#and then he storms out the room despite knowing about the lying disease | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marshmallow-phd · 3 years

Text

Gravity

Genre: Angst, Unrequited Love

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

A/N: This was basically just a therapy write.

What is worth? It is neither tangible nor seeable. It doesn’t have a body or a shell. Yet, the endless chase to catch it, to hold it captive, is a never ending disease that eats away at the brain and tears apart the heart. It’s only descriptor is feeling. A judgement. Something either is or isn’t. When it's an object in question, the call for worth is passive, innocent. It’s wanted or it's not. The deterioration comes into play when the worth is applied to a person.

Kim Junmyeon was worth the world.

With a smile that could chase away a storm and a heart too good and pure for the human populace, he was truly worth more than the world. He was worth more than you deserved.

Not only was his face kind, but it was handsome. Beautiful, even. Candid photos were museum worthy masterpieces. There was a gentleness, a softness to his eyes and cheeks that contradicted the sharpness of his jaw and the strength of his body. His laugh was infectious and his mind as vast and deep as the ocean. The sum of his whole was worth so much.

But you were not worthy of such a person. You weren’t as stunning as a sunset over the mountains or as extraordinary as a new discovery. You were simply… you. Staring from afar, admiring but never touching.

You wished you could be worthy. You wished you could be special enough - good enough to be with him. Pretty enough would be something decent to settle for. But you were invisible. A person on the sidelines. Out of the spotlight. You were an admirer - not one to be admired.

“You’re doing it again.”

You blinked, your attention torn away from the spot where Junmyeon was standing, laughing and chatting with a few of his seniors. Kyungsoo, who sat to your left at the small table in the entertainment building’s cafe, didn’t even look up from the script he was currently reviewing. He’d only been given it the day before and was still considering if he wanted the part that was being offered to him.

Your gaze dropped to the opened yet untouched notebook lying in front of you on the somewhat sticky surface. Someone must have spilled their syprup-y coffee and didn’t do the best job at cleaning it up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Without moving his head, Kyungsoo looked at you over the rim of his glasses. Even though you were sure you were nothing more than a blur to his eyes at the moment, he could always see right through you. “If you keep staring at him like that, you’re going to give yourself away.”

The ultimate nightmare. The humiliation of being found out. The sweet but awkward rejection that you knew would follow. With his laugh still ringing in your ears, you forced yourself to tune Junmyeon out.

Pushing his glasses up his nose with his middle finger, Kyungsoo straightened and closed the script. “We can go somewhere else, if that would help.”

You wanted to argue no. That you weren’t a coward. That you weren’t going to run and hide simply because you looked at him like he was the night sky while you were stuck on the ground. You used to have better control of yourself. You used to be able to hide it better. But lately, it had only gotten worse.

And you were a coward.

“Yeah. Maybe one of the practice rooms is empty.”

“There’s usually one.”

After gathering up your things, you followed Kyungsoo out of the cafe, stealing a final glance. Junmyeon didn’t so much as twitch in your direction. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he hadn’t even realized that you were there in the cafe for the past half hour.

Kyungsoo settled into one corner of the worn navy blue couch while you squeezed into the other. Not speaking a word, he went back to reading the script. That was a nicety of your friendship. Comfortable silence was more than readily available when needed. He didn’t push or give unasked for advice. He was an ear to listen and a presence to take in when you didn’t want to be alone.

You stared down at the notebook in your lap where your next story ideas were supposed to be filling the pages. But nothing was coming out. Not even the vague pictures you’d had earlier this morning. The only things being called to the paper were the sentences held in the invisible tears you refused to shed. Words of wishes and frustrations swirled around inside the tiny droplets, every letter as heavy as lead. Your cruel mind kept echoing at you the conversation that had constricted the air in your lungs.

Two days ago, you’d accidentally overheard a drama staff worker jokingly say that Junmyeon and his current co-star seemed awfully close, more than merely friends. Stomach lurching, you ran to the nearest bathroom. Nothing came out but almost fifteen minutes of deliberate breathing had gone by before you emerged again. Kyungsoo was quick to dismiss the comment after barely three words from you. The effect, however, still lingered.

Despite the history of your intrusive thoughts, you wanted to believe that you could be good enough. That you were worthy of being beside someone like Junmyeon. His co-costar was stunning, even in real life. Someone who didn’t need photoshop to draw out gasps of awe and astonishment. Someone you most certainly couldn’t compete with in any race.

You weren’t asking for much. Just to be able to hold his hand, your fingers interlaced between his own. The fantasy you allowed yourself to indulge in at times wasn’t a grand gesture or a modern fairytale. You wanted simplicity. The smaller moments that could mean so much. Mundane, to some eyes.

Warm sun rays leaked through the closed blinds over the living room windows. A clock on the wall ticked away the meaningless minutes. Sometimes soft music hummed in the background, sometimes there was nothing but silence. Junmyeon would lay across the length of the couch with you wrapped around his side. His fingers would absentmindedly caress your shoulder or arm. In his other hand was a book, held open by his thumb and pinky. Your own hand drifted through his hair while he read aloud.

The two of you had dozens of endless conversations about books. About the ones you loved and the ones you hated. About deeper meanings and the reflections of life. His love of literature - from the celebrated classics to the obscure unknown - had been what initially drew you in. Everything else was what made you stay.

A muscle in your hand cramped. The peaceful scene faded from your eyes. The page was now filled with barely legible, ink-smeared words. You’d written the entire scenario out, along with your heart, without even realizing it.

In a panic, you ripped the paper from its spiral hold, crumpled it up, and tossed it to the trash can across the room. It missed.

“I doubt whatever you wrote was that bad,” Kyungsoo murmured. He read the final few lines of the script and closed it.

“It wasn’t,” you admitted bitterly. “But I shouldn’t have written it.” You described the scene to him while your eyes stayed trained on the loose thread twirling between your fingers.

He sighed. “You’re never going to tell him, are you?”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You’re just stopping yourself.”

You scoffed. “Why would I deliberately set myself up like that? Break me the rest of the way?”

Kyungsoo stared at you, long and hard, his expression blank to those who couldn’t read the tell-tale signs that his thoughts were in overdrive. “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?”

You sniffed, though no tears were yet forcing their way to the surface. “Most days.”

“Then walk away.”

“I can’t.” Your voice broke - just like your heart. The world blurred when you shook your head. “I can’t… simplify it. But-- It’s like I was this stupid lump of rock drifting aimlessly through space, content with my life. Then suddenly, I came across this brilliant star that shined so brightly and… we collided. And now I’m stuck in his orbit. But he just keeps on spinning while my whole world had changed completely. He’s… my gravity. I don’t know anything else anymore.”

“Maybe it’s time to find your own orbit.”

Afraid it might crack again, your voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t know how.”

The door creaked open and your heart leapt. Junmyeon stuck his head inside. Had he overheard everything?

“There you are! I turned away for a second and suddenly you two weren’t in the cafe anymore.”

He’d… He’d seen you? In the cafe?

“It was too loud,” Kyungsoo lied, covering up for you like he always did.

“It’s always too loud for you,” Junmyeon teased. Then his face morphed into that leader-esque expression. “We need to head to rehearsal. You’re welcome to join us,” he nodded to you.

“No, that’s okay,” you said quickly in response. “I have a writer’s meeting.” No, you didn’t, but space felt like the right choice at the moment. You tried not to focus on the lack of disappointment coming from the direction of the door.

“Maybe next time.” Junmyeon slapped the side of the door. “Let’s go, Soo.”

You were actually the first one on your feet, muttering goodbyes to both of them and then walking down the hall perhaps a little too fast.

You didn’t allow your mind to think the whole way home. Every action was done in automatic mode. Only the minimal amount of awareness was used. But when the apartment door clicked behind you, when the near darkness wrapped you up, when the silence crept in and the empty couch mocked you… you broke.

Knees buckling from under you, the cold hard floor came closer and you didn’t leave that spot just inside the room as the tears and sobs crashed out in waves.

This was what you hated the most. The breakdowns that came with no excuse. They were built up by your own mind, by your intrusive thoughts. You tortured yourself with what you could never have. The attacks were random and it was only recently that you had learned to hold them in long enough until you were safe within your own walls. One time, you hadn’t made it. Kyungsoo had been there to pat your shoulder.

Kyungsoo. He was right.

That clarity was coming through as the tears dried and your breathing evened out again. You needed space. You needed to separate yourself from what wasn’t good for you and not see him. Not even have the temptation to.

This was going to hurt like hell.

The office somehow looked smaller with the bare walls. Since the day you moved in, you tried to liven it up, give it character, make it reflect the interests you loved. How were you supposed to write if this place felt like a stifling corporate desert, dry of any creativity?

Not that you ever actually wrote in this twelve by eight space. This place had been reserved for meetings and other usually boring necessities. You didn’t know the next time a budget meeting or an email check would be conducted here. You could be back in a few months and move back in as if you never left. Or someone else could take over. Only time would tell.

The box that currently had your attention was nearly full. You’d have to come back for the rest. There wasn’t much left, anyway. You took another look around to see if there was anything else you could do at the moment. The monitors were black, the tower underneath - so much smaller than the one you’d had as a kid - was powered off, and the chair that was aligned just so to your favored adjustments was pushed into the gray desk. Saying goodbye to this place really did hurt.

But you needed to do this.

And yet, you felt like you were drowning, being dragged deeper into the black water. Your lungs were screaming for relief.

“You’re really leaving?”

Your shoulders stiffened. At first, you didn’t look up at him. You weren’t sure what to say to him. Being here… it was the last place you expected him to be today. Kyungsoo would have told him, but you wouldn’t have waited around for him to appear.

“Hi, Junmyeon.” You folded up the top of the box, overlapping the pieces so it would stay shut in transport.

“I thought you liked it here?”

“I love it,” you confessed. “But I- I need to go home for a little while.”

“Are you homesick?”

“Something like that.” Definitely some version of sick.

He nodded. “Will you be gone long?” His eyes drifted over the holes in the walls leftover from the frames that used to hang in front of them.

“I don’t know.” You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. This was…. You should go. Pushing your fingers under the box, you started to lift it to take it home.

“Do you have to go?”

The question stalled you. Confused, the box went back down on the desk. “Why are you here, Junmyeon?”

He shrugged, though it didn’t shake off the stiffness in his shoulders. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his arms all the way to his wrists covered up by the sleeves of his shirt. Lately he had been rolling them up. You wondered what had changed today. “You’re our friend.”

Friend.

Friend. Friend. Friend.

The word rang over and over like a declaration of war. Our friend.

The smart thing to do would have been to nod, say goodbye, and leave. But - instead - you opened your mouth.

“I will always be your friend.”

That didn't make him smile like you would have thought. “So, then why do you have to leave?”

You rubbed your eyebrow, fighting within yourself. You lost.

“Have you ever had a friend so head over heels for someone that won’t even look at them twice? But they don’t care? Because as long as the person they’re looking at is happy, then they’re happy. Even if your friend is completely miserable in the process. Because they no longer care about their own self. They just keep looking at the other person, doing anything that entails that they’re still happy.” You swallowed thickly to try and keep your voice steady. By your sides, your hands were trembling at this roundabout confession. “And you want to shake them. You want to tell them to get out. Because as long as they stick around, they won’t look at one else. No one else exists. Well, this is me. Getting out.”

The frown on Junmyeon’s face deepened as he let your words sink in. “Who is it? Will you tell me?”

No. Because this was enough of an admittance. Because it was time to find your own sense of gravity.

So, without a word, you picked up the box and left the office.

Waiting for you when you came back was the scene you had written in the practice room that day, flattened out but still wrinkled as it laid on the desk.

#exo #kim junmyeon x reader #kim junmyeon #kim joonmyeon #suho #suho x reader #exo oneshot #exo drabble #exo angst #exo unrequited love #kpop

118 notes · View notes

shutupanddance · 3 years

Text

Bones / Reader — Remember Me

Hey my fellow fan fiction people, I have MAJOR writer’s block, and I really want to get these requests done, so I’m hoping that this will snap me out of it.

Warning: this is angst!!

How would Bones react to your death?

Normal text is present time, and blocks of italic text are memories!

Enjoy ;)

Dr. Leonard McCoy is experiencing a “slow day” in medbay. Not that there isn’t the occasional ensign coming in with a scrape or broken bone, but it’s nothing like when the away missions come back.

Speaking of away missions, you were on one now. You weren’t scheduled to come back for a week, though. You were a microbiologist, so your missions were usually much longer, and consisted of more time going back and forth between your lab on the Enterprise and the planet you were stationed on.

The personnel staff realized pretty quickly that very little got done when you and McCoy were on a mission together. The doctor was so worried for his fiancé that he spent more time making sure you were safe than doing his job. So, it was a rare thing nowadays that you’d be put on a mission together.

Spock is suddenly in medbay.

“What are you doing here?” Leonard grumbles, glancing over his shoulder.

When Spock doesn’t respond immediately, he turns. Something is wrong, Leonard can tell. But whether Spock has a common cold or the ship is about to explode, he can’t tell.

“Captain Kirk requires your assistance on the bridge.” Spock states coolly. Odd.

“Are you sure? Can’t he just ask me through a holopad like everyone else-”

“Please come with me, doctor.”

Doctor McCoy follows, but he grumbles the whole way.

As soon as he’s in the elevator, another team rushes into medbay. They’re surrounding a gurney. And attached to that gurney is a heart monitor, which is beeping slow. Dangerously slow.

You’re not really sure why you got picked for the Enterprise. I mean, it’s Starfleet’s flagship, for crying out loud! But here you are, working away in one of the most advanced labs you’ve ever seen, floating many many miles from home.

You’re still processing all this when a beaker slips out of your hands, and shatters violently on the floor.

Luckily, no one else is in your lab right now. You stay calm, walking on careful feet, and retrieve a broom. As you’re sweeping, though, you realize blood is running down your fingers.

One of the shards of glass must have flown up and cut me, you realize.

You carefully wrap the small wound and apply pressure, then begin walking to medbay.

The nurses don’t immediately notice you, probably because you’re just standing there looking like you’re out for an evening stroll, but soon enough one happens to glance directly at the gauze you have wrapped around your forearm.

“Oh, dear!” She says, guiding you to a bed. “Dr! Dr. McCoy!”

Out from a nearby office walks Dr. Leonard McCoy. He’s got dark hair, the most alert eyes you’ve ever seen, and damn he’s hot.

“What happened to you?” He grunts.

“Beaker broke. Shard of glass flew up and cut me. No other injuries, and there’s no glass in the wound. I was able to stop most of the bleeding, but I think I’ll need stitches.”

An eyebrow goes up.

“Alright, why don’t you sit down and I’ll take a look.”

You didn’t know it, but in that moment, Leonard McCoy nearly fell head over heels for you. And all he showed for it was a raised eyebrow.

