i just noticed on your 'yuu gets sold' sorta series that there was a good ending, by chance could you do a bad ending one? if not that's totally ok! keep safe and stay healthy ❤️
oh god. I have a very evil idea for this.
parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim
summary: a bad (or good, depending on your stance) ending
type of post: short fic
characters: surprise :)
additional info: yuu is gender neutral, this is short, HELP
Everyone waits.
The chatter and banter which once occupied the courtyard dies down to dull whispers and foot tapping.
Everyone waits, and there's no Crowley.
"Wonderful," Jamil sighs. "He's probably taken all the money and run off. I told you all that-"
"Maybe he's late!" Kalim shouts. A few in the crowd murmur in hopeful agreement.
Silver coughs. "Maybe he realized this whole thing is ridiculous and is processing everyone's refunds,"
They don't like that option as much.
The sun hangs lower and lower in the sky, threatening to shroud everyone in darkness as the minutes tick on.
"Well, I've had enough of this," Vil says, turning towards the exit. "I've put off my afternoon long enough."
"For once, we can agree on something," Leona murmurs, dragging Ruggie along with him.
No one is exactly surprised with this turn of events- but there's a definite sense of disappointment that everyone is sharing.
"He probably just forgot or 'somethin," Epel says, walking alongside Ace, Deuce, and Jack back to Ramshackle to update you on the happenings.
Jack shrugs. "He's definitely not the most organized, but there's no way someone could just "forget" about this. I think Jamil is right, he probably ran off with the money while he could. The swindler..."
Deuce is the next to add something to the pity party. "And yet, we should've known this was a possibility,"
"Shoulda seen it coming..." Epel murmurs. "I shoulda listened to Vil and pulled out while I still had the chance. Dang it..."
The lights are on in Ramshackle as the four approach, a warm and welcome sight after their disappointing afternoon. And the front door is open- were you expecting them?
"Hm. Well, think of it this way," Ace pushes the door the rest of the way open. "We may have been scammed, but at least nothing changes. I mean, it could've been worse."
"A lot worse," Deuce murmurs, following him inside.
The four make it into the foyer and stop dead in their tracks.
There are many things to expect walking into Ramshackle- cobwebs, dust, ghosts, you- Crowley is usually not one of them.
"You- you've been here this whole time?!" Epel shouts, throwing his arms out. "We were all 'waitin for 'ya like a bunch of idjits!"
Deuce and Ace wince. "Dude, chill... but seriously, where were you?"
Crowley doesn't have the chance to answer before something else steals away their attention.
You walk into the room, suitcase in hand. "Guys?"
The four turn to greet you, eyes wide at the luggage you're carrying. "What's that... Crowley?"
The man himself just stands there, pretending to ponder something. "I could have sworn I sent someone to break the news... how peculiar,"
Epel's brow knots. "What news?"
"A third party somehow got wind of our little... venture and donated a very high sum at the last minute. Along with a very passionately worded letter about our dear prefect's safety here at school," he pauses. "Or lack thereof."
Crowley sighs. "The name rung a bell, but... I couldn't imagine how or why anyone outside of NRC would be following the prefect's moves so closely,"
Deuce's eyes narrow. "Crowley. What are you trying to say?"
"Well, I..." he says, seemingly at a loss for words. "I'm afraid to say that our prefect is being transferred to Noble Bell College,"
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Cynthia Lennon truly was gods strongest soldier. Like imagine your husband, your childhood sweetheart, father of your child, the man who carved your name into the churches of Europe as his form of worship. This same man, the man who once wrote you aching letters about wanting to live and be alone with just you, telling you and the world that he can’t be apart from his boy besties for five minutes.
Then barely a year later he gets into a frankly comical amount of LSD, essentially moves in with his most special boy bestie, goes through his multiple affairs in detail with you like a hellish ‘what I did on my holidays’ slideshow, and finally tells you that he wants to leave you by having his mistress/heroin buddy/your former stalker sit on the sofa wearing your dressing gown as you return home from holiday before dragging you through the court until you are broken in every sense. Broken hearted, broken financially and broken homed. You are destitute, in tatters with a little boy he won’t see due to distance and commitment to said former stalker who he is parading round with on a ‘peace and love’ tour whilst filling up rooms with fur coats.
Then a few years later he temporarily splits from his new wife, seems to recover himself slightly and finally trots out a song. A song of apology, contrition, love, devotion, and recommitment full of personal little in jokes and messages. It is a song of love but you can’t understand it because it isn’t to YOU, it mostly isn’t even to HER, but to his FORMER BANDMATE.
HIS. FORMER. BANDMATE.
With hammers. I would have killed him with hammers.
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ghost fucking soap so hard and so good he passes out but he utterly panics about it
he thinks he must’ve ignored soap asking to stop; was it pain that made him pass out? how bad could it have been to make him pass out when he’s been shot and kept going? should he bring him to medical? he’ll never touch him again, he’ll never so much as look at him again; he’ll ask for a transfer- fuck that, a dishonourable discharge. there’s no coming back from this
he spirals, guilt chasing hatred chasing despair chasing fear, until soap finally wakes back up
soap's still floating, loose-limbed and buzzing; fucked so thoroughly out of his head that it takes him a while to notice ghost isn't in bed with him anymore. he frowns, lifting a heavy head off the pillow and freezes. ghost's on the other side of the room, curled up tight in the corner as far away from soap as he could get without leaving him alone
(he would've left, would've made sure soap never had to see his face again and be reminded of what he did to him, of the monster he’d let into his bed- but he couldn't just leave him unconscious; what if he didn't wake up, he had to make sure he was safe first even if he'll rightfully hate him forever when he does wake up)
soap's voice when he calls out to him makes him flinch, his head burying deeper in his knees. cold worry chases the bliss from his blood and soap pushes himself up but his shaking arms can't hold his weight
the sound of him collapsing back onto the bed makes ghost rear up, his panic growing and soap's heart breaks at his red rimmed eyes
it takes a long time for soap to coax him back to the bed, countless loops of, "sweetheart, please, come here, what happened? it's okay, everything’s going to be okay.”
(and how ghost’s self-hatred grows hearing soap comforting him; hearing the concern and love in his voice when he doesn’t deserve a drop of it)
it takes even longer for ghost to believe soap when he says that he passed out because he felt so good; that he never asked ghost to stop, never wanted him to stop. that he trusts him more than anything and knows he'd rather die than ever hurt him, especially like that
“you’re not a monster, love,” he promises, soft with conviction and it’s as much a surrender as a relief when he collapses into his lap and lets him hold him close
ghost believes johnny but he still can't bring himself to be intimate with him for a while; that fear still haunting him, but soap doesn't hold it against him, doesn't complain about ghost's perceived "step back" in their relationship
hell, ghost seems to hate it more than he does; he misses being with soap, misses the connection, the closeness they shared, the safety and quiet he found in his embrace, but he's always trusted soap more than he trusts himself
soap doesn't let him be consumed by his fear or worse, sabotage them and turn it into a punishment; doesn't let him even get through the suggestion of switching because he knows how much he hates it and he won’t let him twist something as good and pure as their physical love into something self-harming
instead, he brings them back to the basics, working through the steps to get ghost comfortable with intimacy again, to get him to trust himself again; spends happy months just grinding and exchanging handjobs like when their relationship first started
and it's a happy day for them both when soap finally falls apart on his cock once again, anxiety the farthest thing from ghost's mind when his arms are wrapped so tightly around him, kissing a smile against his lips
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