs and rubs at his eyes. "you’re not real."

"maybe not. but i’m here, ain’t i?"

a long silence stretches between them.

jack downs another mouthful of cheap, rotgut whiskey, hoping that maybe the figure would dissolve in the amber. he doesn’t dare meet his father’s eyes.

"why didn’t you tell me it’d be like this?" he mumbles. "you made it look so easy. like it meant somethin'. like dyin' for somethin' made it all worth it."

john’s voice softens. "it wasn’t easy, jack. and it sure as hell wasn’t worth it."

jack looks up. and for a second—just a second—he’s a boy again. lost, scared, aching for a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"i don’t wanna go," he says, voice barely there. "i don’t wanna be like you."

john walks over. sits on the edge of the bed beside him. his presence doesn’t creak or dip the mattress. he doesn’t smell like sweat or whiskey or blood—just dust. just memory.

"then don’t be," john says gently. "you got the chance to be more than i ever was. you still got time. use it wisely, son."

jack laughs again. bitter, hoarse.

"what time?"

john doesn’t answer. he just looks at him—really looks at him—and says:

"you’re allowed to want more than survival, jack."

a beat.

and then—quiet, almost tender:

"and you know you’d make your mother real proud."

jack shuts his eyes.

when he opens them again, he’s alone.

the bottle is empty.

and it's still raining.

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yourmomsawh0r3 · 10 months ago

Text

Part 2 to haunted

pairing: tyler owen’s x f! reader

As they peered down the staircase, the darkness seemed to stretch endlessly, swallowing up the beam from their flashlights. Tyler tightened his grip around Y/N’s hand, his other hand clenched around the flashlight, his knuckles turning white. He could feel her trembling, but her determination to push forward matched his. Together, they descended the creaking stairs, each step reverberating through the eerie silence.

Behind them, Boone, Javi, and Kate followed, but their footsteps faltered as they reached the landing, their breaths coming in quick gasps. Boone’s bravado had disappeared entirely, and he clung to Javi’s arm as if he were a lifeline. The whispers had gone quiet, but the air felt charged, like the calm before a storm.

Suddenly, halfway down the stairs, there was a loud clatter as something fell behind them. Y/N spun around, her flashlight shaking as she aimed it up the staircase. Her beam caught sight of an old wheelchair, now lying on its side at the top of the stairs, its wheels spinning slowly. The group froze, eyes wide, as they realized that none of them had touched it.

“It’s… it’s just the wind,” Kate stammered, but her voice wavered.

Boone shook his head furiously. “There ain’t no damn wind in here, Kate!”

Before anyone could respond, there was a loud bang the wheelchair suddenly snapped upright and rolled toward them with impossible speed. It barreled down the stairs, and they barely had time to scramble out of the way before it crashed into the wall where they had been standing.

Y/N gasped as Tyler pulled her against the wall, pressing her close as the wheelchair crashed past them, sending echoes bouncing through the dark stairwell. The air seemed to vibrate with the force of it, and when the noise finally faded, the silence felt even more suffocating.

“Okay, okay, we’re leaving. Right now,” Boone said, his voice breaking as he stumbled back toward the stairs, but just as he turned to run, the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut with a thunderous boom.

Kate let out a choked sob, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared at the door, then back at the others. “We’re trapped! We’re trapped in here!”

Tyler held Y/N close, trying to keep her calm even as his heart pounded in his chest. “Stay with me, darlin’. We’ll find another way out,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with urgency. He glanced over at Javi, who was gripping his flashlight like a weapon. “Javi, keep an eye out behind us. Boone, take the lead, find a door that might open.”

Boone nodded, his hands shaking as he fumbled with his flashlight and moved ahead. The group continued down the stairs, their footsteps echoing like the rhythmic ticking of a clock. The air grew colder, and with each breath, they could see their own fear manifesting in the form of misty clouds.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the hallway ahead was even darker than before. The flashlight beams barely cut through the shadows, revealing peeling wallpaper and rusted doors that seemed to lean inward, as if they were listening to their every word.

As they inched forward, Boone stopped suddenly, holding up a hand. “Wait. Did you hear that?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The group froze, straining to hear whatever Boone had picked up. At first, it was just silence but then, a low growl rumbled through the darkness, a sound that seemed to come from deep within the walls. It was wet and gurgling, like a voice that hadn’t spoken in decades, and it made the hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck stand up.

Tyler stepped in front of Y/N, his flashlight aimed toward the source of the noise. “Whoever’s doing this, you better knock it off!” he called out, but his voice only echoed back to him, swallowed by the oppressive darkness.

Then, without warning, a door down the hall flew open with a loud crack, slamming against the wall. The sound reverberated through the hallway, followed by the high-pitched screech of metal scraping against metal. Y/N’s flashlight flickered wildly, and for a moment, she swore she saw a shadow darting just beyond the doorway, its movements too quick to follow.

Boone turned and bolted in the opposite direction, but before he could get far, the door next to him swung open, and a cold, skeletal hand shot out from the darkness, grabbing his shoulder. Boone screamed, a raw, guttural sound as he tried to pull away, but the hand held him with impossible strength.

“Help! Get it off me!” Boone shrieked, thrashing wildly as Javi and Tyler lunged toward him, trying to pry the hand loose. Y/N grabbed onto Tyler’s arm, her breath coming in panicked bursts, but as quickly as it had appeared, the hand released Boone, slipping back into the darkness. He stumbled back, his eyes wide and wild, but there was no one in the doorway just shadows dancing along the edges of the flashlight beam.

Kate was crying now, her hands shaking as she clutched her camera. “This isn’t real. It can’t be real,” she kept muttering to herself, backing up against the wall.

Tyler shook Boone, trying to snap him out of his daze. “Boone, look at me. You’re okay. We’ve got to keep moving,” he said urgently.

Boone nodded, though his hands were still trembling. He took a shaky breath and picked up his flashlight, avoiding the open doorway as they moved past it. The group pressed forward, but the whispers returned, closer now, swirling around them like a cold wind.

Y/N clung to Tyler’s arm, trying to keep her focus on his voice, his presence, but the darkness seemed to warp around them, bending the light in strange ways. Every now and then, she thought she caught a glimpse of a face in the shadows eyes watching her, mouths twisted in silent screams but when she blinked, they were gone.

As they rounded a corner, Javi stumbled over something on the floor and fell, his flashlight clattering away. Tyler hurried to help him up, but when Y/N’s beam landed on the object he had tripped over, her blood ran cold.

It was a dusty, old photograph, crumpled and faded. But in the light, she could make out the figures doctors and patients, their faces hollow-eyed and gaunt, standing in front of the sanatorium. And behind them, barely visible, was a shadowy figure with glowing eyes, staring directly at the camera.

Y/N dropped the photograph as if it had burned her, stumbling back into Tyler’s arms. “We need to leave. We need to leave now,” she whispered frantically, her voice breaking.