The Captain will not stop insisting that he needs a plan for contagious diseases on the Enterprise.

“We already have one,” Leonard reminds him.

“But will it work? Do we have one for different situations? For instance, if we’re docked on a hostile planet-”

“Are you trying to keep me from my job!?” Leonard asks, more as a pointed jab, but when the room grows uncomfortably silent, he realizes he’s right on the money.

What else does he realize? That every face in the room looks forlorn. And a bit defeated.

“What’s got everyone so depressed?” He asks, swiveling to see the entire bridge crew. No one answers.

Finally, Spock clears his throat.

“We wanted to keep you away from medbay while the doctor’s worked on Y/N.”

There’s a moment, a brief moment, where Leonard’s brain stops working. And he’s paralyzed with fear. But, it doesn’t last for long.

“WHAT!?!”

Jim steps in.

“She was injured on the away mission. Some animal we’ve never seen before came out of nowhere and attacked.”

Bones is trying to get away.

“She saved everyone else’s lives by luring the beast away, doc,” one of the crew is saying, but he doesn’t care. He needs to get to you-

The door to the bridge rolls open. M’Benga is standing there.

And Leonard has never seen the man look so guilty, so distressed, so sad.

“Watch the Coreolis Anjankus!” You say, pulling a red shirt away from a very poisonous plant. You pass him to Dr. McCoy, who pushes him even farther away.

“I thought you were a microbiologist?” He chuckles.

“With a minor in botany!” You smile.

You were one of the few scientists Leonard found to be cool under pressure, and the only one with real common sense. Still, despite all you knew about the dangers of every planet, you were always completely relaxed. If he was being honest, the doctor envied you (just a little bit).

“Tell, me, how did you get stuck with this motley crew?” He asks, eyes trained on the Captain, watching for any dangers.

“I’m not really sure,” you admit. “They just sent me a message one day asking if I wanted to join.”

“And you said yes.”

“Of course I did! Have you seen the labs on the ship?!”

Leonard laughs.

“I’m a nerd, I know, but this assignment is everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

Dr. McCoy finds himself staring at you, suddenly. He doesn’t really remember how he got here. All he can think of is the fact that your heart’s not beating. That your body is mangled and bloody and despite M’Benga attempting to close the wounds, you look horrible.

It seems ironic, almost, in that instant. The woman who never worried about anything is lying mauled in a biobed. Dead.

The medical idea of death has settled in Leonard’s mind. No beating heart, no brain activity. But what he can’t wrap his head around is you being gone. You’ve always been there. And, for a moment, he’s convinced that if he sniffles too loud, you’ll hand him a tissue. If he mentions he’s hungry, you’ll wake back up, dig through your duffel bag, and pull some food out.

But you’re not moving.

“Where’s her duffel bag?” He asks, voice as loud and cranky as ever.

Kirk hands your bag over.

Bones reaches in, and digs around until he feels something soft. A teddy bear. He places it on your chest, and lifts your arms to hug it. The soft fur stains with blood.

It’s a horrific scene, the one in front of them.

A village destroyed by a massive storm system. Houses leveled, fields of crops uprooted, and hundreds of people injured or dying or dead.

But you’re standing there, cool and calm as ever, handing out blankets. You smile gently at each villager who steps up, and ask them in one of their native languages what else they need. You direct them to different crew members who can help.

One kid walks up, so young you have to crouch to be eye-level with them. He’s alone. And he looks so terrified, so empty, that you immediately wrap him in a hug. He clings on for dear life.

When he finally let’s go, you begin to explain to him that he needs to see the doctor. He shakes his head so hard you’re afraid his neck will snap. You say some more words in his language, and reach into your duffel bag.

You pull out a teddy bear. The boy smiles, ever so slightly, and immediately gives it a tight hug.

You speak encouragement at him, something about bravery, and the little boy makes his way over to the medical tent with his head held high.

All this Leonard watches. You look at him. He looks at you. And for a while, an unspoken respect passes between the two of you.

He asks you later why you had the teddy bear.

“I always have one on me,” you smile sadly. “You never know when you might need one.”

The ship docks at Command, and the usual celebratory revelries aren’t being heard. The crew is somber.

Your body, encased in a beautiful casket, is loaded onto a small carrier vehicle. Jim, Leonard, and Spock follow it as it weaves its way through the halls.

Your parents are there, and the funeral is quick. No one can really find the strength to say what they want to. No one can choke through their tears long enough to tell your story.

Bones is the last to leave. He watches your casket for hours, almost as if he’s waiting for you to spring out and laugh and kiss him, promising it’ll never happen again, promising you’ll never leave him…

He smiles. A memory-

The town of traders on this new small planet offered the Enterprise crew a place to stay overnight, and Kirk had agreed.

Their houses stood on stilts overlooking an ocean, and there were beautiful torches that burnt blue everywhere to light the paths. Bird-like creatures swooped through the town, twittering and squeaking.

You’re watching them silently through a window, a soft smile on your face. Leonard is sitting next to you on the bed, kissing your shoulder.

Two of the bird things get into a fight, and screeching is heard. Feathers fly.

You laugh, loud and unapologetic, as they tussle. Leonard laughs too. He’s smiling at you as you watch them, so completely wrapped up in how beautiful you are.

You fall back onto the bed, hair flying everywhere. You’re still giggling.

You look at your fiancé, enjoying watching him watch you. You feel comfortable. The house is warm and the blue firelight traces his face. The face of your love.

Leonard is wondering how on earth he landed you. How he convinced you to love him. But he truly has no idea. You’re lying there, eyes locked with his, gazing with so much love he feels he’s going to burst.

You lying there like that, hair spread out on the bed, a lazy smile on your face, eyes sparkling with the reflection of torches… he locks that picture in his mind.

And Leonard thinks that he’ll always remember you this way.

#reader insert #star trek reader insert #star trek #Star trek reboots #star trek fanfiction #star trek headcanon #bones x reader #bones imagine #leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy imagine #masterlist

104 notes · View notes

oneshotnewbie · 3 years

Note

We need to know what happens with B!D and Alex after coughing blood 😱

A/N: Your wish is my command! :) ♥ --- When you got to the emergency room, you were separated from your sister. While she was talking to the doctor about what had happened, you were immediately placed in one of the treatment rooms and wired to the monitor by a nurse. A vein access was also placed and blood was taken from you without a holding hand by Alex or Kara to your suffering.

The monitor next to you beeped incessantly and the kidney bowl filled with blood with every choke and displaced breath. The doctor must also have heard it from the outside so that he and Alex stormed in and looked questioningly at the screen. "Her saturation is at 80%, the body's gas exchange is bad for her age and shouldn't be less than 95%."

He walked around you and with the help of the redheads he sat you up. While she held you up, he put a stethoscope on your back and listened to your lungs as you tried to breathe in as deeply as you could. The air was getting thinner for you. "Rattling noises and not fully exposed lungs. Your sister's body can no longer fully absorb oxygen and release carbon dioxide."

"And what now?" she asked panicked and kept turning to the door, hoping the blonde would come in and help her. For her too it was more than shocking to see you like that.

"Massive bleeding can make breathing so difficult that it can be fatal." he took a deep breath and was about to continue when Alex interrupted him. "Deadly?"

"Yes. The risks arises from the fact that blood runs into other sections of the lungs that are not affected by the bleeding and breathing can be impaired, which, if not acted quickly, can lead to death by suffocation."

A moment when everyone felt as if the hospital had been emptied. You couldn't hear anything anymore, no people romping about in the hallways, no sirens, nothing. Just the beeping. "Does she have any pre-existing conditions that should be known about? Allergies?"

"No previous illnesses, until last night she was a perfectly fit and healthy girl. Pollen allergy, hay fever. Those are the only allergies she has." Alex was desperate. Even if she knew they were routine questions, she just wanted him to stop asking and finally help you.

"No cardiovasbular diseases or lung cancer from the sides of her mother or father?"

"No, no. Nothing."

He turned away from Alex while he turned to the nurse and spoke to her. "Attach four liters of oxygen to her and watch her for changes. Someone from the radiology will be here in a moment and take her up for a contrast-enhanced computed tomography where we may see more. On the other hand, we sent her blood to the laboratory to see if there are any indications of a pathogen or inflammation."

"Thank you, doctor."

He disappeared with a nod and left you alone with your sister. His word made you panic. You began to tremble uncontrollably and tears ran down your cheeks but Alex was not yet aware of that.

She stood in front of your bed, her hands on the bed frame while she looked down at the floor and took a few deep breaths. She also had to pull herself together after said words and now shot any fear towards you. She knew that she had to be the strong one now to offer you hope and security.

Only after hearing the ventilator roll across the fake tile floor did she look up and see you. Completely finished with your nerves and with the strenght at the end you layed there and looked at her with tired and tearful eyes.

Immediately she grabbed a chair and sat down next to you. She was too scared to crawl on your bed and lie down next to you to hug you so she took your hand in hers and laid her head on your chest. "Hey baby, calm down. Everything will be alright!"

Your heart was racing and your breaths became even more uncontrolled than in the situation anyway. All the blood loss and exertion made you dizzy itself so when it came to having a panic right now, you would lose the battle and get unconcious.

So with all the strength left, you tried to keep track of your eldest sisters breathing and the circles that she was drawing on your hand. But where was Kara?

"Kara."

"She will be there as soon as you are back from the CT, I promise." she spoke softly and listened to your heartbeat. Despite the oxygen, your breathing became shallowed and the concern for you grew with every single second.

---

During your CT, Kara had arrived at the hospital and joined her morbidly panicked older sister who was waiting for news in the waiting room. She knew roughly how long such a CT scan would take and so she didn't understand why you still weren't brought back.

It was only after a while that your attending doctor came to your sisters and took them to the treatment room where you were lying before. "So, your sisters blood values are in the normal ranged based on the inflammation. However, the D-dimers and other values that indicate a pulmonary embolism were increased. We also discovered these during the CT with the contrast agent."

"Whats happening now?" Kara said in a whisper and put on an arm around Alex who, visibly shocked, didn't know what to say.

"She was immediately sent to the cath lab where the doctors use a catheter to loosen and remove this clot. Of course under general anesthesia so nothing can go wrong or further bleeding can't occur if she moves."

After talking to the doctor, they were sent to the ward where they excitedly were waiting for you to arrive again. While Alex tried process everything, Kara tried to calm her down and get her to sit down since she was awake for almost 36 hours now. But the older one was stuborn and refused to sleep. She knew that she could only close her eyes when your were besides her again.

---

After you got upstairs in the room, you were still very fuzzy from the rest of the anesthetics and the painkiller that you were given preventively so that you weren't quite awake even tho you realised everything.

As you looked through the room with half open eyes, you saw Alex now soundly asleep in the chair next to you, but still holding your hand tightly in hers to feel if something was wrong while Kara was sitting at the table in front of your bed, eating some chips from the vending machine and typing on her laptop.

"You're beautiful." you slurred out and Kara frightened before she realized who was talking.

"You are finally awake!" She whispered smiling and sat down on the free space at your feet. "You scared the shit out of us, you know that? You even knocked Alex off her feet!" she pointed to the redhead next to you and laughed.

"How can something like you be so pretty?"

"I beg your pardon?" she questioned while realizing that it was not you who were talking but all the drugs in your system.

"You are an alien and probably already tens of thousands of years old. How can you have such smooth skin and such soft hair?" you asked still cloudy in your head, not pretty sure what you were talking even though the words came spilling out of your mouth and you simply couldn't control it.

"Well, aliens don't always look like they do in movies." the blonde giggled and watched you looking at her with almost closed eyes as if you were scanning her from top to bottom.

"Aliens are green and ugly. You are very different, you are human."

"I am not Y/N, and you know that. Probably not now but you know. How many times have you flown with me?" Kara asked and watched you how you struggled for an answer.

"You lowered down on a huge rope and got carried around by and airplane. I see through your magic tricks."

Even if it wasn't appropriate to film this status of you, she did it anyway to show you what came out of your mouth during your medical drug trip. The blonde laughed out loud and covered her mouth so as not to wake Alex. She watched you slowly return to sleep and follow your oldest sister into the dream world.

90 notes · View notes

guiltydumpling · 3 years

Text

The Guard: Chapter 5

[KUVIRA X READER ROYAL AU]

Summary: “I called you all here to announce that we have a guest arriving sometime later today. Princess Y/N of the Kingdom of Elysian” The people in the throne room looked at one another confusingly. “Their palace was under sieged and the king had to send the princess away to keep her safe from any assassination attempts. Their kingdom has done a lot for us and has proven to be great allies for generations. She’s come a long way and has been traveling for a week, I expect nothing less than for all of you to treat her as you do a member of the royal family and to attend to everything and anything, she might ask for… This poor child has already been through too much.” There was silence in the throne room for a while, as they let the information sink in. “Dismissed.”

A/N: Hi beautiful beings <3 Holy crap i’m back and I know it took me like a thousand years to update and I really have no excuse for that but I’ve been receiving messages and question about whether or not I will continue this story and guess what... YES I WILL! there’s only about 2 chapters left after this and an epilogue so watch out for that and thank you so much for the support! This is my first ever fic so I never expected to get this much love from the readers! anyway... Enjoy ;)

Word Count: 4.7k

~ ~ ~

He’s dead… your father is dead. They told you he was poisoned by the wine that was served during the peace negotiation meeting, that the poison didn’t take effect until he was brought into his chambers for the night and his mouth started to foam, blood coming out of his nose and ears, before he collapsed on the floor and that his body wasn’t discovered until the next morning when his servants would usually get him ready for the day. You were saddened by your father’s death but mostly angered.

You were sat on the training grounds on the bench where you first opened up to Kuvira about your kingdom’s situation. You felt your eyes burn from all the tears you have shed for not only your father but your home. You stared at the stars that lit up the dark sky and all you could think about in this moment was your sister. How different things would be if she were still here you thought.

A few moments later and you did not move from your position when you hear someone walking towards you. You didn’t have to turn around to see who it was because you already knew who would be stupid enough or brave enough or both, to follow you when you clearly wanted to be alone.

“I’m sorry about your father” Kuvira spoke a few feet from where you were sitting.

“Why are you sorry? You weren’t the one that killed him” you said coldly. All manners and sensitivity abandoned.

She didn’t speak for a while and you turned your head to finally meet her eyes. They were sad and full of worry for you and somehow you felt a pang of guilt, she just wanted to be there for you. “Sit with me?” you ask her in a softer tone, and she does. You grab her hand to intertwine your fingers with her and you place it on your lap turning your attention back to the stars as you both sat there quietly.

Kuvira loved to banter and tease, it was basically her form of endearment not only towards you but to everyone around her that she cared about. Despite that, she knows exactly when you just needed silence and her presence alone. This was one of those times and you were so thankful for that.

“I guess I’m a queen now” you say as a matter of fact and she hums in response.

“I would be lying if I said that I never wanted to be queen. I’ve thought about it once or twice when I was a stupid child, but I would always push the thought back when I would come to the realization of what exactly being queen would cost me.” And you were right. It cost you everything. Your sister, your father, your home, your happiness, your freedom, everything.

“Have I ever told you about my sister?” you asked her, not tearing your eyes away from the sky.

“No. But I know you two were close” She says

“We were.” You gently smiled at the memory of you and your sister running around court, hiding from your guards because all you wanted to do was play in the garden all day. You two were inseparable.

“My father would often joke about how we were practically joint at the hip.” You continue and you see Kuvira smile gently from your peripheral.

“We were both opposites in everything. From our duties, to our skills, even to our aspirations. You see, my sister loved being a firebender. You should have seen her when she first discovered her gift, she nearly burned down the garden.” You say with a slight laugh.

“Our father had her trained by the best masters in our kingdom and she became a master herself. She was stubborn as well, that’s what made her a great fighter. She was outspoken and rowdy and very much like my father when he was in his youth. Or at least that’s what our servants would tell me. I on the other hand took from my mother, I was quiet and timid, I devoured book after book, practiced the discipline of art and music, and I wanted pretty much nothing but to be able to see the world and its beauty and culture. That was my destiny. To share my gift of knowledge to the people around me, and hopefully contribute to it. However, my sister, was destined to stay in Elysian and be responsible for our family’s line and heritage. But she had other plans in mind. She wanted to become a soldier, she wanted to fight, and that meant having to renounce the family name and her title in order to do so, and you can only imagine how furious father was when she told him. They got into a huge fight after that conversation and they barely talked afterwards. That’s when their relationship started to wither. She would often escape at night to go to town and observe civilians living their life according to their will, she told me it was fascinating, and she was jealous of them all, then she met this man. He was just a farmer’s son and he didn’t know the real identity of my sister, so he pursued her, and they fell in love. But one of the roaming soldiers caught them half undressed in one of the stables behind the man’s home and they dragged the man away for violating her highness.” You paused for a while, remember the poor man’s face, he was so terrified and clueless at the time. Dragged in chains, when all he was doing was spending the night with the woman he loved and thought he knew.

“They sentenced him to be exiled and had his family’s land stripped from them as payment for dishonoring royal blood with peasant hands. I heard his father was killed in an alley by angry citizens because of the deeds of his own son, and that his mother died from a disease that could not be treated because they no longer had the means to pay for medication, leaving his little sister to sell herself to desperate low-life men just to be able to fill her stomach. My sister had every right to be furious. She was put under supervision the entire day and had the guards stationed in her chambers doubled at night. Chantou ordered the exile sentence of the man and told my father that he should find my sister a husband soon so that this kind of thing does not happen again. And that’s what my father did. He wrote a proposal to one of our allies and they agreed that marrying their offspring would make a better knot than any treaty would.” You shake your head in disapproval of the memories and let out a sigh of pity for your sister.

“Months passed and her marriage was nearing. She barely left her room so I only saw her once a week at best, and whenever she would have conversations with my father it would end in a screaming match or at least one of them storming out of the room. My father believed that what he was doing was for the best, or at least that’s what he told himself when Chantou was basically gaslighting my father into forcing my sister into submission… The night before her wedding, she didn’t leave her room the entire day. It was late at night when I heard a crash in her room since I was only across the hall from her. When I tried to check on her myself, she was being held down by two of the guards and she was thrashing around, blood on her feet and knuckles while her handmaiden tried to calm her down. She was having a meltdown basically. When she saw me enter the room, she settled down quite bit and just started crying hysterically while her handmaiden looked at me with pleading eyes not knowing what to do anymore. The room was a mess, there were shards of glass on the floor and flipped furniture but all I could think about was how I barely recognized her. She was much thinner, her eyes were circled dark, and her hair was all over her face. I felt so bad for her.” You say feeling your chest tighten.

“I told the guards to let her go and that I would take care of her which immediately got her to finally settle down and I had her handmaiden and guards leave us alone so I could personally attend to her. Which I did. None of us spoke as I cleaned her up and put her in bed before I attempted to clean up the mess, she made in her room. I didn’t want to leave her just in case she woke up and had an episode again, so I decided to sleep on the couch of her room. A few moments later I was woken up by a cold breeze and when I opened my eyes, I saw the balcony window wide open and I immediately searched for my sister on her bed, but she wasn’t there anymore.” You feel the tears start to brim in your eyes, but you held it down not wanting to cry anymore.

“I immediately got up and went straight to the balcony and that was when I saw her… just standing still on the railings, wind blowing her nightgown and unkempt hair. I didn’t know what to do and I… I was frozen in place. But I called her, and she looked back at me with tears in her emotionless eyes as she told me she loved me. I told her I loved her back and that I would always be there for her… I was begging her to come down from the railing, but she just stared at me…then she asked me if I really loved her, which of course I said yes to, and then she smiled, for the first time since the day of her lover’s exile she smiled… the only reply she gave me was “good. Then take care of everything for me okay?” those were her last words and she just… jumped. And I don’t remember much but I think I was screaming? Or maybe I was trying to, but nothing seemed to come out. But I passed out on the balcony and woke up in my room with my father sitting on the foot of my bed only to tell me that my sister committed suicide.” You finish, and you swallow the lump in your throat as you held Kuvira’s hand tighter.

“Is that why your sister’s death took such a big toll on your father? Perhaps he felt like it was his fault?” She asked carefully and you nod your head to confirm.

As much as Kuvira felt bad for your sister she couldn’t help but feel her blood boil. How could your sister do that to you? Leave all the mess she created to you? Even the audacity to take her life in front of you while you were begging her not to. Why did everything have to fall on your shoulders?

And now your father is gone, your home is in a civil war, and you were blaming yourself for everything when none of this was ever in your control. You had such big dreams, and you had such a big heart. Why is that all being wasted on a mistake you didn’t make?

Call Kuvira biased, but you absolutely did not deserve any of this.

After a while you chuckled lightly at the stars before you, causing Kuvira to raise an eyebrow at you. “What’s so funny?” she asks, and you simply shrug

“When my sister died, I was so angry… I wanted to lash out on everyone and everything but my father… He was silent. I would often catch him sitting on my sister’s balcony at night staring at the sky and when I asked him why, he told me that he used to do that too when my mother passed away. He said that our ancestors used to say that when somebody we love crosses the afterlife, they become our guardians… and the stars we see are actually their eyes looking down on us from the heavens.” You explain

“That’s beautiful” She comments

“It’s bullshit” you state abruptly. “I always thought it was stupid, something old people would say to comfort the young when they would lose someone” you paused, eyes still searching the stars. “But why is it that all I’m trying to do right now is look for their eyes?” you wonder out loud. Desperation perhaps? You wanted a sign, anything, that will indicate what to do next. If the stars were really your loved ones watching over you, then why has nothing in your life worked out for you?

You felt alone. Then you turn to the person beside you. The person who was still holding your trembling hands and sat beside you in your darkest moment and will continue to do so as long you allow her to. You weren’t alone. You had her. She was the only one you had.

You turn to her, taking your free hand, you bring it to her face and slowly caress her cheek. She looks at you with a slight confusion at the sudden affection but places hand above yours anyway.

“Promise me something.” You whisper to her “Promise me that your different. That you’ll stay… Promise me you won’t leave me?” you whisper in a desperate tone, tears threatening to fall from your eyes and Kuvir smiles gently at you. “I love you. Spirits know how much I do… I promise I’ll never leave you.” Kuvira whispered back, lump forming in her throat.

She promised you that she will never leave you and she knew in her heart and her soul that she never could even if she tried. But everything’s different now. You had duties; you were queen. No amount of love in this stupid world could ever provide you a legitimate heir with her. It was you who had to leave her.

She pulled you into a hug and you pressed your cheeks against her chest, letting your tears flow freely once more. “I love you so much” you sniffled.

~ ~ ~

You were now seated on the edge of your bed with Kuvira sprawled on the sheets beside you.

“I think the Avatar may be paying us a visit tomorrow” She stated

“Yeah?” You asked unconsciously eyes glued to your lap. You feel Kuvira shift from her initial position to crawl over to your side on the bed before snaking her arms round your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder. “hey…” she whispered gently, and you hummed in response, still not moving a muscle.

“You need to rest” she said her tone laced with concern for you.

You did need rest. Your eyes were sore from crying and you simply don’t have enough energy to even hug Kuvira back. You were so tired.

You nodded you head and turn your face towards her and kissed her cheek as you smile gently at the woman. “Scoot over” you say, and she does exactly that.

You laid under the covers in the dark, your legs tangled with Kuvira’s arms wrapped around you as you rest your head on her chest feeling her calming breath.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked after a few moments of silence.

“Honestly? Your guard.” She said with a slight chuckle

“What about him?” you asked in curiosity

“He must be wondering why I still have not left your room” she responded, and you gave a light laugh

“Don’t worry… He’s a great secret keeper” you assured her, and she simply nodded, trusting your judgement.

“Stay with me ‘til I wake up?” you asked her, and she lets out a sigh causing you to look up and meet her emerald eyes. “Please?” you pleaded, and she looks at you sadly, already giving you the answer to your question. “It’s fine.” You simply say turning away from her once more and you feel her hand gently caress you.

“You know I would if I could… please don’t be upset.” She explained and you simply shook your head

“No, I’m not upset… I understand you have your duties, it’s just… sad.” You explain

“Damn… love sucks.” Kuvira mutters and you couldn’t help but give light chuckle nodding your head in agreement.

“Yeah… it does.” You responded.

After a few moments you started to feel your eyes go droopy and you felt Kuvira’s breathing slow down as well. “Stay beside me in the meeting tomorrow, okay?” you muttered half asleep earning a hum of acknowledgment from Kuvira as you both gave in to the comfort of sleep.

~ ~ ~

You woke up the next morning from the sunlight peeking through your curtains and you slowly open your eyes. Instinctively, the first thing your body does is stretch your arm across your bed to Kuvira’s side only to feel a pang of disappointment when she was no longer there. You knew she wouldn’t be. But you couldn’t help but hope.

As per usual, Zhu Li helped you get ready for the day, dressing you in all black as a sign of grief and the next thing you know you were seated in the war room across the Avatar. Your guard and Empress Suyin were in the room as well, with Kuvira seated beside you.

“We received a message from Elysian, it’s addressed to you, your majesty.” Your guard starts, retrieving an envelope and handing it over to you.

The room was quiet while they patiently waited for you to finish the letter. It was from Chantou. And he was asking your hand in marriage. Why were you not surprised?

Chantou was not a nice man. He was greedy and always wanted what he could not have, but even though, he was smart about everything. All his moves calculated from the very beginning or you wouldn’t have been in this mess otherwise.

You knew exactly why he was asking your hand in marriage. Your marriage would make him legitimate because as of now, to the eyes of your people, he was a usurper, which was exactly what he was. But with you as rightful heir, Elysians will accept him. Your people loved the royal family and for a traitor like Chantou who did not have any claim to the throne, it was no question if the Elysian people might kill him themselves. He needed you. And as much is made your stomach churn, you needed him too. At least for now, as you try to claim your birth right. You needed the nobles on your side again, and right now, they were loyal to him.

You look up from the letter to meet 4 pair of eyes on you, eagerly waiting for you to tell them what was on it.

“Chantou’s asking my hand in marriage” you finally say, and their reaction were exactly what you expected. Confusion, anger, disgust, and for the woman beside you, fear.

“Like hell you would!” The avatar exclaimed but you simply kept quiet.

“He must be crazier than I thought if he thinks you are ever going to agree to that!” Kuvira commented but still, you remained silent. “Right?” she pressed, her eyes trying to meet yours, but you refuse. Instead, your eyes meet Suyin’s. She knew exactly what you were thinking, and she knew exactly why he was asking your hand in marriage. In her time as an empress, she has probably seen all kinds of tactics people use just to gain the power they didn’t deserve. This was one of them.

“Your majesty.” Kuvira speaks once more, this time in a lower more demanding tone and you finally meet her eyes.

“I’ve decided to accept it.” You finally say and together with the avatar and your guard, Kuvira give you a look of disbelief.

You decided to explain yourself and your decision to them. Talking to them about why he asked your hand in marriage and why you were willing to accept such terms. The Avatar, being her usual brash self, told you to just take Elysian back by force. But you rebutted by arguing that you did not have enough men or resources to do such thing. Meanwhile, Kuvira was kept silent. Her jaws were clenched and was breathing heavily but you tried your best not pay much attention to it as you stood by your decision.

After a few moments of discussion Suyin finally speaks up. “Maybe we should give this a little more thought and process… Of course, I’m not suggesting that you have not your majesty” She said, careful to not offend you. “But perhaps its best if we let ourselves clear our heads and we can come back maybe later in the day to discuss your final decision. If you still wish to accept his proposal… then I personally will support, you.” She finishes and you give her a gentle smile.

You doubt you were going to change your mind but for everyone’s sake, you agreed and had dispersed.

~ ~ ~

You were near the training grounds shooting arrows to a target with your guard a few feet behind you. Shooting arrows used to be an activity that got your mind off of things, but now it just achingly reminds you of your father. A few shots later you heard steps coming towards you. You didn’t bother looking when you knew exactly who those footsteps belong to.

The footsteps came to a halt and you saw Kuvira’s figure in your peripheral. You already knew her purpose for finding you and you just honestly did not have the energy or the heart right now to tell her that you were going to push through your decision. Choosing to ignore her, you continue shooting arrows.

“Leave us.” Kuvira states, tone filled with authority. No wonder why the other guards around here are terrified of her. You thought.

The look at your guard to give a nod for approval and he distances himself from the two of you, far enough for conversation privacy but close enough that he can still keep his eyes on you.

“What do you want Kuvira?” you ask in the most neutral tone you could muster as you shot another arrow.

“Don’t act like you don’t know why I’m here Y/N” she answers, tone still laced with authority.

You took a deep breath before shooting another arrow. Bullseye. You put the bow down and turned to finally look at her. She was fuming. You couldn’t quite put your finger on the exact emotion she was expressing just yet, but you knew it was anything good.

You took a deep breath before answering her, “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going through with my decision. If you don’t like that, then leave.” You say, trying your hardest to not show any emotion. You couldn’t.

“How could you say that? To me, of all people! Do you honestly believe that marrying that son of a bitch is the only way out of this?!” She raises her voice taking a few steps towards you and you almost stepped back, but you held your ground.