Tyler nodded, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close as they moved toward the end of the hallway. Boone and Javi followed, their faces pale and drawn, while Kate trailed behind, her camera still clutched to her chest like a lifeline.

But just as they reached a door that seemed like it might open, the whispers rose to a deafening chorus, filling the air with a sound like nails on a chalkboard. The lights flickered, casting twisted shadows on the walls, and a figure appeared at the end of the hallway tall, distorted, its face hidden in darkness.

It moved toward them with unnatural speed, closing the distance in seconds. Tyler shoved the door open, practically dragging Y/N through as the others stumbled in behind them. He slammed it shut, leaning his weight against it as the whispers outside rose to a fever pitch.

But as the door buckled under the pressure of the unseen force outside, the group realized with horror that the room they had entered was filled with old medical equipment, and each machine bore a strange, rhythmic beeping, like a heartbeat that echoed through the small space.

And from the shadows, the whispers began to form words again soft, taunting, filled with malice. “You’ll never escape. Not alive.”

Tyler held Y/N tighter, pressing his forehead against hers. “We’re getting out of here, I promise,” he whispered, but as the shadows closed in and the temperature dropped even further, the group knew that whatever had trapped them here wasn’t going to let them go without a fight.

#tyler owen x f! reader #tyler owen’s x you #tyler owen x fem reader #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owen’s #tyler owen x reader #tyler owen #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #glen powell fluff #glen powell fanfic #glen powell x reader #glen powell

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hunk-never-dies · 7 months ago

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Words That Were Never Spoken

A Valenfield Fanfiction

This is my first attempt at writing a Valenfield fanfiction. If the characters are off, my apologies. Attempts were made lol

Synopsis: Jill has always harbored feelings for her partner, Chris, but she has never been able to express them. So, she buries them and focuses on her job. But then, a terrible nightmare plagues her dreams, preying on her emotions and deepest fears—fears that just might become reality.

(Trigger Warning for Violence and Graphic Descriptions of Undead)

Chapter One

Jill made her way down a long hallway, flashlight in one hand and pistol in the other. The hallway was decrepit, and the wallpaper was peeling off the walls. The wooden floor was cracked and caked with years of dust and dirt. Just seeing this portion of the home would deem it condemnable. A crackling sound came from ahead, and Jill trained her flashlight on the noise. A piece of the ceiling hung by a strip of material, swinging until it fell to the ground before her. Jill watched it land, dust flying up in its wake. Jill held her breath and waited, but nothing sounded from the shadows beyond her light.

Jill let out the air she had been holding and continued forward. She stepped over the ceiling piece and reached the end of the hallway. Pausing, Jill leaned against the wall, clicking off her light. She held her weapon steady before she quickly poked her head out, looking to the left—a wall. To the right was another stretch of hallway with three doors—one on the right, one on the left, and one at the end. The area was clear of any threats, and she glanced back at the hall behind her before proceeding around the bend. As she did, she pressed the earpiece in her left ear and spoke quietly. “The upstairs hallway is secure. There are three rooms. I’m going to check them out.”

There was silence before the radio crackled in her ear, and Chris responded. “Basement is secure. Hold tight, and I’ll meet up with you.”

Jill contemplated waiting for her partner to catch up. She could handle herself, and the intel had said there were only two B.O.W.s in the house—child’s play. Jill continued down the hallway, keeping her firearm low and her grip comfortable. Jill stopped at the first door and got as close as she safely could. Silence greeted her on the other side. Jill took a step back, straightening as she reached for the doorknob. Before she could grasp it, Jill heard footsteps coming from behind her. Jill quickly turned, aiming her light and firearm toward the sound. She kept her finger on the trigger guard and waited. The footsteps fell silent, and it made her tense. “Chris?” She called, keeping her voice as quiet as she could. Jill glanced over her shoulder to ensure she was alone in the hallway. Satisfied she was, Jill took a step forward. Chris would have answered her. Jill spoke loud enough that he would have heard her. That only meant one thing: that whatever was approaching was not her partner.

Another footstep came from around the bend, and a shuffling sound soon followed. Jill moved toward the opposite end of the hallway, putting some distance between her and whatever was approaching. A groan broke the silence, and around the bend came one of the two B.O.W.s they were to terminate. It was a young woman, her clothing torn and blood splattered all over the fabric. Blood crusted her mouth, chin, and neck as she stumbled forward. Her skin was ashen and bore yellow pustules, some weeping a foul, black ooze. Jill took a step back and aimed for the woman’s head. As she did, a loud crash erupted behind her. Her eyes widened as she glanced over her shoulder. ‘Shit!’ Out of the door at the end of the hallway came the second zombie. This one was a male with a missing arm. Blood had stained where the man’s arm once was, and he bore the same pustules. Fresh blood dripped out of the zombie’s mouth as it staggered toward her at an unnatural gait. Jill found herself surrounded.

The woman zombie then lunged at her, going for her throat as she heard the other rush at her. Jill fired off three rounds, hitting the woman in the shoulder, chest, and forehead. The zombie staggered forward and collapsed onto the ground with a sickening thud. A snarl came from behind, and Jill turned as the zombie tackled her. The two flew through the air and landed on the ground; the wind knocked out of her. The zombie growled above her and went for her neck. Jill quickly withdrew her knife and used it to block the man’s mouth, the blade digging into the sides of his mouth. The skin split where the metal met it, and decaying flesh began to drip. Jill struggled to get the undead man off her but found her other arm pinned down. The zombie snarled before he went to bite her again. Before it could even lower its head, the sound of a firearm echoed through the hallway. In the dead center of the zombie’s forehead was a bullet hole, the back of its skull splattering behind it. The zombie twitched as it fell to the side, and Jill shoved it off of her entirely.

“Thanks. I would have been fine.” Jill said as she sat up and saw her partner, Chris, walk over.

He stopped at her side and smiled at her. It made her heart skip a beat, and she quickly summed it up to the adrenaline from the attack. “I didn’t doubt that,” Chris said as he offered her his hand. “I just didn’t want you to have all the fun without me.”

Jill let out a soft chuckle as she took his hand. “Right.” He helped her to her feet and let go of her hand. Part of her wished he would have held on just a little longer than he did. Then again, this wasn’t new. Ever since she met him, she had had a schoolgirl crush on the man. He was handsome and pretty funny then. As he got older, it only added to his charm. Chris had gained a lot of muscle and let stubble grace his face rather than staying clean-cut like on the S.T.A.R.S. unit. He still had a sense of humor and seemed more relaxed with her than with others from the BSAA. He would adopt a more serious demeanor, but Jill liked that. Hell, over the years, she wanted him more and more. It was no longer a crush but a yearning instead. She wanted to spend more time with him than on their assigned missions. But that could never be. Not in their line of work. On top of it, she knew Chris cared about her, but he cared about everyone. He always treated them kindly and did his best to put their safety before his own. Jill knew that there was no chance of anything happening between them. They were friends and partners, and she would have to be happy with just that. Nothing more.