“No! It’s not the only way! I can just easily declare a civil war right now and hold on to my pride and title as I let nameless soldiers die on the field while I sit in my chambers drinking tea waiting for a victory, I didn’t take part in! Or I can stop it. Right here. Right now. Without anybody else getting hurt!” You challenged her. It was true. You thought about the options you could take and it all just ended up either more people dying or simply losing. This wasn’t the only way to win back your kingdom, but it was the best way to do it.

“Then don’t.” Kuvira states and you raise a brow in confusion. “That’s what I just said… I don’t underst--what? Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying since the meeting?!” you groan in frustration. Kuvira takes a step towards you not turning her eyes away from your evidently confused features.

“Don’t declare a civil war. Let us do it.” She explains and you feel your breath hitch. You shake your head and take a step back trying to process what she’s saying. “This is madness Kuvira… even for you…”

Having Zaofu declare war on behalf of your family was a huge risk to their empire. You can’t say the thought never crossed your mind when you arrived in Zaofu and you saw the thousands upon thousands of elite soldiers, bender and non-benders alike, not to mention the resources they have remaining stagnant. You knew that you had nothing to lose and that’s what makes declaring a war yourself moot, you had nothing to bargain with but your claim to the throne. How selfish do you have to be just to claim back your kingdom? Your home?

“You’ve seen Zaofu yourself your majesty, we have more strength and power than the wealthiest kingdoms combined. Declaring war on your behalf won’t even cost us half of our excess” She explains, basically confirming your theory. “And what of the empress? What will she have to say about this rash decision you are proposing to me?” you ask as a matter of fact. Your heart was racing, and your palms were getting clammy from this conversation. Why? You’ve yet to figure that out yourself.

“Su just lost one of her most loyal and strongest allies and her best friend. She’s not about to let the remaining daughter of the two people she cared about the most, to sell herself to a usurper when she gave her word that she will protect you at any cost.” Kuvira states and she takes your hand into hers eager to see your face to give her a hint of what you’re thinking right now. Your hands were trembling, and you were feeling guilt eat your heart and soul. Is this the cost for salvation? Selfish drive and wishful thinking? What would your father do? What would your mother say? What would your sister tell you?

You lightly shake your head, still not fully accepting this decision “no… I don- ugh! Spirits, I don’t know what to do!” you let out in frustration. And Kuvira put her index below your chin to gently tilt your head up to meet her gaze. “You are the smartest woman I know. You always know what to do…” She whispers and you feel tears forming when you let out a sigh.

You knew what to do. You just didn’t want to admit it. Your first plan had a lot of flaws in it to start with. Chantou could just easily poison you like he did with your father and declare you died of illness to your people after he gains their favor. You would’ve never ceased the throne back, not to mention you had to have eyes at the back of your head 24/7 knowing that nobody was loyal to you in the palace anymore.

Kuvira’s proposal was exactly what you needed. A display of external power and allies. A reminder to Chantou that his claim to Elysia threatened our close powerful allies, and that they would not sit idly by as they watch their sister kingdom perish. It was the right thing to do.

It’s the right thing to do.

Kuvira cups your face into her hands, and you are forced to look at her once more. “Su loves you. Your people love you. I love you. And I know that your father would never want you to go through your original plan because he died to save you and Elysia. Please… Let Zaofu fight for you… Let me fight for you”

You feel the tears forming in your eyes cascade down your face and you give her a gentle smile. The first time you did anything for yourself was when you confessed your love to Kuvira. And now… you’re letting yourself be selfish once more.

“Okay.” You finally answer.

#kuvira #kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira fanfic #tlok #the legend of korra #royal au #F/F romance #W|W #fic

126 notes · View notes

ugh-againwiththenames · 3 years

Text

A Musical Social Experiment...Destiel.

Alright, so I thought to myself, while playing along with @thenightwemetnatural‘s Destiel song picks, that despite my musical tastes, and them tending typically (although not exclusively) towards the Metal genres, that EVERY song can in some way, be paralleled to Destiel. This is such a ridiculous experiment, and I apologize, but I’m at the cottage, and it’s fucking pouring with rain, so let’s play…

Here are the rules: take your Music library and throw it on Shuffle – every song that comes on for an hour(ish), connect it to Destiel...(below the cut for my results).

You can access the playlist here (if you have any interest in listening along!). I am not going to necessarily describe every possible connection - I think that a lot of them are SUPER obvious...like *eyes rolling out of my head* obvious...

In the End – Black Veil Brides – Well we’re off to a hell of a start, as this song from start to finish screams Destiel and sacrifice. In the end As my soul's laid to rest What is left of my body Or am I just a shell? And I have fought And with flesh and blood I commanded an army Through it all I have given my heart for a moment of glory Who will remember this last goodbye 'Cause it's the end and I'm not afraid I'm not afraid to die A Modern Way - The Exies – only on song 2, and it’s once again, really hard to cut out any of this song, as the repeating “I’m bound by my insecurities” SCREAMS Dean at me.

I’m Bound by my insecurities

Open your eyes and Throw your arms around me I need the right not to fight To breathe

Swallow the lies I'm the one to blame Having no voice left to choose Am i so blind, feeling justified When i'm alone and confused

Brother – NEEDTOBREATHE – I have to laugh…as I added this after watching Jensen sing this at a Con (for J*red), and no lie, I’m in LOVE with it, but it’s somehow now determinably connected to the brothers for me but I can/WILL draw the lines here…EASY.

Everybody needs someone beside em’ shining like a lighthouse from the sea Face down in the desert now there’s a cage locked around my heart I found a way to drop the keys where my failures were Now my hands can’t reach that far I ain’t made for a rivalry I could never take the world alone I know that in my weakness I am strong, but It’s your love that brings me home Summoners Rift – Dangerkids – Um. Well. The first line of this song just made me laugh out loud.

There's no room for martyrs in a dying scene Well I'm not quite dead I'm something in between

And if I had another chance I would tell you

I guess I'm not afraid of what comes after We are the only ones We stand alone in the dark

Question everything you blindly follow Truth's a bitter pill, it's hard to swallow You think you're winning but your time is borrowed We are the only ones We stand alone in the dark

Royal Beggars - Architects - I mean…the repetition of my sentiments is going to get a bit silly…so i will not. read on...

All hope is dead, but we're coping

Somebody save our souls

Like a bird in a cage, trying to fly away Is this the price that we have to pay? Overflowing with rage, yet we still obey 'Cause we're asleep in a hurricane

We sit on a throne, waiting for God to bend the knee But we're nothing more than royal beggars

Edge of your Bed - Thousand Below - “why’d you have to go and keep calling out my name” Calling out my name” pure purgatory “where’s the ANGEL” “I prayed to you Cas, Every night” The rest of the next verse is also poignant, very Dean again “where I can only feel peace when the wave hits”, “and I’ve become what I thought was wrong, I love the feeling when it feels too strong”.

Why'd you have to go and keep calling out my name? Calling out my name

I found sorrow at the edge of your bed

Is it now a bad habit? Where I can only feel peace when the wave hits And I've become what I thought was wrong I love the feeling when it feels too strong

Animals – Siamese - “It takes a killer that thinks he’s a saint, it takes believing to be this insane” – well. yes. ok.

Shattered not broken We stand our feet Houses rebuild on These bloody streets I fill my lungs into this beat With closed eyes we're hoping for remedy

It takes a killer That thinks he's a saint It takes believing To be this insane

Spineless Crow - Hands Like Houses

We were young together but I've grown ancient Cracked and weathered and filled with regret Waiting to sink, rushing to sink in my sleep

The realization sinks in through the skin Like a disease, a blight inside of me Missing your touch, your weight on my fingers

My Underworld - Tonight Alive

Now we sail into deep blue storm clouds Overhead now, strangely I feel at peace as I dive into My underworld, world I dive into my underworld, world Down in these depths I'm adding up the numbers Of all I've suffered in past lives, tied down in the darkness Finally I begin to learn what I've returned tonight Time has come to begin again, leave something else behind

Ever After - Marianas Trench - All this talk of being someone’s disaster – Welp! Hello!

Don't you move Can't you stay where you are, just for now I could be your perfect disaster You could be my ever after

Apologies, I'm not myself but I can guarantee That when I get back, you won't believe That you knew me well Don't want to think about it

I'm fuckin' tired of getting sick about it Now stand back up and be a man about it And fight for something, fight for something, fight for something Nobody told ya this is gonna fold ya We go marching in like toy soldiers To have and hold ya over sold ya They’re marching like toy soldiers I'll be your disaster, ever after So fire away Goodbye

Room 138 - Asking Alexandria - While this song is clearly actually about an overdose of some kind, it’s parallels shockingly well to the post confession scene. So these are the walls that have to hold this moment Somebody hear me, someone open up the door Get me up off of this floor and stop the shaking, the shaking Through the haze I saw a face A second chance, another life to live How did you forgive me? Held my head against your chest Told me everything's alright, don't be afraid Close your eyes and rest

Witness – Daughtry

Does it feel like you're just wasting time Here without a reason or a rhyme The answer you've been looking for Is standing right before your weary eyes And if the weight of the world is on you now But you know you can turn it all around again How Many Walls - Rise Against - Guys, seriously, I’m not even going there...How many years have we wasted….how many walls can you put up? How many guns til you feel safe? This is a song about war – this is Rise Against, this is purely political and somehow can STILL be pulled together with Destiel.

How many walls can you put up?

How many guns 'til you feel safe? How many times can we watch this story Over and over and over again? And how many years have we wasted Counting the lies that we've been fed? For something to change we have waited Over and over and over again Pray – Picturesque - Nope. Don’t even need a description here. Once again this is FAR TOO OBVIOUS!

I should pray a little more and think a little less The devils in my head and he won't let me rest Everyday just like the last since you up and left I should pray a little more, I shouldn't pray for death I Knew You Were Trouble – We Came as Romans (Swift Cover) - SwiftNatural is a thing for a reason…

It's like a kaleidoscope of memories. It just all comes back. But he never does. I knew his world moved too fast and burned too bright. But I just thought, how can the devil be pulling you toward someone who looks so much like an angel

I think that the worst part of it all wasn't losing him. It was losing me. Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago I was in your sights, you got me alone You found me

I knew you were trouble when you walked in (you were right there, you were right there) So shame on me now Flew me to places I'd never been Now I'm lying on the cold hard ground Texas Is Forever - Pierce the Veil – lack of communication anyone? I don’t know, do we know anyone like that? If anything should happen to me I want you to know, I’ve loved you since ever…

Here we are If anything should happen to me I want you to know I've loved you since ever since then Don't dance around me I know what it means No communication, cannot be received But I'm such a sucker for the rain, yeah Oh, here we are Butterfly - Wearing Scars – the Butterfly/Angel parallel alone…go with it.

Seems we're alone We're fixated Just waiting for something As time goes by And when we're way up high We'll look back down with different eyes Let's take our time Awake this life So spread your wings And take my hand Tonight will be the end

With Grace - The Weight of Atlas

This place looks like hell to me I cast myself into the sea Picked up my conscience and left my disease I don't know, I don't know if I can make it through this storm Keep your eyes shut it will be okay. Will we make it out alive? Will we make it out alive. When all you have is hope I will be your anchor I know that I can let you down But I swear I'll pick up the pieces. And be reborn again I Always Wanted to Leave - The Plot In You

I guess it's a shame I'm so damn destructive And you're so reluctant to mean what you say The way you act so abused The things you confuse You know I always wanted to leave "Hello... You can sing, I'm here And I love you more than anyone or anything With all my heart."

Unsteady - X Ambassadors – just a stay parallel. Don’t leave, don’t let go. If you love me. Don’t let go. #I haz the sads.

Hold on to me 'Cause I'm a little unsteady If you love me Don't let go Bury Me Alive - Normandie – pick a line – ANY LINE!!!

I guess I'm not going to heaven now I got caught in the chase Now I'm falling from grace But I never stood a chance Could've given me a sign I'd be giving you blind obedience Mantra – Bring Me The Horizon Before the truth will set you free, it will piss you off Before you find a place to be, you're gonna lose the plot Too late to tell you now, one ear and right out the other one 'Cause all you ever do is chant the same old mantra Could I have your attention, please? It's time to tap into your tragedy Think you could use a new abuser Close your eyes and listen carefully Imagine you're stood on a beach Water gently lapping at your feet And now you're sinking, what were you thinking? That's all the time we have this week

Oh Lord - In This Moment – cutting any of this out was actually hard. Cas, my love, are you there?

Oh Lord won't you save me Save me from my soul Oh Lord won't you forgive me For I have lost control Oh Lord won't you tell me Am I the righteous or the damned? Oh Lord won't you please hear me Do I obey or do I command? Oh Lord please forgive me For what I'm about to do Oh Lord won't you believe me I'll burn in hell for you Oh Lord won't you teach me Teach me how to see Oh Lord tell me you love me Am I Lillith or am I Eve?

Bleeding is a Luxury - Atreyu

I’ve talked the talk, I've walked the walk, It's taken ten fucking years, For them to see I don't need their approval. I've paid the piper, I've stayed my course, Lived chomping at the bit. With only blood, sweat, and tears to adhere to- Take it for granted, Forsake the costs, Wear a big, shit-eating grin (with only blood, sweat, and tears to adhere to) Now bear the burden to chase your fate Grind your teeth 'til it fucking hurts So they can see I don't need their approval. Seize the day, Take your beatings, Lead the way, Or decay as you fall down... You fall down.

Would you Still be There - Of Mice & Men – wow, this song in full. All of it. I can’t.

If I could find the words, if I could shake the world, If I could turn back time would you still be there? I can't stop thinking about the way I left you sinking with no escape. Now there's no lifeline, no way to save. But maybe next time I won't throw it all away. Dislocated, I lie awake Suffocating in my mistakes. I lost my halo when I fell from grace, But maybe next time I won't throw it all away. I ask myself everyday... If I could find the words, if I could shake the world, If I could turn back time would you still be there? If I could find the words to say, If I could shake the world to break you down, Then would you still be there?

The Broken - 3 Doors Down

This is the call to the broken, the broken Take it from me. They don't care if you're lonely. As you can see, They don't care if you're scared. Your heart Is the only friend you have in this whole world. Don't start, Think you can do this yourself. I know what you're thinking. You say you're tired of keeping score, keeping score. Trust me, You're not the only one going through this. You see, I've been through this before, this before.

Wow, I Hate This Song - The Used – this one took a little imagination – hardest one so far – because it really is just about hating a song! So we’re HC’ing the Zepp track that reminds Dean most of Cas, post Empty.

Every time I hear the key I see you in the melody It never was a part of me Heart feels like it's being stabbed Kills me emotionally Dirty Little Secret - Bullet For My Valentine – let’s take this back to – take your pick…Leviathan!Cas, Godstiel, Casifer, any of the times that Cas did the wrong thing for the right reasons…and did not tell his boy.

There once was a time Where everything was just so perfect Now everything has changed And you've become a total stranger I've seen another side to you I never even knew existed Dirty little secrets, dirty little secrets Giving in to your primal instincts There once was a time When anything I do is for you But everything has changed And I've become a lonely prisoner I'd kill, even die for you You never even tried resisting

Kill Plan - Parabelle

I'm sitting stunned just like a lesson I never learned Made of emotions and mistakes And what you say Leaves me lost and in the way And that's the place you stay Remember silence Now we're painted into corners So we can watch the world get sold out Hold me closer don't let the sun in Hold me closer don't let the sun in Cuz the setting sun feels like a cage Don't let me defend the kill plan

Roman Sky – Avenged Sevenfold – This song only has a few lyrics, but we can definitely make them work.

As the embers rose through the Roman Sky Tell me, were you calm when they took your life? Just before you go, tell us how the heavens flow Weightless evermore, as you walk beyond that door Shine forever true To Those Left Behind – blessthefall – these boys might be my favourite band ever, but these are ANGRY lyrics – these are about betrayal. This is a relationship gone wrong. I feel these best work with the divorce arc, the Angry Dean that we see, or Dean’s mood after any of the “Cas fucked up again” moments. You found me at my worst When I was far too weak to grow In spite of all my fears And how I may have lost my way Only now I know the truth

Awake and coming clean

If you can't sleep It's your conscience That's eating away At the mess you made So let's end this Sew this last stitch Lift this weight off my chest I'll put you to rest The past should stay dead

How did we find ourselves here? Haunted by our own design With everything that's come to pass Makes it harder to confine

#supernatural #destiel #dean #cas #spotify #song challenge #i challenge you to do the same #can you also connect dots?#why was this so EASY #I guess 12 years of pining helped #so much possible material to draw on #look I was bored and music is my thing #this is dumb but it was also really kind of fun #I love these two idiots

11 notes · View notes

andimlonely · 4 years

Text

Sometimes the Truth is Comforting, too | Kokichi Ouma

Kokichi Ouma x f!reader | Kokichi has come down with Despair Disease, and everyone has a turn looking after him. You volunteer for the night shift, and have more trouble than usual deciphering what’s true and what’s false (aka, Kokichi gets liar disease but because he’s such a liar already, it makes him tell the truth)

✧✿Angst, fluff

A/N: This turned out quite a bit longer than I intended, and it took longer too, but I like how it turned out in the end. I hope you will too ❤

______________________________________________________________

You never thought you would end up here, in the dorm of the Ultimate Supreme Leader, in a chair at his bedside and tending to his fever.

After Kokichi collapsed in the dining hall, Monokuma finally confirmed that he was sick after you all spent the whole day speculating why he had been acting so strange; though at that point, no one really thought otherwise. What you hadn’t expected, was that Kokichi’s fever isn’t just due to some infection or cold, but something you’ve never even heard of before: Despair Disease.

The group collectively agreed that in order to prevent someone from attacking Kokichi while he’s weak, or risking him dying from the fever, everyone would take turns watching over him, and you volunteered yourself for this shift. You figured since you sleep late anyway, it might as well be you with the night shift.

When you first entered the room, you were actually surprised by all the clutter. What even are all those boxes? Do you even want to know?

You try not to think about it, and instead decide to step out for a drink of water and a snack from the kitchen. You don’t know how long you might be here, so you might as well get comfortable.

But as you get up out of your seat and make your way to the door, Kokichi’s weakened whine halts you before you can leave, “(y/n)~”

“Kokichi, I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna get some water, okay--”

“But you can’t leave me here alone,” he suddenly sits up, eyes and skin dewy and hair a mess, “I might die!”

“That.. But, I’m only going to be gone a second.”

You couldn’t even refute his fear. If you’ve learned anything in this nightmare scape, it’s that you can’t trust anyone, that someone is always scheming and looking for any window they can to escape.

“You have to stay. Everyone knows I’m sick, and nobody likes me. Do you really think no one will try to come in here and kill me?”

You’re taken aback by his casually honest words. “Kokichi..”

“I took water bottles and snacks from the kitchen the other day,” he says in attempts to bribe you, “So stay.”

“..Okay.”

You go back to your seat, still registering what he said a moment ago. You always hesitate to believe what the boy says, but tonight his facade is different, softer.

Kokichi had spent most of the evening asleep, with Gonta and Tsumugi keeping watch over him to prevent anyone from taking advantage of his weakened state. Of course it would be your luck that by the time it was your shift, Kokichi would be awake and somewhat delirious, and eager to talk to you. You’re thankful though; this Despair Disease seems to have rid him of his crude remarks for some reason.

But somehow his somber and emotional demeanor isn’t as enjoyable as you thought it would be. It might be nice that he isn’t insinuating you’re promiscuous, or teasing you about any number of your quirks, but seeing him so.. sentimental has your heart feeling heavy instead.

“Hey, Kokichi.. Here, give me that,” you order gently, gesturing to the drying washcloth on his forehead.

You take the cloth and run it under the sink, wringing it out a little so it isn’t dripping excessively when you carry it over to him.

Without a thermometer, you’re left just pressing the back of your hand to his forehead and cheeks. You withdraw it quickly the first time, recoiling from the intensity of his temperature against your skin. It seems like his fever isn’t going down much at all.

“You know, you’re so nice, (y/n).”

You let Kokichi babble about how kind you are as you place the damp washcloth back on his forehead and search for the alleged water bottles he has lying around. Kokichi needs to start drinking more water, or you worry he might not get any better very soon. You might not be his biggest fan, but you certainly don’t want him to suffer through this, and even less, die.

“Really, (y/n), I think you’re suuuper nice. That’s why I like you.”

“Kokichi, I think you should save the teasing for later.. Just take it easy right now.”

“But I’m not teasing, (y/n). You’re really really nice.”

“Thank you.. Anyway, here, drink as much water as you can, okay?”

Kokichi obliges, and sits up slowly, his muscles aching and head pounding. The heat bubbling under his skin has him in a daze, everything seems a touch slower. You lean and reach over him to grab something, close enough for him to pick up your scent, and it feels like you’re there for hours - can’t you stay here that long? The urge to close his arms around you comes too late, and you’re back in your seat now, scribbling something in a notebook like you were when he just woke up.

In his daze, he can’t tell if you’re writing or drawing something. He also doesn’t realize he’s staring at you, but you don't seem to notice it either.

He watches your eyelashes open and close, open and close, your eyes trained to the (f/c) notebook in your hands. Would you look up from your book more if he were someone else? If it was Shuichi, or even Kiibo, lying here? Probably.

“Um.. Are you okay, Kokichi?”

Having noticed his pensive stare, you ask him this, your head tilted cutely.

He smiles and says absently, “No.”

Your eyes flick up from your book instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t wanna die.”

Die..? The word alone has your heart sinking deep into your chest. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel a duller version of the shock that overcomes you when one of your classmates’ body is found.

You want to believe it's the delirium of his fever that has him talking like this, but something tells you that isn't true.

"You won't die. You're going to be okay. You’re.. You’re making me nervous, Kokichi.”

“Sorry.”

His apology brings you a pang of guilt. Him talking like this does make you nervous, but maybe you should keep it to yourself. It’s understandable he would feel fearful when he’s suffering from this previously unknown disease; maybe it even causes paranoia. It is Monokuma’s conception, and he did say that it’s a motive of sorts, so it must be awful.

“No, it’s okay.. But, really, you’re going to be alright. That’s why I’m here looking after you, so your fever doesn’t get worse, okay? Don’t worry.”

You’re misunderstanding him. Even if he does survive the Despair Disease, will he survive the Killing Game? He becomes less sure of it everyday. If he weren’t pretty clever, someone might’ve already killed him by now. But it’s only a matter of time until it actually happens. Your hands might be the ones to get dirty. You could even do it now, while he’s weaker than usual. At least then it would have been someone he..

No. He doesn’t want to die at all, and he can’t pretend he would be okay with dying at your hands.

“Hey, Kokichi?.. About what you said earlier..”

He blinks, having trouble accurately recalling what he’s said, let alone what you might be talking about.

“You know.. About everyone not liking you. It’s not that we don’t like you, it’s just..”

How can you explain it? You can’t truthfully say that anyone else is fond of Kokichi, but you also wouldn’t say that everyone hates him.. At least you think so, until all the hostile or at least skeptical interactions between Kokichi and one of the others play back in your mind. A sense of guilt accompanies your memories of your own rude moments, and you have to remind yourself why everyone is wary of him. No one would treat him this way if he weren’t so dishonest, or crude, and if he didn’t seem to find this Killing Game so fun.

But the more you think about his actions, the more you realize that more of it might be farce than you thought before, that maybe you were missing that it’s something else he’s hiding when he lies. After all.. Would someone happy, with nothing to hide, and nothing to fear, really lie so much?

“I’m supposed to be the liar, not you, (y/n),” Kokichi grins. In spite of his smile, you can see pain is reflected in his clouded violet eyes. “I know everyone hates me. Even you. Thanks for taking care of me, though. It’s really nice to take care of someone you hate.”

“That’s not true, Kokichi.. I don’t hate you. Why do you think that?”

“I just know. I mean, I know why. I’m a jerk to you, so I deserve it.”

Normally he’d probably say something like that with a pouted lip and lilted voice, but as you scan his features, you see that he isn’t just saying this to mock you.

“...I don’t hate you. I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

But you had to be here, didn’t you? Everyone probably pulled straws or something to see who was stuck with him. Or maybe you’re here out of pity. Maybe you didn’t want him to get worse, but only ‘cause you care about people in general, not him specifically, and sure that's a selfish thought, but the point stands.

You two sit in silence for awhile.

Kokichi occupies himself with the sliding puzzle you found in the warehouse, his thumbs deftly switching pieces like he's being timed. You listen to the constant clacking, a storm of questions weighing heavy in your mind.

"..How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess. Head hurts and stuff."

"Is it really bad?"

He hums in contemplation, "Kinda."

Despite his casual answer, you can’t stifle the panic that’s starting to rise in your stomach. You wish there were some medicine or something you could give him to help. A fever can go away on its own, but without medicine Kokichi could also get a lot worse.

"Do you need anything? I can get more water or--"

"Sit with me," he orders, “Please?”

He really is delirious. Your initial reaction is to refuse him, but the longer you look at his flushed face and pleading eyes, and the longer you think about how terrible he must be feeling, you find yourself unable to say no.

“Um.. Okay. But only for a second.”

It’s only because he’s sick, you tell yourself as you settle in next to him awkwardly. You keep your eyes on your lap, or on the opposite wall, or anywhere but Kokichi, and he doesn’t seem to mind. Unlike you, he isn’t uncomfortable at all. Instead, he’s so comfortable that he leans his head on your shoulder, and after a moment of listening to each other’s breathing, he closes his eyes and starts to hum.

Your eyes start to wander until you’re looking down at him, stifling the desire to stroke his dark, soft-looking locks. His humming lulls you into feeling less tense, and eventually you’re leaning your head onto Kokichi’s, trying to ignore the painful feeling in your heart as it races. If you’re not careful, you might end up falling asleep like this, and part of you doesn’t even mind.

Knock knock.

Both startled by the sudden knocks at the door, you exchange glances with Kokichi, who in his daze just stares at you owlishly. You glance briefly at the clock; your shift is still far from over. It essentially just started.

An uneasiness follows you as you make your way to the door, thankful for the pocket knife you always keep handy just in case. Never have you planned to use it, but you will if you have to, if only to incapacitate someone.

"Shuichi," you sigh upon opening the door, "What are you doing here?"

Immediately your dread dissipates at the sight of him, and the hand at your side relaxes. He gives you a sheepish smile, his hand on the nape of his neck.

"Ah, hi.. I just thought I should check up on you. How's Kokichi?"

"He's still pretty warm," you frown, stepping aside so Shuichi can see for himself.

"Hi, Shuichi," Kokichi greets from his bed, to which the Ultimate Detective reciprocates with a small greeting of his own.

He speaks to you briefly, asking you if Kokichi has been acting suspicious at all and if you feel okay being alone for your shift. You assure him everything is okay and that if anything happens you'll do your best to keep yourself and your 'patient' safe.

Still the slightest concerned, the male nods, "Well, I think that's all. Oh, that's right. Here, I found these in the warehouse. They seem safe and should help reduce Kokichi's fever."

You take the small bottle of pain medication and thank him. "Thanks, Shuichi. Be careful getting back."

Painkillers. You're surprised Monokuma was merciful enough to leave these in the warehouse for you all, you muse as you walk back to your chair.

Before you can even settle back into your seat, Kokichi hits you with a flustering question.

"Do you like Shuichi?"

"W-what? Of course, he's my friend."

"I mean do you have a crush on him," he clarifies, sounding like a child asking his babysitter about her love life.

"N-no! I don't like him like.. that."

"Well then is there someone else you like? You can tell me. I probably won't even remember any of this tomorrow."

Suddenly you feel the need to avert your gaze, completely caught off guard by this conversation.

"N-no, I.. there's no time to focus on things like that here.."

"That doesn't mean you can't have feelings. So... who is it?"

There's a chance that you are telling the truth and the topic alone is just that flustering for you. But Kokichi doesn't buy it. Or maybe he doesn't want to. But really, isn't this simultaneously the most and least perfect place for feelings to take root? Trapped within a limited space, with the same faces everyday, and, unless you're a fool, with absolutely nothing to look forward to day to day? Isn't that just asking for bonds to form, and then unceremoniously break, because this is still the Killing Game?

Even if you're too afraid and too angry to pursue someone, you probably still think about someone when you're sitting with them for breakfast, when you're on the way to the location of a body, when you're alone in your room.

"Kokichi, I'm not going to tell you something like that.. There's nothing to tell anyway."

"Hmm, how about this. I'll tell you mine then you tell me yours. Deal?"

After some back and forth and endless prodding, the Ultimate Supreme Leader does what he does best and manages to persuade you, if only to get him to stop bothering you. Plus.. like he said, he probably won't remember anyway, right? Maybe it wouldn't hurt to get something off your chest.

"Okay, I'll give you a hint."

"What?? But you said--

"She's cute, and she has (h/c) hair and… she's looking at me right now."

"W-what?! What are you saying..?"

"I'm saying I like you."

You feel like you're the one with a fever now. It takes you a moment, but you remember exactly who you're talking to, and how he would never say something like this except to make fun of you.

"That's not funny..," you mutter, gripping the bottle in your hand as you avert your eyes.

Suddenly your hand is in his clammy one, and you're staring at his flushed face, eyes shining with sincerity, or what he wants you to think is sincerity.

"I'm not joking, (y/n). I really like you," he insists, seeming confused as to why you're fighting him.

“S-stop it, Kokichi. Stop talking like that," you say as you try to pull your hand from his grip.