“Looks like we got them all.” Chris broke her from her thoughts as he looked down at the corpse that Jill had shot. He nudged it onto its back with his foot and stooped down to inspect the body. “They have the same pustules as the others.”

Jill walked over to him and squatted down beside him. She looked at the zombie’s head and the visible parts of her skin. More leaking bubbles formed on the decaying flesh, some oozing the same liquid. “It is strange. They normally don’t have this many, and I haven’t seen them ooze this black stuff either.”

“Neither have I,” Chris said, and she looked over at him. He was concentrating on the body before he looked at her. Jill could get lost in those soft, grey eyes, but she needed to stay focused. “We can send them over to Rebecca. Maybe she can analyze it.” Jill nodded before she rose to her feet. Chris followed after her and pressed the radio in his ear.

“HQ. The targets have been neutralized and are ready to be picked up.” Jill looked from the woman to the man and back. A pang of melancholy hit her as she stared at the corpse. Just how many more people could suffer such a terrible fate? How many more innocent people would die before everything would be over? When would selfish companies stop with bioterrorism? The answers would never come. As long as these types of people were out there, this would keep happening again and again. All they could do was try to stay one step ahead of them. Jill was snapped from her thoughts as she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Jill looked over at Chris and saw a mix of worry in his gaze. “I’m fine. I just could use a shower.”

“Me too. Let’s get out of here. HQ is sending a helicopter.” Chris smiled at her before he started around the bend. Jill looked at the bodies one last time before she followed after him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jill let out an inward sigh of relief as soon as they touched down at the BSAA headquarters. She wanted nothing more than to go home, eat, and shower. Then, get some long-awaited sleep. She could feel her body beginning to lag as her muscles eased their tension. A dull, aching pain started in her back at the site where she hit the floor, and she was sure she’d have a bruise. A report could wait until tomorrow. Right now, she wanted to head to her apartment. She exited the helicopter, keeping her head low to avoid the blades. Chris followed her, and she spoke after they had left the aircraft. “I’m going to head home if that’s okay with you. I will write up a report tomorrow.” Jill said as she looked over at Chris. He was walking beside her, a small space between them. Something Chris always did that she noticed was only with her. He usually kept some distance from others, but not her. ‘No, Jill. You're reading too much into this. He's your friend. That's all.’ She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind, burying them once more.

He looked at her silently briefly before he nodded and spoke. “That’s fine. We can wait until Rebecca contacts us about what she finds.” He then slowed to a stop, causing Jill to follow suit subconsciously. He turned toward her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Chris was looking at her with that same expression again. He tended to do it a lot and made her almost feel hopeful. However, she once again reminded herself that they were friends and partners; they couldn’t be more than that as much as she wanted them to be. He was only looking out for his teammate, which he always did.

Jill smiled at him. “I’m fine, Chris. I’m not fragile. I’m pretty sure I can kick your ass even.” She gave his arm a light punch, eliciting a soft laugh from him. The sound made her heart skip a beat. It wasn’t very often he laughed anymore, but when she heard it, she loved it.

“You probably could,” Chris said, playfully rubbing his arm as if her punch had caused damage. Jill rolled her eyes and smiled, shaking her head. Damn him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jill said as she waved a hand and started for the parking lot.

“See you tomorrow, Jill. Get some rest.” Jill looked over her shoulder, and he smiled at her. She returned it before facing forward. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest. She was sure he would hear it if she did not leave now. ‘Damn you, Chris.’ Jill thought to herself as she pushed her feelings to the back of her mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jill unlocked the door to her apartment and opened it. She stepped through the threshold and locked the door behind her. Jill flipped the light switch to her right and flooded the living room with light. The living room was orderly and lightly furnished, though she hardly spent time there. Then again, she never spent more than a day at most in her apartment. A television sat on a mount to the wall across the room, and before it, there was a sofa and coffee table. A few potted plants sat on the windowsill, and two hung from the ceiling by the window. The walls were soft, creamy-white, and the floors were dark hardwood.

Jill removed her shoes and set them on the shoe rack by the door before entering the room. She crossed it, heading to the left, where an archway was in the wall. It led to the kitchen, and she also turned the light on. It, too, was kept neat and orderly, with a small table in the center. Two chairs sat on opposite ends; she never needed more. It wasn't as if she had company with her busy work schedule. A fridge sat across the room with a stove, microwave, and sink. She debated on cooking something but opted against it. Jill felt too tired to eat, and standing at the stove felt off-putting.

Instead, she crossed the room and opened one of the cupboards above the stove. She grabbed a glass and closed the cupboard, bringing it to the sink. She filled it with cold water and took a long drink. Once finished, she set it down in the sink and left the kitchen, shutting the light. What she needed was a shower. Jill walked to the opposite end of the living room, which opened into a hallway. A door to the right led to the laundry room, and the door at the end to her bedroom. Jill reached her room door and opened it up, turning on the light. The room was a perfect size for her. A single bed sat in the middle of the room with a bedside table to the left. There was a window on the far wall, and dark blue curtains blocked the remaining light. A long dresser took up the wall opposite the bed, and a small television sat atop the wood, a remote beside it. To the right was another door that had been left open. It led to the bathroom, and she walked over to it.

Jill walked through the threshold and turned on the light. The bathroom had tile flooring and walls, and soft mats rested by the sink, toilet, and walk-in shower. Jill shut the door and let out a breath. Finally, she was home. Moving over to the sink, Jill looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her clothing was dirty, and she had a bit of dirt on her face. She could see how tired she looked, and it was no wonder Chris kept asking if she was okay. If he looked the same, Jill would have asked as well. She removed her phone from her pocket and placed it beside the sink. Jill turned away from the mirror and walked to a small closet near the shower stall. She opened it up, got a clean towel from one of the shelves, and set it down on a towel holder on the shower door. She shut the door and slid the frosted glass door open to the shower stall. Jill reached inside and turned on the water, adjusting the temperature to a warm, comfortable setting. She then shut the door and undressed, dumping her dirty clothing into a hamper near the door.

Once finished, she got into the shower and shut the door, standing beneath the water. Jill closed her eyes and breathed as warm water covered her body. It felt refreshing on her sore muscles, especially her back. She opened her eyes and thought back to the mission they had just been on. They had received reports of strange B.O.W.s showing up. They were not exactly the average run-of-the-mill zombies. Instead, all they had encountered had odd pustules that leaked a black fluid. It was assumed to be some sort of contagion, and they had taken extra precautions not to come in direct contact with it. Could a mutated strain have made transferring the virus easier than just through infected saliva? She hoped that Rebecca would have the necessary answers and that it wasn’t a new strain altogether. Jill sighed as she picked up her shampoo and poured some onto her hand. Thinking about this now would only chase away the sleep, not welcome it. Instead, she focused on how nice and warm the water felt on her skin—the clean scent of the shampoo as she lathered it in her hair. Tomorrow would be another day to worry about the cases.

Jill rinsed the shampoo and washed her body, being careful of her bruised back. Once finished, she shut the water and opened the door, grabbing her towel. She wrapped it around herself as she stepped onto the mat, a slight chill running through her despite the lingering steam from the shower’s water. Jill stood there briefly before moving over to the bathroom door. A robe hung from a hanger, and she grabbed it, removing her towel. Jill pulled the robe on, tied it tightly around her waist, and then used the towel to dry her hair. As she did, she heard her cell phone buzz and paused. Jill walked over to the sink and wiped the screen on her robe before she clicked it on. There was a text message from Chris. Her heart rate increased upon seeing it. Why was he texting her? She stared at the screen and knew deep down what it was about. The case they were working on. Why else would he text her right now? Jill clicked the message and swiped her screen up, reading it.

Hey Jill, I contacted Rebecca. She said we should meet at her lab tomorrow afternoon to review her findings. I can pick you up if you’d like.

Jill thought for a moment before she texted her answer. It would be easier to take just one vehicle there. They were going to the same place, after all. Okay, that would work. She sent it and set her phone down as she dried her hair. Jill then hung the towel to dry on the shower door when her phone buzzed again. Jill returned to the sink and picked it up, reading the new message.

Perfect. I’ll pick you up around 11. And Jill, please try to get some rest. Don’t keep yourself up all night thinking about this case.

Jill arched an eyebrow at this and typed back. Who said I was going to do that? The response was almost immediate.

I know you. Another one popped up after it. Get some sleep.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. You too. Good night, Chris.

Good night, Jill.

Jill clicked the side button on her phone, and the screen went black. He knew her, huh? Jill smiled before she left the bathroom, shutting the light off. She entered her bedroom and changed into a clean pair of undergarments and night clothes before setting her robe back on the hook in the bathroom. She returned to her bedroom, grabbed the remote for the television, and hit the power button. The television came to life, with two chefs making a dish and instructing viewers on their steps. She crossed the room and turned off the light before walking to her bed. Jill pulled down the covers and got in, pulling them up to her chin. The mattress felt heavenly on her body, and she discovered how tired she was when she lay down. Jill set the remote on the side table and looked at the television. Chris had told her not to think about the case, so this would hopefully take her mind off it. Jill watched the cooking program until her eyelids grew heavy, and the kitchen sounds lulled her to sleep.

#chris redfield #jill valentine #valenfield #ao3 fanfic #resident evil #words that were never spoken #Chapter 1

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eatmen2live · 5 days ago

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Call of the Songbird - Chapter 5

Summary:

It was more than she could have asked for and the last thing she expected the night Charles Xavier appeared outside her van, hidden in the corner of an abandoned parking lot. He offered her an opportunity and a future. A chance to lie down roots without the threat of having to leave after a few months. Told her they had room for her and even a job.

Story starts after X2 but closer to X3 and into until the end, with a twist. Mixed with sugar, spice, and everything nice!

Ao3 / Ch 1 / Ch 4

A/N:

Not sure I landed exactly where I wanted to with this chapter but I think it's good enough! As always thank you to everyone who's posted a comment and shared their favorite parts! I reanalyzed this chapter dozens of times so I hope you all enjoy!

WC: 7.2k

Warnings: Mentions and depiction of Violence, Blood, and Death

The sound of gentle weeping roused Serena from her slumber. As she came to, a heaviness enveloped her body, each muscle aching with a dull throb. Accompanied by a thick mental fog that made it nearly impossible to think. She lay pressed against a damp stone floor that chilled her to the bone, the warmth of the sun from that morning long gone. Her mouth met resistance against a makeshift gag that chafed against her lips, tasting foul on her tongue. Pain drummed through her body as she fought through exhaustion, following her instinct to find the source of the soft cries.

As fragmented memories clawed their way out of her mind, each one provided a fresh shot of adrenaline, fueling her with the strength to move. Her body shook as she worked to lift herself from the cold floor. When an intense pain shot through her hand, she crashed back onto the floor. The dim lighting of her new environment made it difficult to see anything as she tried to inspect the source of her pain.

From what she could make out, the hand that Logan had caressed not so long ago was now discolored and swelling. It was the hand that was twisted and broken during her initial capture. When an itch brought the hand to her face, there was crusted blood on her nose and chin. Noticing that while her face felt the pain from being punched in, her nose wasn’t bent at an odd angle. Almost laughing at the vanity of her revelation, she was quick to sober at the feel of swelling that came from her eyes.

Through the swelling, her vision began adapting to the dull lighting in the room, allowing her to observe her surroundings. It was a horror movie, complete with flickering lights and eerie shadows. She was in a cell in what seemed like an abandoned medical ward. Reminiscent of the unethical mental institutions of the past. Dark, spreading stains of black mold crept down the ruined wallpaper, smelling faintly of mildew and decay. There was a prickling unease that settled under her skin as the shadows deepened and lengthened, a feeling that something dreadful was in store.

Renewed whimpers broke through her reverie, clearing her thoughts and reminding her she was not alone. Theresa. With the girl on her mind, Serena gained renewed vigor as she pulled her body into a kneeling crawl. The motion caused rattling sounds to set off behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she failed to notice the heaviness of the chain on one of her ankles. They’d beaten, gagged, and chained her.

The echo of similar chains rattling and muffled sounds from across the room helped halt the growing panic she felt rising inside her. Squinting across the room, she saw her little girl. Theresa pressed against the bars of the cell she was in as she tried to call for Serena’s attention. Fury rose in Serena when she saw the girl in a similar gagged and chained state. Serena crawled to the bars of her cell, straining against them, broken hand and sore body forgotten.

All Serena could do what shout inside her mind and against her gag, that she would save her. She made awful sounds against her restraints. Looking into the young girl’s eyes, Serena tried to convey her messages as she reached through the bars. Serena’s efforts caused fresh tears to stream down the girl’s already tear-stained cheeks as she reached back for her. The sight of the child and the sound of her broken cries touched a primal part of her, sending her into a feverish state.

She rose to her feet with a strength she didn’t feel and banged against the bars. When they didn’t budge, she began throwing her body into them with pitiful but determined strength. She grunted and groaned, set on breaking her body against her prison. With every collision against the iron wall, Theresa’s muffled screams grew louder, feeding her increasing hysteria. Either she was going to break first or the cell would.

A sudden yank pulled her feet out from under her, and her head struck the ground in a burst of lights as something pulled her up to hang upside down. She couldn’t tell if the muffled scream came from her or Theresa as she hung limp, her body swinging from side to side. With colors bursting in her eyes, she felt moisture forming at the side of her head. Then she heard the smacking of lips and a haughty chuckle.

“Goodness, my dear, you would think we had captured a wild animal with the sort of fuss you were making.” A man with an accented voice said.

There were no more cries as the only sounds echoing in the room were those of booted steps and droplets hitting the stone floor.