He doesn't let you go, insistent that he's telling you the truth. You wish you didn't want to believe it so much. You should have let the subject go, but it's too late to brush it off now.

"If you like me so much then why are you telling me now?.. Why haven't you told me before?"

Why say it now, when he's not even in his right mind?

"I didn't know how to say it, but I mean it. I really like you."

Of all the mean-spirited things he's said to you, this is one of the worst. Here you are caring for him - after volunteering to no less - and keeping watch over him, and he still can't even treat you nicely? Are your feelings really so insignificant to him that he can't keep from toying with them?

"You don't like me, Kokichi! I'm not going to fall for that so just stop, please!"

"How do you know that?," he cries, voice wavering lightly. You almost believe he's genuinely upset.

"I don't know," you reply bitterly. "I don't know anything about you. How can I? You want me to believe you but all you do is lie and hide the truth."

"But--"

You rise out of your chair, tossing two capsules of medicine onto his covers.

"No, just, just leave me alone. Take those and get some rest. I'll be here if you need anything but if you don't, then just leave me alone, please."

And to your surprise, he does. He doesn't say a thing for the rest of your shift, and eventually drifts to sleep, leaving you to soak alone in the wave of emotions roaring over you.

'Was I too harsh..?'

You can't help but question yourself. At the time you were completely convinced that Kokichi was only messing with you, trying to play with your emotions for fun, but now you feel guilty. What if it was true? Or what if he didn't mean any harm, and was just genuinely confused because of his high fever?

It's 2 a.m. when someone knocks on the door. You don't notice it at first because you're so consumed with the cycle of emotions that run through you at the thought of everything that Kokichi has said tonight.

You don't even feel relieved when Kiibo comes in for his turn; instead, you're almost angry. Angry at yourself and at Kokichi, and how you can't just have a normal conversation with him, how much you wanted to believe everything he told you in these past few hours.

After bidding the android good luck, you tuck yourself in for the night, still conflicted about the truth.

----

By the next afternoon, it's as if Kokichi was never sick to begin with. Due to everyone's careful watch, he had almost fully returned to his regular, obnoxious self.

Once you were aware of his recovery, his previously flushed face back to its typical pale hue, you actively avoided him every time you saw him. Somehow you aren't sure whether to be angry or happy that every time, he doesn't acknowledge you at all. It's not as if he would greet you like you want him to; he would probably just mock you, and tell everyone how sentimental you were being while watching over him last night.

You try to remind yourself that he probably doesn't remember anything after all, but the thought tugs at your heart as you realize that would mean he was more delirious than you thought, that he didn't mean anything he said..

Most of the day is wasted on those thoughts, little room in your mind to do anything else but mull it over.

Until you find an envelope on the floor of your room. It must have been slipped underneath your door, since you always make sure to lock it while you're away, and it's definitely meant for you because your name is scrawled along the back.

Upon opening it, you find enclosed a note and a small flower, its petals slightly crumpled.

'Dear (y/n),

Meet me in the courtyard at 7. It's important, so please come.

- Shuichi'

You can't imagine why Shuichi would summon you, and you're not even convinced this really is from Shuichi, but you decide to go nonetheless. Whoever sent this, you'll learn something from this encounter, you know that much.

Armed with your pocket knife and a mini taser you convinced Miu to make you, you step out into the courtyard, hoping you won't need to use either.

The sun is set, but it's relatively light out still as you move further from the dorm hall, which slightly eases your anxiety. But it comes back as you realize it's only a couple minutes before 7, and Shuichi is nowhere to be seen.

You walk further, thinking maybe he's coming from a different building, but you're stopped when someone taps on your shoulder.

"Heya, (y/n)," Kokichi greets casually, his arms tucked behind his head.

Immediately you try to move in a different direction, your eyes avoiding his, "I'm supposed to be meeting up with someone right now."

"Yup, me! I left you that note, not Shuichi."

You turn around to see him grinning, unable to decipher whether he's lying. "What..? But then why--"

"I knew you wouldn't come if it was from me, so I lied a little."

What else is new?

All the curiosity from before has left you now, leaving only exasperation. "What do you want, Kokichi?"

He drops his grin from a moment ago and sighs.

"Look, I'm sorry that I tricked you, okay? I just didn't know how else to get you to come here. But hey, listen, did I say anything.. weird yesterday? I can't remember much, so.. I wanted you to fill me in."

That's why he called you here? So he can clear up anything he said with some nonsense excuse?

"Yes, a lot…," you reply curtly, ready to walk away.

Before you can get more than a few steps away from him he stops you, "O-okay, wait, wait! That's not why I called you here. Just hear me out, alright?"

"Fine.."

"So.. I actually remember everything from last night. At least most of it, I think. I know I upset you, right?"

You nod wordlessly, and he continues.

"And it's 'cause you didn't believe my feelings for you. Right?"

"K-kind of.."

"Well.. I actually wasn't lying. I was trying to give you this yesterday, but since you were pissed at me I'm giving it to you now, so.. here."

In the arm hidden behind his back he holds a cardboard box, maybe a little bigger than the size of his head. Could it be one of the boxes you saw lying around in his room? He hands it to you, and it's heavier than expected.

"What.. is this?"

"It's a present, but y'know, there's no wrapping paper here so I just left it like that. Anyway, just open it. I promise it's not a bomb."

That hadn't crossed your mind but now you're less convinced that this present is something innocuous. But if Kokichi is still standing less than a foot away from you, you reason that whatever is in here can't be immediately dangerous. Hopefully.

You sit down, finding it easier to open this way, and when you open the flaps of the box, you're left furrowing your brow.

"What is all this?"

"They're weapons and stuff I told Miu to make."

You can see that much, but you're left wondering why. Is this some kind of joke too?

"I've had 'em for awhile. You can find out what they do if you look at her instructions and my blueprints."

"But, I don't get it.. why did you have her make these, and why give them to me?"

"'I had her make those so we could find the mastermind, but if I die before we can use them, then you guys are screwed. I was waiting to see who I could trust, so I kept it a secret. Plus, if I told anyone else, they'd probably rat me out to everybody. So.. since you're not stupid enough to do that, and stuff.. I'm giving them to you."

You look up at him, only met with his side profile while he stares elsewhere, hands behind his head like they were before.

"I didn't know you thought so much about all this.."

Kokichi has his back turned to you now, in attempts to seem nonchalant, but really, he doesn't want to have to mask the emotions that might break through his expression.

"Meh. I couldn't let the game get boring, so. Plus it's fun to order Miu around, have you ever tried it?"

You dig around in the box, curious if there's anything else, and there is.

A kubspad.

Could it be..?

Your eyes flood first with happiness and then tears as images of your loved ones flash before you, first with smiles on their faces. You choke back a sob as Monokuma alludes to something terrible by the end of it. It's nothing you haven't considered before, but the thought that they could be suffering or worse is always distressing.

"K-Kokichi.. You had this?"

"Not at first, but yeah."

He clears his throat, uncomfortable with the lump that's started to form there.

"I was gonna show everyone's motive video, right? But then you guys got in the way, but I still saw them all. I was tempted to show you yours but I didn't know if you were trustworthy yet, so I held onto it."

Kokichi half expects you to snap at him for keeping this from you for that long, and he braces himself for it. He couldn’t really blame you for being mad about that; you obviously care a lot about the people in your video, and even he could understand the dread of not knowing exactly what was happening to them. But you don’t snap at him - instead, your voice is the softest he’s ever heard it.

"Thank you," you murmur, the pad pressed tightly to your chest.

He isn't sure what to say now. What do you say to someone when they're sad, when you don't want them to be?

At a loss of what else to do, he sits down beside you and plays with the grass. He has the urge to crack a joke to lighten the air but he has a feeling you might not appreciate it right now.

Still, the silence is making him restless and you notice it.

"Kokichi.. Do you really.. Like me?"

He doesn’t say anything right away, leaning back and letting his back rest on the grass.

“Ha.. I don’t know why I said that. Just forget about it, ‘kay?”

It’s easier said than done, and he knows that. He knows you can’t just forget, and he knows he can’t just forget. What he doesn’t know is why he cares. Why should he care how you feel, or how he feels, or about anything at all? It was simpler before you became a recurring thought, before just seeing you was infuriating because his stomach would fill with butterflies and he didn’t understand so he thought you just made him sick. That thought is kind of funny now, especially after you spent hours tending to his fever, worrying about him.

Despite what Kokichi is thinking, his words make your heart drop into your stomach.

“What? How can I forget that?”

“Well it’s not like you.. like me or anything,” he utters, and for a moment you know he’s sincerely crestfallen, but he recovers with a nonchalant smile, “Sooo, just forget it! It’ll just be awkward if you don’t, and neither of us wants to deal with that.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you realize, it was never that Kokichi was lying to you; he was afraid all this time.

“I’m not going to forget it.”

He sits up, caught off guard by your serious tone. “Huh? Why not?”

“Because,” you pause, steeling yourself to say it, "Why would I want to forget if I feel the same way?"

Kokichi is ready to make a doubtful remark but you continue before he can.

"That's why I got so upset at you.. I didn't want you to get my hopes up. I thought maybe somehow you knew that I had feelings for you and you were making fun of me for it. Plus.. I never considered you could actually feel the same way."

When you first realized you felt something for Kokichi, you were confused and angry more than anything. Sure, he is cute, but he’s always kidding about things you shouldn’t and stirring up trouble for everyone else. Not to mention that having feelings for someone, let alone someone like Kokichi, in a situation like this is just ridiculous, and not something to think about.

You finally bring yourself to look at the boy sitting next to you, curious why he’s been silent, but his knees are to his chest and his face is buried into them. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his shoulder.

“..Kokichi? What’s wrong? You’re making me nervous.”

At his continued silence, you tug on his white sleeve, “Kokichi.”

He lifts his head but doesn’t face you at first. You notice his shoulders shaking, and worry he might be crying. When he finally faces you, you see that tears are dripping down his cheeks, but he’s also.. smiling?

“What’s wrong?”

“Ugh, it’s this stupid disease. It’s making me all mushy,” he sniffles. “Don’t get used to this. I never ever cry. Ever.”

You’re only half convinced that his illness is to blame, but you’re relieved he’s okay anyway. Feeling emboldened, you slide a little closer to the boy and wrap your arms around him, for his sake and yours. It feels surreal being this close to him, feeling strands of his hair poke your cheek as you take in his scent and his warmth, a feeling you’ve thought about for so long.

Kokichi’s thin frame goes stiff, “H-hey! Geez, you’re needier than I thought..”

You pull away, a little disappointed but mostly embarrassed, but you’re pulled back into him almost immediately.

“But so am I! Guess we’re kinda made for each other or whatever, huh?,” he murmurs cheekily into your ear.

“Kokichi!”

He chuckles as he squeezes his arms tighter around you, and though you can’t see it, he’s smiling tenderly, newly instilled with determination to bring down the mastermind, to keep both of you alive at all costs.

The sincerest you’ve ever heard him, Kokichi makes a simple request of you. “Stay with me, okay?”

#danganronpa #kokichi ouma x reader #dr #drv3 #danganronpa x reader #kokichi ouma #fluff #angst #reader insert #danganronpa imagines #one shot

281 notes · View notes

witchcraft-in-wonderland · 4 years

Text

Strangers (Pt.6)

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

As usual, Virgil hadnt slept very well, he'd been plagued throughout the night by memories that werent his, and this only worsened when he walked into the living room to see six silver necklaces on the table, each shaped as a different animal.

"JANUS- PATTON-" Virgil stood as far from the table as he could manage, backing against the wall.

"Virgil? What's wrong?-" Patton was the first to speak, rushing to Virgil's side.

"What are- what are those doing here-" Virgil whispered, pointing a shakey hand toward the necklaces.

"Relax Virgil- we're just researching them, you're still wearing the spider necklace are you not?" Janus said as he entered the room.

"I cant take it off. . ." Virgil said softly.

"We'll find a way, eventually, for now we need to research," Patton said, before walking over to the table, followed by Janus. Virgil waited a few seconds before sitting down as well.

"So what do you know so far?" Virgil said, scanning the necklaces.

Aside from the purple-eyed spider around his neck, and the red-eyed wolf Romulus possessed, he counted six other colors on the table in front of him.

A blue-eyed frog, an indigo-eyed unicorn, a yellow-eyed snake, a green-eyed kraken, a pink-eyed dear, and a black-eyed fox.

"Other than the fact that the color schemes bare a frightening resemblance to the color-coded friend group we maintain, not much," said Janus.

"So you brought more potentially cursed necklaces into the house without any idea of their relation to us." Virgil said monotonously.

"Well- we cant be sure all of them are cursed- I mean Roman's the only one acting different-" said Patton.

"That thing isnt Roman. I refuse to associate the two." Virgil growled. Patton flinched slightly and Virgil felt a guilt well up in his chest.

"Well- they all involve specific animals and colors obviously, and Romulus keeps calling me. . . Princess. . . And the girl in my dreams was slated to be royalty last I checked, so. . ." Virgil said, trying not to vomit as the word princess swam in his head in that condescending tone of Romulus'.

"The could be part of a royal court or guard! Virgil you genius!" Patton said excitedly. Virgil blushed slightly and moved to cover his face.

"I think this would be better resolved at the library," said Janus.

After an hour or two of deliberation and subsequent preparation for leaving the house, the trio found themselves huddled up in separate corners of the library.

Which, reflecting back, wasnt the best decision.

"Princess! I didnt see you home last night! I thought you promised you'd be back for dinner. . ." Virgil froze as he heard Romulus speak, he could move or think or breath or talk. All he could do was stare ahead of him and feel the tears running down his face as Romulus pulled him closer, as he felt Romulus' breath on his neck.

"You're breaking my heart again princess, I thought you loved me," Romulus whispered, he didnt sound upset.

"Let's get home, you obviously havent taken your meds," and Romulus was pulling him away from the library. It took several steps and almost reaching the door for Virgil to find his voice.

"How dare you touch me. How dare you try to act as though you missed anything more than a pretty little toy you can mock and stare at to make yourself feel better." That got the libraries attention, and, to Virgil's satisfaction, a frightened expression on Romulus' face. But something in his gut told him he hadnt been the only one speaking those words.

Soon enough Janus and Patton had emerged from their corners of the library, Patton almost toppling from the amount of books he was carrying, and Janus yet again brandishing his cane as though it were a great sword.

"I believe I told you that you werent to approach Virgil again. Was I not clear enough the first time." Janus snarled as he pulled Romulus back by the shirt.

"How many times must I tell you you have no right to keep me from my husband." Romulus snarled back.

"I am no spouse of yours." Virgil said, before storming out of the library.

He wasnt really sure where he was going, only that he was angry and tired of hiding.

And lucky for him, his affinity for shiny objects had managed to lead him to a different kind of bookshop, and a book with eight different colored gems built into the front.