“We can’t have you killing yourself now, can we? Please calm yourself.”

She knew who had entered the room, even before he brought her to the front of the cell.

“I apologize for my underling’s rude behavior. I have properly reprimanded him, I assure you.”

As her vision cleared, she saw the inverted visage of an older man with a shock of white hair, and piercing eyes that looked straight through her. It felt as if all the blood in her body was draining from the wound in her head, and she trembled as she hung before him. She watched his proud face morph into false pity.

“Oh, my dear, there’s nothing to fear. As I had told you the first time we met, I’m here to save you.”

The smile that graced his face was nauseating and didn’t help the vertigo she was currently experiencing. He took pity on her as he lowered her to the ground with more care than he’d had when he’d stopped her. From under her matted hair, she watched as he looked down on her, shadowed by the overhead light. His gaze was menacing as his eyes shone, triggering the memory of their first meeting.

She’d been fresh on the run when he’d found her. Under the cover of darkness, she hid and stuck to small, dark corners as she hopped from city to city. Curled next to a dumpster in a dark alleyway, he emerged from the darkness, accompanied by a striking blue woman and a beastly man. It was clear they were mutants, but until this point in her life, she had known nothing about mutants. The only inclination she had that time was to fear them as she feared herself.

He’d been one of the first people who’d spoken to her since the incident, as she spent weeks avoiding human interaction. He’d introduced himself as Magneto, savior of mutants, as well as his companions Mystique and Sabretooth. Although an inner voice cautioned her about the danger they posed, her animal instincts might have recognized them as predators and her as prey.

Magneto was aware of her actions, though he hadn’t revealed how he’d located her. He showered her destruction with praise, using every beautiful word imaginable. He waxed poetry about what she had done, and to a young girl who wanted to be everything he said she was… it had felt good. She wanted to be the person he said she was — everything and more. As his companions looked on from either side of him with uncanny smiles and unreadable eyes, all she saw was his vision. His words touched parts inside of her she thought didn’t exist. His passion bled through his eyes, and she knew he believed every word he spoke to her; she believed it too. Maybe he could save her and make her into something beautiful, like the woman at his side, something powerful, but the sensation of wrongness nagged at her.

Her mother’s necklace burned against her chest as an unknown force urged her to run to avoid being lost forever. Before Magneto could capture her or her mind, she bolted. Scrambled deeper into the alley as fast as she could. Behind her, she heard his icy voice instruct someone to capture her, followed by the snarling of an animal. Unable to scream for help, she felt the world crash down on her as the beast secured her and drug her back to its master. As she struggled against him, she’d caught Sabretooth’s dark eyes, and when they locked onto one another, a sudden calm replaced her panic. Her gaze intensified as a surreal sensation overcame her, like peering into his soul and searching its depths. Just as Magneto had said, she felt powerful. His heartbeat was clear, as were the sounds in the alley’s shadows, and no sound escaped her. It was a euphoric sensation similar to when she reached for the rapture that had leveled her neighborhood.

Then he was hers, and she could do anything she wanted with him. So she commanded him to let her go, and he did. Setting her down with care, she looked past him towards Magneto and Mystique. Ignoring his look of awe and obsession. Ignoring his compliments, she commanded them to leave. Like the beast man had done moments before, they listened, and they left. When she’d broken from the trancelike state, she felt only disgust for what she’d done.

Alone and in fear of herself, she’d gotten sick in the alley that night. Struggling against the reality of what she was capable of, she’d stripped them of their autonomy. But what sickened her most was the dark part of her that enjoyed it. Reveled in the control she had over another being, especially the strength to influence powerful mutants. She’d tasted overwhelming power for the first time and found that she was the worst kind of monster. The burden of her power was too much for her, crushing her spirit and intensifying her self-loathing.

Her reckless use of power left her feeling like she was on the verge of death then. She subsequently passed out for several hours, and upon waking, resumed fleeing. Not knowing how long her command would last, nor did she want to find out, she knew she never wanted to see them again. Never again did she want to unleash the creature slumbering within her, so she suppressed it. Buried it so deep within herself that she guaranteed its voice would remain unheard.

As she broke from the memory, his gaze was no different. For how long it’d been, it still haunted her. She knew he would find her again, driven by his dark obsession and insatiable possessiveness.

His smile did not reach his eyes when he addressed her again. “It looks like I was right to come and save you.”

She threw him a nasty look, curling her lip at him.

“My, my, how scary. Too bad it seems you’ve lost your beautiful song.”

He sucked his teeth, and she guessed he didn’t just mean the gag. He knew she couldn’t sing anymore. Serena’s face betrayed her as he smiled at her.

“Did you think that when we finally tracked you down, we wouldn’t do some reconnaissance?”

Mystique entered the room and then, sliding up to his side, shifted into dozens of faces. Faces of children, of the X-Men, of her friends. Serena couldn’t fathom when she had entered the academy or how long she had been inside. The thought that she had potentially sat and laughed with her without noticing filled her with terror. The horror on her face elicited a sinister laugh from Mystique.

“We know something has crippled you, but we don’t know what.” Magneto continued as he knelt at her level, observing her. “We saw no trace of physical harm on your body. Intact tongue and no scarring. So, the only other conclusion we can make is that something must’ve gotten into your little mind.”

She froze.

“Don’t worry, my dear girl, we’ll get it out of you yet. You see, a siren would be an extremely helpful addition to our plans. Especially one as powerful as you, strong enough to make even me turn away.”

She believed he would do anything it took to get her to sing again, and only for him. Commit any injustice to get what he wanted and say it was for the greater good of mutant-kind, just as he’d told her before. Her reluctance would not stop him.

Fear and helplessness riddled her. She wanted to give up and give him what he wanted, but if she did, she could only imagine the horror he’d force her to inflict. If she were truly alone, she might have faltered, but she wasn’t. There was an innocent child here that needed her. She tried to get a glimpse of the girl once more, but Magneto effectively blocked her off from view.

He followed the direction of her gaze, turning to look over his shoulder. “Ah, yes, the girl. Well, she’s here for a bit of insurance.”

Her blood ran colder than the chill of the stone that bit into her bones. She scrambled painfully over to grasp onto the bars once more, injuring her hand further, searching his eyes for an answer regarding what he meant.

He gave her a condescending look as if what he’d do was obvious, but Serena didn’t want to accept it. “Well, how else are we going to set your voice free? You clearly will have to want to. Because if you don’t…”

She followed his line of sight as he looked back at Theresa from the corner of his eye. What he’d done to Marie proved he did not bluff. The heavy implication of harm coming to Theresa brought out a wildness from Serena. The threat of harm to the child, while she was still alive, ignited a maternal rage within her.

She searched for something, anything, or a way out of her cell but found nothing. She screamed against her gag as she raged against her cell. Raking her nails against the floor and walls of the prison they’d locked her in. When she found no crevice, she clawed at herself as her captors watched her, unimpressed and wearing masks of apathy. Throwing herself at the bars, she reached for them and howled like a caged animal.

“That’s quite enough out of you; it’s unsightly.” Magneto said.

Mystique moved quicker than she could react, and grabbed the injured hand she’d waved recklessly out of her cell. She bent Serena’s hand back with sick satisfaction and brought her to her knees as she cried out. This time she released her, sending Serena reeling back into her cage, cradling her arm. Through fresh tears, she watched Mystique look down at her with sick delight.

“Get your rest. We have quite a lot of work to do.” He said.

Magneto threw one last sharp glance at her before he turned to leave, Mystique at his back tossing a twisted smile at her. Just before exiting fully, he addressed the redheaded girl.

“Pray for your own sake that she sings sooner rather than later.”

The threat hung in the air as the metal door screeched and slammed behind them. When she could see Theresa again, the girl’s eyes were wide with shock and fear. It broke Serena’s heart, and she tried calling to her against her restraint. But got no response as the girl shut down and crawled to the back corner of her cell. Serena could barely see even the red shine of her hair as she curled in on herself while listening to the sound of the child’s renewed whimpers.

It was hell. This was hell. Unable to prevent them from being in this situation, she couldn’t even get them out. Theresa was here because of her, and she may never recover from this terror. The weight of the guilt pushed Serena down as she crumpled to the ground, turning in on herself like she’d wanted to since she’d awakened. Silent tears spilled onto the ground as soft cries echoed inside what was now their prison. One of the many cries that would inhabit the room in the coming days.

——

Sometimes the pain made Serena feel like weeks had passed since they began strapping her to the table in the center of their prison. When it had most likely just been a few days, if that. They called it training, but they treated her more like a prisoner of war—she wasn’t a soldier, and hadn’t received training for anything close to similar. She had a gentle soul, clear in her love of animals and bright blossoms, a tenderness that now extended to children. The agonizing, brutal treatment and relentless degradation did not suit her body and spirit.

It was those beautiful things that she thought of as every inch of her body ached. Serena thought of them and the beloved little girl trapped with her in this hell as she repeatedly reached the brink of her limits. Theresa, who had to cover her eyes and ears every time they approached Serena’s cell when her lessons would begin.

When she’d first been free’d from her shackles, she’d run towards Theresa’s cell, slamming herself against it with reckless abandon. She’d grabbed and held the young girl tight through the bars to the point she’d squeezed the air from her lungs. With tenderness, she cupped the girl’s face and showered her with affectionate kisses. Seeing the little girl’s cheeks, red and raw from her frantic attempts to tear away her gag, laced Serena’s heart with fresh sorrow.

Her hand was frantic as it moved through Theresa’s matted hair as she tried to mouth messages to her. Words like “hope,” “love,” and “safety” — she prayed to any god that would listen to help soothe Theresa’s soul. Since their abduction, Serena’s fear that the girl despised her after the incident consumed her, yet Theresa’s tight embrace through the bars brought her comfort. But the absence of judgment in Theresa’s eyes brought Serena a profound sense of peace.

She hoped Theresa understood at least one of her promises before the abrupt arrival of her escort, who led her from her cell to a table. It then became routine; they brought her out, then tied her to the table in the room’s center. Before each session, she’d signal the girl to avert her gaze and muffle her ears; Theresa, initially hesitant, always obeyed, but Serena hated knowing that her screams would be the ones that would haunt the child and that if she’d lost her life, it’d be the last memory Theresa had of her.

Their goal was to break her open and expose what lay hidden within. To possess her mutation and twist her mind in their favor, so that she would be their weapon. She’d try to hold out for as long as she could before she’d cry out, but even then what they wanted wouldn’t come. The destruction they craved never came. All the abuse affirmed was that her power was still there just as it always had been, but that pain or fear wouldn’t coax it. It remained inactive, like a sleeping giant, present yet waiting.

The feeling of freedom had liberated her mutation, yet she was being caged and contained. With every punishment, her connection would wane. There were times she could no longer feel it and thought they’d beaten it out of her, but then she would feel an old familiar sensation inside. Just out of reach, it taunted Serena, who felt it was a deserved punishment for her sins. There were times during her delirium were she hoped they could rip it out of her so everything would stop, but then the fear would return. Thoughts of what consequences would occur if they accomplished her goal.

Of what could happen to this world if they took her mind as they tried to take her strength. Serena knew what had happened when they’d taken Charles’ mind. While it hadn’t been Magneto’s team, he was no fool and knew that she wouldn’t do his bidding even if able. From what Xavier had shared with her, this was a resourceful man, and she didn’t want to find out if she could make someone as strong as The Professor do as she asked. Do as Magneto wanted. Though her fears may be irrational, they isolated her, creating a gulf between her and that part of herself. She determined the risk to be too high, so she’d be as uncooperative as possible until she had no other choice.

Theresa being the choice. She had to hold out long enough not to give them anything and to keep Theresa from being rendered useless. Not knowing Magneto or his team well, she hoped she understood him enough that he wouldn’t hurt a mutant child unless he was out of options. What she didn’t know was what his options were, but Serena wanted to exhaust them all before then. So, she took it all, and unfortunately for Serena, Mystique was inventive and would forever haunt her dreams no matter how long she lived.

Mind games, drugs, pain, sometimes all three. She was in an almost constant state of disillusionment. They didn’t push her too far for fear of ending her life, but she found it to be more maddening. To be pushed so far, wanting it to end forever only to be pulled back for it to start all over again. But after every end, her anxiety would continue to build, as she couldn’t guess when they’d decide they’d had enough of her games and pull their trump card.

In recent sessions, there had been moments where it felt so close, until they broke her spirit once more. Times when it felt so close and she recognized it would take just one turn of a key to release it from its irons, but she hesitated. More than a decade had passed since Serena’s last experience of such unburdened freedom. Since she had poured her heart and soul into her song, touching lives with its beauty, it had become her entire world.

For every tear of pain that fell, one of sorrow accompanied it, but she forced herself to wait. She didn’t know what it was she waited for, but it wasn’t time. Yet she knew when the time came, she’d be ready, so she resisted the seductive sensation of wanting to be freed.

A part of Serena believed that those she now considered family were what she had been waiting for, but she worried. The question of finding them soon hung over her like a heavy cloud of doubt. In her darkest moments, she'd fantasize that when they reunited, she would overcome her own trauma and use her own voice to tell everyone how thankful she was to them. Tell them how much she loved them and how they’ve made her life worth living.

The sensation of hot tears falling from her eyes brought her back to the reality of her lying face down on the floor of her cell. The now-familiar chill of the stone permeated her bones as she contemplated her reality during a period of unexpected rest. She made quick work of her tears before turning to her opposite side, to face Theresa’s cell. Calling the girls’ attention with a shake of her chains.