"How much for this?" Virgil said, pointing to the book.

The girl behind the counter turned to look at him, white hair falling over her face.

"$250 and a free visit from the excorcist," she said, eyes slightly wide despite the vague expression of apathy.

Virgil stared for a moment before finally handing over the money. He took the book out of its case, bid the cashier goodbye, and walked away.

Now his only problem was finding a decent place to read.

"Virgil! What are you doing out here!" Virgil heard a call from none other than Remus.

"Reading-" Virgil said, he wasnt necessarily lying in that case.

"Jan! Pat! I found him!" Remus called inside before motioning for Virgil to follow. So Virgil did, and sat between Logan and Patton on the couch.

"What'd you find?" Said Janus, motioning to the book Virgil had placed on the table.

"Call Em and Remy, I think I just found our solution," Virgil said.

"Pat- you have the necklaces right?" He continued. Patton noddes and placed each on the table.

Soon enough they were joined by Emile and Remy, and they could begin to dissect the book itself.

"The Order of Terra, an elite squad originally compromised of six members, later joined by the Prince and Princess of Eirthanas, and disbanded when the Prince betrayed them all for power," Virgil started, tracing over the photo accompanying the description, though he couldnt quite make out the details.

"The leader of the order was Lord Larion Terraval, who's last name gifted the order its official title, Larion took up the unicorn necklace, which gave control of the stars, and the ability to communicate across any barrier," Virgil continued, the rest of the group gave a quick glance in Logan's direction. Which was expected, given the striking resemblance between the two, from deep blue eyes to the slight quirk of their eyebrows, it was almost as if they were twins.

"The second to join was the sister of the Prince, Duchess Remona Octavia, who took up the octopus necklace, granting control of the oceans and all their creatures," the girl shown in this picture had the same red-eyed manic expression as Remus, and even a streak of white through her hair, the only thing missing seemed to be the mustache.

"The third was a local mage, Remington Insolia, who took up the fox necklace, which granted control over sleep and disease," this man was identical to Remy in everything except the gray and white robes.

"The fourth was Jamillan Serpentes, who took up the snake necklace, and gained the abilities of hypnosis," this description was attached to a photo of a gaunt man, who looked much to stuffy to be Janus, but bared an all to familiar resemblance.

"The fifth was Emalei Primrose, a faun who took up the necklace of the deer, and gained the ability to cause mania, as well as psychic capabilities," the faun in the photo had the same pink and white heterochromia as Emile, the same broad smile, and the same curly brown and pink hair, albeit much longer.

"The sixth was Pamela Adbentes, who took up the frog necklace, and a variety of healing abilities," this was connected to a picture of a woman who looked as though she'd quite like to reach through the paper and pinch Virgil's cheek while asking if he wanted homemade cookies, which told him all he needed to know about her similarities to Patton.

Virgil felt his breath hitch as his eyes trailed over the next two entries.

"The Prince, Romulus, was meant to be the last to join, and had attempted to take up the spider necklace, only to be denied, and gifted the wolf necklace, as well as a vast knowledge of potions, poisons, and flattery," Virgil's hand went to his throat, he felt tears in his eyes as they ran over the all to familiar, all be it much less muscular, and much less huggable frame of the real Romulus.

"The final member of the Order of Terra was the most unwilling, Princess Viviana, the true bearer of the spider necklace, enforcer of nightmares, controller of the afterlife, she disappeared mere weeks before the Order of Terra was disbanded," and there she was. The lilac eyes, the long black hair. Nearly identical to the form Virgil had long since left behind.

Virgil had gotten the book to find answers, but now, now all he had was questions.

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

Tag list:

@lazyboneslover

@lovelivingmydreams

@baka-monarch

@that-peach-anon

@thefivecalls

@willowaudreykeyes

@pricklyfish777

@the-sad-strawberry

@itsnithbabey

@private-snippers

@0exterc0

@rich-flower-17

@theonetruebeepboop

@mycatshuman

@teamplutoforlife

@melodiread

@meowthefluffy

@frawkeye

@cemmy

@nerosdayinhell

@thecolorfulolive

@frog-candy-bee

#cori writes #strangers au #ts patton #ts remus #ts virgil #ts sides #ts logan #ts janus #ts emile #ts remy #ts romulus #ts pride roman #tw toxic relationship #tw abuse #tw murder mention #tw implied murder #tw panic attack #tw manipulation

40 notes · View notes

delicrieux · 4 years

Note

Hello! May I have a one-shot with Kylo being injured and reader, who is part of the resistance, finds him and takes care of him? Thanks!

idk how this turned out to be 5k words but WHEW i mean if ppl want me to continue it im down so send in sum request of wat u think should happen!! xoxo gossip girl

requests are open! | masterlist | part 2.

Fear. The kind that makes it hard to breathe as if you are kept underwater; the kind that makes your muscles clench and freeze as all senses flow out one by one. Today had been almost too typical — you woke up, you trained, you talked to your comrades and learned battle strategy — and you were certain your evening walk would be just as uneventful. The breeze in your hair was playful; the setting sun provided warm light and set your surroundings in a pleasant, rosy glow. You like the fresh air; you like exploring; you like the freedom that comes with being alone in wilderness. And in turn, it serves as a reminder for why you are fighting in the first place. To preserve this peace, this freedom, that now has been tarnished when you stumble upon a body.

For a heartbeat you think he’s dead — his expression is lifeless and his face, pale as first snow, is bruised, covered in soot and dried blood. Willing your legs to move, you approach cautiously, not breathing, afraid to break the shrill, sudden silence — no birdsong, no wails of wind passing through trees… nothing. Life had, at that moment, stilled completely. But as you draw closer, grass crunching under your feet softly, you intake a breath of both relief and surprise. Dark locks of hair spray on his forehead and obscure the minuscule knit of his brows, his trembling lashes. He’s alive. The thought consumes you and you fall to your knees, skidding beside him, pushing his hair from his face and landing your palm on his forehead.

It’s awfully cold. Chilling. Almost biting at your sensitive flesh, urging you to pull away. It rolls in waves, this sudden cold, sudden sickness, as if it is a virus that spreads and you have caught it with this minimal contact. But you don’t pull away, despite the near overwhelming urge to do so, despite the fear returning with a new blow. Instead you glide your fingers down his jaw and press on his neck, breaking into a small, crooked smile once you feel a slow drum against them. He is alive, but barely. You glance about him, looking around the area. Nothing out the ordinary, no branches broken, no bushes disturbed and no trails left on the grass. How he got here is a mystery that will have to be solved a different time.

You hope he will tell you once he wakes up, if he even wakes up at all.

That, and, his name, too.

Your base is small and tugged away in a dense jungle, the tall trees and heat warding from unwanted visitors — the First Order. The compartments are small; there are barely above a few dozen people here; it serves more as a safe haven for lost wanderers looking for a cause or shelter, or a backup base in case others were destroyed and the rebels had nowhere to go. It is far away enough from war. Everyone here is, to some extent, safe.

You had never been on the front lines. You had never faced a Storm Trooper, had never seen the Force at work — if there even is such a thing, speculations speculations, nothing consistent, merely gossip — and you had never seen a dead body. Perhaps that is why you froze up so terribly at the sight of him. Perhaps that’s why you felt as if a void opened within you, swallowing up the last shred of light, of life, and leaving you hollow.

You should get used to the sight, though. There will be many dead in battle.

He’s the only one occupying a bed in the Medical Wing and he hasn’t woken up for two days now. His vitals are stable — no internal bleeding, no disease detected, nothing out of place as it seemed. But he is lost in deep sleep, constantly dreaming about something that made him tremble and muss and toss and turn, but never wake. It is entirely bizarre how his state is simply there, caused by no injury, no blow, nothing. And the more you take care of him… the more questions you get.

You eat in the cafeteria, a vast enough, pale walled space occupied by few people during lunch time. Next to you sits a blue eyed, blonde haired cherubic woman – she serves as the doctor, the only doctor here. She smiles lightly at you when you catch her gaze. You had always wondered why her name is Vendetta.

The amount of denizens is small here, so small in fact that the only ones serving under this branch is a rag tag team of scavengers, travelers, nobodies that had abandoned their old lives to fight in this war. Rebels, quite literally, with a cause. Many have taken new names. Vendetta, too, had a name before this, a life, a different purpose. Though her odd choice leads you to believe that what ever had happened to drive her here was painful and severe, deserving justice. In front of you sits a tall, bony, brown haired, brow eyed mechanic with a scar running down half of their face – Q. And beside them, July – you had never seen him smiling, had never heard his voice hold a tender note in it. He is always displeased. Always with a frown.

“Seven.” Vendetta calls you, noting your blank stare, the untouched food in your plate. Seven. You chose this because you were the seventh child in your family, and, subsequently, the seventh person to join the Resistance when this base first opened.

“She’s probably thinking about the stranger.” Q mutters, taking a sip, “His origins are…” They glance about, leaning in slightly, “ A hot topic, after all.”

“We get injured wanderers all the time.” Vendetta waves them off, “As if he’s any different.”

“I don’t think we should be so quick to dismiss him, V.” July grumbles, his voice low, the sound of crunching gravel. He sits with his arms crossed over his chest, observing the three of you with something akin to hostility, “You never know who may be working for the Order.”

“You can’t just assume that.” You pipe up, “He might just be another gambler dropped by the Floating Casino because he couldn’t pay his debts.”

“Or he might be a spy.” July stresses, glaring.

“No one knows there is a base here.” You continue, unrelenting, “Half the Resistance doesn’t know it exists, how can someone from the Order?”

“Still, I advice we exercise caution.” Q says calmly, a pleasant smile on their face — if anyone can defuse an argument before it starts, it’s them, “You never know what people are hiding, Seven.”

“Okay,” Vendetta chimes, “I will certainly not disclose this vital information when the man awakes from his comatose state. I shall make sure to confuse and frighten him further by chaining him to his bed.”

“Good.” July says.

“That is not what I had in mind, and you know it.” Q mutters, a tad disappointed, “I was thinking more along the lines of… An interview.”

“Too civil.” July mumbles, “I say we go with Vendetta’s idea.”

“That was not an idea,” She hisses, “it was sarcasm.”

“Fine, interview.” You submit, “Either way, I doubt anyone from the Order would not say they are from there. They are feared. Probably would think he has the upper hand, or something. Plus, our disguise is impeccable. We look like a research facility. Better yet, a shelter if no one wanders up to the main rooms.”

“I also sincerely doubt anyone, Order or not, is so good at lying first thing when they wake up.” Vendetta agrees.

July narrows his eyes at her, “That is an awfully naive observation to make.”

“Really now? It is a known fact that people half-asleep always tell the truth.”

Another hour of this and you feel drained and sore and with a mild headache. As much as their company has helped you, they can be a bit too eager to prove one another wrong. On most occasions you’d enjoy the chatter. Today, however, you feel too distracted to focus on anything. Q makes some good points, July argues, Vendetta and her biting comments pick at your skin. Always the blazing look in her eyes, always a certain gleam of anger hiding within her mellow, sweet tone. You excuse yourself when you finish your meal and they do not keep you from leaving. Perhaps they noticed you being out of it. Perhaps they were too caught up in their new topic – Lo and Chester’s sudden break up.

It does not take you long to come to the Medical Wing. The door shuts with a silent sweep and your heart drops – the bed is empty. Before you can do much else strong arms wrap around you from behind. With a yelp you feel a hand squeeze your throat and your breath leaves you with a helpless whine, sparks flying in your vision. Your reflexes kick in before you can control them. In a panic, you elbow your attacker in the chest and the grip loosens a bit, enough to allow you to escape and put some distance. Inhaling mouthfuls of air, you turn to the man that had been sleeping since you found him in the wilderness.

You never quite realized how tall he is, or how angry he could be. He’s confused and you see fire in his eyes, a sneer on his face, and he stands unmoving, waiting for you to try something, anything, so that he could grab you and try to kill you again.

You raise your hands, palms up —a fragile, harmless motion to indicate you mean no harm. His guard is still up. He’s heaving and his shoulders are tense, his gaze not once leaving your form, “…Hi,” You wheeze, almost voiceless, “I’m not here to hurt you.” You indicate softly. Cold, again, as if thrown into a bottomless ocean; body heavy, like a stone. You gulp. “Are you alright?” You question gently, afraid to provoke him again. “You must be tired. You’ve been out for a while.”

“Where am I?” His voice is deep and scratchy and it seems to set him off. He trembles from anger, you can almost feel the steady build up of rage in his chest, ”Who are you?”

“I’m Seven.” You introduce, “I found you outside our base. Do you know how you got here?”

He takes a threatening step forward and your arms shoot higher, “I’m not your enemy.” You insist, “You are not a prisoner here. You were dying and I wanted to help you.”

He regards you for a silent moment as if unsure whether to believe you or not. However, you sense that he will not try to hurt you, for now at least. You give him a shaky smile, trying to ease him — you cannot imagine how frightening it is to awake in some room among strangers and not knowing where you are or what had happened. “Do you…know your name?” You continue your questions, your arms slowly falling by your sides. After another pause, he nods curtly, “Good. That’s good.” you step away from his bed, “Please, lie down. You’re still recovering. No shady business, I promise.”

You are a bit surprised that he listens, but you don’t show it. He’s cautious, regarding you as if you were some dangerous animal cornering him, and his walk is sluggish. You can tell it’s hard for him to move, but don’t say anything. You doubt it would do any good. He finally sits down and just stares at you. You try to smile again, “Do you know how you got here? It’s okay if you don’t.”

“How long have I been here for?” He asks instead.

“Two full days in the base.” You say calmly, “But out there?” You vaguely motion with your head to the outside world, “I don’t know.”

Your answer unnerves him. For the first time his frown falls and he stares at you with big eyes and a trembling lip, as if a lost child not knowing what to do. That expression warps suddenly and he looks away, his hands gripping the side of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“Well, if there is…anything you need…” You start mildly, “You can call upon me. Or Vendetta. She’s the doctor here, so if you feel any pain or sickness, you should tell her. She’s sweet.” You smile, “And she will help. But right now, just try to rest…I’ll…leave you to it.”

You bolt past him to the door but– “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

You turn back to him, shaking your head lightly, “No. But it doesn’t matter. A lot of adventures come through here, lost and injured. You aren’t the first one. Now rest, please.”

He’s volatile, is what you learn upon the first days of his resurrection. His mood can change in a flip of a coin and he goes from placid to enraged in a blink of an eye. Tantrums, yelling — all signatures of a spoiled child not knowing what he has but simply wanting to break it. He’s nobility, or so your peers gossip. You hear snippets of all sorts of things, each more outrageous than the one before. The one that he is a prince kicked out of home for adultery seems to be the most popular one.