When they both lay in their cells, they’d often find one another, gazing at each other through the unforgiving bars of their cells. The sight of one another was their only solace, and they would often attempt to convey love and silent promises through their mutual gaze. There were times Serena would try to make funny faces at Theresa or move her body to make the girl smile through her restraints. It’s all she could do for her. Though Serena had often kept her back to the girl, as she just had when trying to hide her tears, though the sounds of her weeping were impossible to ignore since they echoed in the small space. She’d act as if nothing had happened, and when she felt better, she tried to make Theresa feel better too.

This time they just looked at each other, too tired to do more, when Serena picked up a distant sound she hadn’t heard before. The confused look on Theresa’s face as they looked at one another in confusion from opposite ends of the room confirmed she’d heard it too. More distant noises sounded, but none she could make out. Then she heard the now very familiar sound of heavy footsteps coming towards the door.

Into the room burst Sabretooth, in a rush and looking worse for wear. The coat he wore looked torn. Frayed and even burnt in some parts. Stained with dirt and blood that was running down from his brow. Fury filled his blackened eyes while rage contorted his face. Through the door he’d let swing open, she could hear distant cries and yells that were followed by sounds of destruction. But his direct look towards her distracted her as he barreled over to her cell, ripping the doors of her cage open. He roared at her as she watched in astonishment.

“It’s time to shine, girly! We have to cut the fun short!”

He grabbed hold of the chain that anchored her to the ground and tore it free with ease. He cut off her gag with his claws, tearing into her cheek as it came loose. They removed it only during her torture, but this time, a session didn’t seem likely. She stared in awe as he hauled her up and out, realizing he’d gone easy on her when he’d beaten her.

He brought her face to his as he snarled and spat. “You’re coming with me! But first you need to hurry and bring this whole place down so we can get out, you useless bitch!”

Extreme confusion threw her off, making her mouth move like a fish, yet her ears filled with the sounds of what she could only speculate were the sounds of battle. Her heart leapt into her throat at the hope that someone had come and that they had made it in time. That their suffering was over and the nightmare had ended. Ororo, Kitty, Marie, Scott, and maybe even Logan had come! His name tasted sour regarding her predicament, but it vanished as soon as it came as she’d be overjoyed if that grouch were to come bursting through that door.

Sabretooth shook her by her collar.

“Don’t worry about what’s going on out there! You need to be worried about what’s about to happen in here if you don’t get to screamin’.”

She cried out in pain as he threw her across the ground of her personal jail. Another explosion of destruction caught her attention. Sabretooth tore open the bars of the cage Theresa was in. He grabbed the little girl by her neck and swung her, presenting her to Serena as if she were some trophy or won game. His giant hand enveloped the girl’s throat as she dangled in his hand; terror seized Serena.

He held Theresa’s face parallel to his own, making sure Serena would have to look between the sheer look of terror on the little girl’s face and his look of promise.

“Tear this place down now or I’ll snap her neck.”

Serena didn’t know what to do. Since the beginning, the members of The Brotherhood have taken precautions when dealing with them. Whenever around them, they wore auditory protectors in their ears. In case there was a breakthrough, they at least would suffer only minimal damage. But this room, while made of stone and sturdy materials, was crumbling. It was apparent that someone had found and reinforced the room for its intended purpose, but the room’s ability to withstand her destruction was untested.

Serena doubted not only the building’s infrastructure but also the possibility of being trapped with Sabretooth, a bad idea for many reasons. There was no doubt in her mind that his body could withstand a collapse while protecting them, but she couldn’t risk him escaping with them, restarting the cycle elsewhere, and losing their only chance to be free; that was the worst-case scenario.

Her gaze had shifted between Theresa and Sabretooth as she was desperate to find a favorable solution. Then Theresa had caught her eye, as the look of terror on the girl’s face had changed to one of determination. The girl made a scene of clawing at the beast’s hand enclosed around her throat yet made several pointed passes at her ear while throwing several looks at Sabretooth, looking to him sideways. He hadn’t noticed as he just snapped at the girl, shaking her into compliance, but Serena did.

“Alright then, I guess you need a countdown before her head pops off. We’ll start at three!”

Adrenaline flooded her system; she knew what Theresa meant.

“Two!”

They were sonic mutants; they had similar compositions and resistances.

“One!”

But Sabretooth didn’t.

At the moment, everything seemed to play out in just a matter of seconds. Serena watched as Theresa pooled all the strength she had left in her little body into one attack. Since he’d held her so close to him, she could reach out and gouge the side of Sabretooth’s face with her tiny nails. He dropped the girl in favor of clutching his injured ear.

“Argh! You little bitch!”

The moment Theresa had hit the ground, though she crumbled onto her hands and knees, wasted no time launching herself off the ground, flying into Serena’s awaiting arms. She enveloped the little girl’s body with her own and pressed their bodies against the bars of her cell that had held against Sabretooth’s earlier attack. Sabretooth was quick to recover and advanced, but it was too late as Serena’s time had come.

As if someone had released thousands of butterflies inside her, she was sure this was the moment she had longed for. What had slept inside her had awakened as it reverberated inside her. The song was alive as it rushed through her veins, and she knew it would be strong. Reconnecting felt like a warm embrace, a sense of wholeness that eased her mind and soul. Although fear was present, her determination and acceptance conquered it. If death was imminent, then she would rather have a choice and do what she could to save the child.

It was unfortunate for Sabretooth that he hadn’t realized the reason Theresa had attacked him was not only to be released but also to dislodge at least one of his sound blockers. She wouldn’t lie; his face, contorted in an expression of stark terror as she opened her mouth, was a beautiful sight to her. Right before, with a silent breath, she offered a fleeting prayer, a whispered hope to any listening god for the child’s protection and the fighters’ success. Then gave voice to her song.

— Serena woke to the sound of soft cries. Déjà vu. She couldn’t tell how long she had been unconscious, and it took her a moment to collect herself as she surveyed herself as well as her surroundings. Everything was pitch black as she came to, and she could tell she was lying on her back, a heavy weight on her chest. If she hadn’t felt like hell before, she felt like it now. There was fresh pain everywhere, but it felt as if she was floating and lightheaded. Her entire body pulsed along with each beat of her heart, and she attempted to tune in to the situation she was in.

Her throat and chest were sore as she recalled the moment before waking. Her worries proved justified as the foundation had failed. She had put their lives in grave danger, but her reckless plan to hold them by the reinforced cell gates succeeded since the stone did not crush them. As she could hear by the girl’s cries above her, clearer than they’d ever been as she cried into Serena’s chest. She was sluggish but successful as he lifted a lead arm to lie over what she believed to be the crying child.

A gasping rasp answered her. “M-Miss Mar, you’re alive!”

Pitiful sobs followed the exclamation, and Serena smiled. She had the sudden urge to laugh, but the tickle in her chest turned to painful hacking coughs. The taste of blood on her tongue was alarming.

“Miss Mar! Don’t move, you’re… you’re hurt. I—I tried to stop the bleeding as much as I could, but I-I-I don’t know.”

Theresa collapsed into a fit of sobs on top of her. She was glad to hear the little girl’s wails at full volume and was thankful she’d found her way out of her restraints. Though Serena struggled to breathe, the girl’s weight on her chest was comforting. If Theresa was mentioning blood loss, it would explain why parts of her body felt tight and numb, others wet. She noticed that the smell of blood was indeed heavy in the air, thicker than usual. But Serena didn’t know which part of her was worse off as everywhere felt varying degrees of pain or numbness, so she listened to the young girl’s instructions.

Theresa was a smart girl; she was serious about her lessons, and Serena knew the instructors had taught the children some type of first aid. Learning about the school raid, she was furious and terrified for the children’s safety. Storm had reassured her they were strong, and they were teaching them all the skills they needed to help prevent and adapt. Yet, Serena felt terrible that she was the reason the girl would have to scramble for her knowledge now, and the possibility of Theresa being trapped in a caved-in hole, witnessing her death, would forever haunt her. It’d never allow her to rest in peace.

To her sweet and kind Theresa, she expressed deep remorse and sorrow. The girl who helped her find her voice and her love. She felt palpable guilt and regret, convinced she had trapped the girl in this predicament. Serena wished Theresa didn’t have to share the burden of this terrible experience, meant to be her hell alone.

She could tell the blood loss was significant as her processing power was waning and she was having difficulty completing full thoughts. Serena battled to stay awake, her eyelids heavy, terrified that sleep would claim her this time and she wouldn’t awaken. With the threat of death looming, Serena thought of the things that were most important to her. Remembering the things that she had wished for and wanted as the ground soaked up her tears.

There wasn’t enough energy for fear or regret as her brain didn’t have enough power to stop her from doing what she’s wanted to do for so long. She tried to hold the girl as tightly as she could with her last working limb as she flexed her throat. She coughed several times before she made a first successful attempt.

“T… Theresa…”

She spoke in a faint whisper, but for Theresa it was more than clear enough. It felt and sounded like she was listening to someone else speak her words. The ringing in her ears made it difficult for her to focus on how she sounded.

She felt the girl tense and then scramble to sit upright. “Miss Mar… did you just call me?” She did. “Did you just call my name?”

The girl was on the verge of tears again, and Serena smiled in the darkness at the sound of the girl’s incredulous tone. She had several more coughing fits as she tried to deliver the words she wanted to say to her and wanted to cry, realizing that it was only moments from death that she would even attempt to.

“Theresa… love… I love you.”

Her declaration threw the child into hysterics. Theresa blubbered back that she loved her too, begged her to stay with her, and assured her that someone would come for them. The young girl continued making promises to Serena about rescue, but Serena had already fallen silent. She couldn’t hear far beyond her and the girl. Deathly still, she couldn’t tell if the vibrations running through her frame were from the sobs raking the little girl’s body as she cried atop her or the ground they lay on.

Then, as if to answer her question, the surrounding earth rattled, catching Theresa’s attention. She screamed, trying to burrow deeper into Serena’s body. Serena felt perhaps the last vestiges of adrenaline that remained in her body, for the fear that their hole was caving in. Until a small stream of light seemed to burst through near them. They both went silent as the rocks that were shaking moved unnaturally and several more streams of light began bursting between the seams. In her delirium, Serena wanted to laugh and cry.

The incoming light was blinding in contrast to the previous state of total darkness they had been in. The light of the sun was overwhelming as they hadn’t seen it in God only knew how long, but Theresa’s brilliant red hair was visible to her again and she’d missed it. Theresa blocked the sun from not only her eyes but Serena as well as she lay in the shadow she cast. They could now see that the rocks and boulders above their hovel were levitating above and away from them.

As the adrenaline drained from her body, the relief that flooded her system made her want to rest. She had only the strength to look upwards towards the beautiful blue sky above them. As pretty as a painting it was, she considered learning if she had the chance again. If she had the chance.

Serena couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so peaceful as she watched the sky and felt the sun shine down on her. There was no fear, no anxiety, nothing holding her back. She hadn’t even noticed when someone took Theresa from her side. She’d been staring unblinking into the sky above until a shaking hand came across her view. Annoyed by the interruption, someone cupped her cheek, but she forgave them as the blazing heat calmed her. She closed her eyes in contentment as they tilted her face.

“Serena… Serena, I’m right here. Stay with me now. I’m gonna’ to get you out of here, darling.” A familiar voice said.

There was only one man she knew who routinely sweet-talked women like that. Her eyes were heavy, but she forced them open to see who she thought it was. Seeing Logan, she felt overwhelming joy, forgetting any slight she’d ever thrown his way. Either it was how handsome he looked as he whispered sweet nothings to her she couldn’t hear or the blood loss that made her stomach somersault. She loved the way he treated her. So gentle, she believed every word he said to her now, even though she struggled to process them. His eyes told her everything she needed to know, and she offered him a serene smile, but he didn’t return it.

She didn’t understand the devastation that marred his lovely face and wanted to hold it, to bring him the same comfort he brought her. Her arm was lead, and the sensation in it faint as she tried her best to fire every receptor that told her arm to raise itself. Her hand shook to an embarrassing degree as she tried reaching across herself to reach him. He understood her intention and met her halfway, lowering and pressing his face into her dirty palm. His face was scorching against her touch, and she shivered against the contrast to the chilling cold she felt.

Dirt and blood smeared his face. It bothered her to find that something had even singed the ends of his hair. He must have been fighting with everyone before reaching them. Warmth blossomed in her slow-rising chest when she thought of her friends putting their lives on the line as she had. It helped combat the never-ending chill she felt in her body. Even though Logan was victorious and had found them, he looked at her with a level of anxiousness that confused her.

He looked exhausted; he looked as ragged as she felt. It was serious as he took a deep breath and looked at her, following his gaze when it shifted.

“Serena… we’ll get you out of here, I promise.”

She followed his gaze, and the last remnants of her brainpower pieced together what had been so concerning. It looked to be a metal rod from the gate that had been the entrance to her cell, and she saw where Logan had gripped the base of the rod. Realizing it was protruding from the side of her abdomen, she understood the severity of the situation. Theresa hadn’t been overreacting.

“—ena, look at me!”

Serena did what she could to refocus, on the verge of passing out from the shock. Watching as he began shouting things at her, and even though they were so close, she couldn’t hear all of what he was saying, but she could see the desperation in his burning eyes. She hated that so many cried for her today, but she felt so loved in this moment. She wanted to tell him how grateful she was and how everything was going to be okay, but nothing more than a few quiet whispers escaped.

“Logan…”

Serena gave him a lovely smile. Expecting a look of surprise but not the pained expression he wore. His red-rimmed eyes watered as he turned from her. With Theresa out of harm’s way and the horror behind them, there were no more tears that needed to be shed. The sounds of desperate cries and screams no longer sounded around her. Saved at last, before giving in to the darkness, she asked the Wolverine for one last favor.

“Take me home.”

And succumbed to the dark.

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