And he’s egotistical. He had not been, besides the attempted murder, that hostile and untamed towards you — the choking you told no one about as you concluded he simply felt threatened and scared. Though his other tantrums you are not so quick to chalk up as self-defense. Vendetta, exasperated, one evening told you that she somehow offended him — ”All I said is stop pouting because you need my help!” — and he, with a bruised ego, so high and mighty promptly jumped out of bed. Whatever he was trying to do backfired — perhaps he was trying to leave, or trying to grab something and to hit her with — but he slipped and fell and hit his head into the sharp corner of table. “And I said to him, oh I said: look what you’ve done now! Off to bed, quickly!” Vendetta finished bitterly, stabbing her fork idly into her food, possibly imagining his face there. His nose, much to V’s displeasure, was not broken, but an ugly gash and a dark bruise split his skin in half and he laid in bed sulking for at least a day.

As the week passed, he seemed to favor your company the most. It is not that he smiled and joked and laughed in your presence, and you were not exchanging secrets or hugging or even calling each other friends. He simply seemed to be more mellow around you, possibly because you oddly knew what to say and what to keep silent. It is as if you sensed the subtle shift of his moods; could read his expressions in a way no one could, perhaps no one tried. And you would come and visit him as often as you could when relieved of your duties — you felt responsible for him in a way, and you wondered if you would still feel this weight on your shoulders when he eventually left this place. After all it was you that had found him lying in the grass; it was you that had insisted to help him; and now, it is you that brings him food and tries to provide some comfort in a form of conversation. You don’t pry into his past, don’t even ask for his name, because you know he does not want to give it, and you won’t risk questioning in fear of another explosion of his temper. You talk about inconsequential things: what’s happening around the base, what sort of plants grow around here, what bugs could kill him before he took two steps. He especially enjoys hearing the rumors about him, even if he is too prideful to admit that they amuse him greatly.

“And what if I am?” He questions one evening, something akin to a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His eyes, a kind hazel color that could be beautiful if not for the persistent angry spark within them that is now, seemingly, vacant, watch you closely.

You frown softly, “Are what?” You question, “A prince?” He nods. You snort, “Well then, your majesty, I shall make sure to inform the others. What will be your first decree?”

He pretends to think, “No more slacking around.” He says sternly, “This is supposed to be a military base, isn’t it?” He ends on a cheeky note. You gulp. Ah, yes, you might have let it slip that he’s in one of the Resistance’s safe houses, though you did not disclose the coordinates.

“On a mission to make fun illegal, are you?” You ask with a raised brow.

He frowns, “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

Childish, really, though you suppose it is better than arguing with July.

You feel it before you hear it— rain and thunder. The merciless patter on the roof and on your window. In night the sound is almost deafening — a loud roar of an engine, followed by cracks of lightning and flashes in the dark sky. You would have slept through it if not for the pins and needles washing your skin behind the warm sheets thrown on your body. You stir. Thunder roars and a flash of bright white light illuminates your room and seeps through the cracks of your lashes. Cold, again, as if standing in the middle of a storm.

You finally sit up, rubbing your face and then looking around to see if your friends are playing some sort of joke on you. You were almost certain they had dragged you outside and left you to get drenched. But you are alone in your room and you frown and shiver from the biting cold. Groggily you throw the sheets away and leave your bed, not entirely certain where you are going but there is a pull in your gut and half-asleep you follow it. You think you might still be dreaming —the rain on your dry skin feels real, though all dreams feel real until you awake. You leave the dormitories and take the elevator to the first floor. The base is silent, save for the shrill of machinery. Finally, still in your pajamas and almost fully awake, you step past the main entrance and stop.

It’s pouring, a curtain of rain obscuring the confusing contours of trees and leaves and bushes. The darkness does not help. A bleak light pulses to life once you pass the sensor and your surroundings illuminate. Thunder, lighting, more rain. You stand safe and dry under the roof, and he stands at the very edge of it, half soaking, his face kissed and washed by the rain.

You are not sure what to think. He seems lonely standing there surrounded by darkness and water. It’s whispers, or something akin to that, that urge and beseech that he does not want to be alone. You hear them somewhere in the back of your mind. If he noticed you, and he should have with the light suddenly on, he does not show it. You approach him slowly, your footsteps concealed over the heavy drum of rain.

“Not used to it, are you?” You ask, your voice followed by a bolt of thunder. He stirs, head tilting in your direction. Your heart skips a beat when your eyes meet — there is no hostility in them, no anger, just a distant sadness. You give him a soft smile, “I can tell you don’t see it often. I didn’t, either, at first. I grew up surrounded by deserts and I had not seen a drop of rain for at least eighteen years. But, here… Well, there’s no shortage of it. We have storms at least once a week. You’ll grow sick of it before you leave, trust me.”

He says nothing, still looking at you. The light sniffs out. Both of you stand unmoving.

“Why are you here?” He asks, a note of genuine confusion slipping past his calm tone.

“I… don’t know.” You admit. A frown pulls on your brows and you bite your lower lip, staring into the heavy curtain of rain, “I…I really don’t know.” You turn to him, “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, savoring the silence. Then, “I got bored laying in bed.” Somehow you feel that anxiety has more to do with his sudden nightly venture, rather than actual boredom. Though, you suppose it is quite tedious doing nothing all day. You imagine he is active, judging by his built. He has a strong character and he knows what he wants (most of the time), or rather has a distinct sense of what he doesn’t want. You imagine he’d be a good commander, or leader, with his deep voice and unrelenting stare, if only he wasn’t so sensitive. He’s too unpredictable. Too uncontrollable. His emotions get the better of him too quickly for him to be unbiased. For that reason alone you deem him unfit to be a spy, or a soldier, or a figure of military power. He’d burn all he would build if that were the case. No, him being of noble birth and being stranded here as some sort of twisted punishment sounds believable enough.

“What are you thinking?” He questions, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hum, ponder whether you should be honest with him or not. “Don’t lie to me.” He says suddenly and you jolt, heart drumming painfully in your chest. For a frightening moment you figured he could read your mind. Then again, you have been spending a lot of time together. He must have noticed how gentle you are with him, how carefully you pick your words. His signature frown is back, you see it for a second when lightning strikes.

“I was thinking about your life.” You admit, “Your work. Whether you really are a royal as most of my crew mates seem to think.”

Flash. You see half a smile blooming on his lips.

“But I know you won’t tell me. Don’t worry, I get it. Ladies love a mystery.”

“What?”

It’s your turn to grin, “Oh, please, it’s almost all I hear about. Seven brought a brooding stranger with a secret past into the base. Lo…Michel… Two of your rapid admirers. I already told you that your arrival has sparked many speculations.”

“I…I haven’t…” He sounds uncertain, flustered almost, as if embarrassed, but there is no way he is, you refuse to believe it. He stumbles upon his words and lastly says nothing. You snicker silently. Another flash of lightning and you see the same confused, puppy-like look on his face you have had the pleasure of seeing once or twice. He does not shield it this time, this moment of vulnerability. He probably doesn’t see the point because darkness obscures everything again.

You extend your hand to him as a silent offering. How many things have you offered him now? Life, health, your company. He regards it, ponders a bit, lastly gently clasps his hand over yours. You jerk. Electricity courses through you and your eyes go wide, tingles rushing all over your body. Lightning strikes. You see wonder on his face, a mimic of your own surprised expression.

“Come on,” You stutter, tugging him, “you’ll catch a cold.” He follows after you. The light blinks on. You don’t know what is happening. Couldn’t have been the thunder, the feeling is not as intense. It felt more like a build up of energy; like you accidentally touched a circuit and it zapped you.

Impossible, you hear something alike his voice but not quite — it’s quiet, distant, muddy.

“Hm?”

“What?”

Once inside, the door sweeps shut behind you, “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” He sounds a bit ticked now, and you decide to drop it.

“Oh,” You mutter, “must’ve imagined it, then.”

His hand is cold in yours and you squeeze it just a bit, hoping he won’t notice and hoping that you will warm it. When you reach the Medical Wing, you tilt your head and say, “Wait here. I’ll get you dry clothes from the storage.”

But as you turn to leave he doesn’t let go, though doesn’t say anything either. He’s choked up — either he doesn’t know how to say it or doesn’t want to say it at all. He doesn’t want to be alone. Those whispers come again, ringing in your ears so quietly you aren’t sure they’re even there. You give him a soft smile, catching his gaze, “Okay, we can go together. You’ll probably stay here for at least another week, so, it’s best you know where the storage is anyway.” There’s no rush in your words, no annoyance, just simple acceptance. It eases him, relieves him of saying and admitting things he’s not willing to bring to light.

The walk is quiet and you still hold hands. His is much bigger than yours, rough, though not unpleasant. They are hands of a man that uses them often — for better, or for worse — and a twinge in your heart, a sudden thud of uncertainty, informs you that your previous speculations might have not been correct at all. His hand doesn’t feel like that of a prince (not that you would know what that would feel like), no, it feels like a hand of a soldier. But that inching of something amiss is swept away by warmth, silent happiness, a certain deliriousness that starts blooming within you and spreading all around. You feel him, somehow; feel a connection. You can’t put it into words exactly, you doubt you could ever explain it to anyone. It’s fragile. And beautiful. And maddening that such a devout emotion is sprung by something as innocent as holding hands

You wonder if he feels it. You somehow know he does.

The storage room is not big. Your hand slips from his as he chooses to stand by the doorway and you rummage to get his things. You feel braver. Perhaps it’s the tiredness that leaves you so open and bold, but searching you can’t help but ask, “So tell me…” You start, handing him some towels, “What were you actually doing? Besides being melodramatic.” You add, your lips quirking upwards.

He regards you with lively eyes and you see a grin lift his cheeks. He’s smiling, actually smiling, and you know this action is precious and rare and you can’t help but beam at him in return, “You think I was being melodramatic?” He questions.

You laugh a little, a breathless bell-like “Yes” falling from your lips as you fetch him dry clothes from the upper shelf, “All you needed was a cape to swing around.”

His expression abruptly falls and the temperature drops with it.

“Right, no cape.” You mumble, a tad disappointed, handing him his clothes.

As you make your way back, you can’t help but saying, “I just thought it would suit you, is all.”

“What else do you think would suit me?”

You raise a brow, trying to keep up with his drastic shift in moods: again, hes smiling, then he’s pensive, now he seems lighthearted, genuinely curious. “You like to ask a lot of questions.” You conclude.

He shrugs, “I’m just trying to figure out what you think of me.”

“And why are you curious?”

“Now you are the one asking a lot of questions.” He points out. You snort.

“You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

This again, followed by quiet chuckles. You don’t turn to the Medical Wing now, instead stopping by the elevator and pressing the red button. The doors slide open. You glance at him.

“So…” You mumble, “This is not how I imagined my night going, but…” You aren’t quite sure how to finish, how to vocalize the strange swirl of emotions in your chest, “Well, goodnight.”

You step into the elevator, going to push the button—“Ben.” He says suddenly, making you flinch and turn to him. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at the floor, “My name. It’s Ben.”

Again, that same energy, that same shock you felt when you first touched his hand ignites your body with something closely akin to happiness. Trust. Bond. He trusts you. The connection you felt was not an exaggeration. He would not have given you his name otherwise.

“Goodnight, Ben.” You say softly, fighting a smile that’s trying to rise on your face, “Sweet dreams.”

“…Goodnight, Seven.”

As the elevator doors shut, you think you hear him say “Thank you”, but that might have just been your imagination.

hope you liked it! xxx

238 notes · View notes

peeterparkr · 5 years

Text

clear|20|t.h.

CHAPTER 20: ECLIPSE.

pairing: surfer!tom x reader

word count: 5.5k

warnings: angst, cancer mention, swearing, chemotherapy.

summary: The summer ends.

series masterlist playlist (updated!) previous chapter epliogue

what did you think?

Hello! This is the Last Chapter of Clear, thanks for everyone who’s stuck around through this mess, thank you so much for your support. Love you guys, I loved writing this and while there’s still an epilogue on its way, I am sad this ended but... I’m glad there are people who liked this story as much as I loved writing it. I listened to Harry Styles’ new album while writing this. And you should too. Or listen to the playlist.

That was not the last time Tom had ended up in the hospital. As the summer came to an end, there were more and more nights when Y/N would be in the waiting room along with his brothers and parents.

Other times Y/N would go to the beach and facetime him so they could watch the sunset together. Still, they tried to see summer differently. Like a summer chickflick. Ice cream, sunny days, and sitting on the swing outside the cottage. Y/N had begun painting her grandfather, her grandmother.

Suns and Moons.

Her grandparents' house was now painted with a beautiful story, with a sea, which began with shells, and followed with waves and riptide, and then followed with storms, and Ferris wheels, ice cream, suns, moons, surfboards and lighthouses. It was a masterpiece, no doubt. A story worth telling.

Y/N had organized a surprise, a surfing competition between them, simply because Tom had not been able to participate. Due to her grandfather's incident, they had to return back and y/n was always blaming herself for him losing his chance. It was a game between them, clearly, Tom won.

“When will you go to London?” She asked Tom, while they were in the Blue Valley, he was lying on the sand while she painted shells, of different colours.

"I need to save money, maybe in a year," Tom confessed.

Y/N fell silent. She didn't want to say much. One year.

"What?"

Tom sighed. “I thought I mentioned it.”

“But… You said…”

“Yes, I will go to London,” said Tom. "But it's expensive ..."

Y/N sighed. "And what if ... I could sell my grandfather's car, it would help you-"

"I don't want to be anyone's charity."

"It's not charity," Y/N said. "I love you and-"

"I don't want you to, Y/N," Tom said. "Really, I can wait."

"Your cancer can’t."

They had been counted, the times Y/N had used the word with c. But that was the time it hurt the most. Tom supposed she was right. But there wasn't much he could do.

"Well, maybe not a year, but ... You know, I still have to fix things."

"Well, fix them. Time does not wait, time does not forgive."

And she was right. Time simply follows. The tide was not going to go down. Tom had to make a decision. And it was still not clear what it should take.

There are no people who are meant to be. There are no soulmates, as some like to call them. Love does not come from someone who is tailor-made for someone. No, love, it's a decision. And it is choosing to continue taking it. But sometimes the decision that has to be made involves letting go.

They were both watching a sunset, letting the waves wet their legs, sitting on that surfboard that Y/N had painted. Both feared for the end. Because well, everything comes to an end.

Summer was over, his love was not, but they had to make decisions. Decisions that would probably make that wave that looked far away, terrifying for Y/N and challenging for Tom, become somewhat minimal. It was such a tiny wave compared to the decision they would have to make.

It is not easy to say goodbye. Less when two people love each other.

But they had already learned lessons, the tide had brought to the shore ways to heal them both. Heal them of diseases. Make a smile again after a dark moment. They found themselves in each other's eyes.

And it came down to something simple, to a story that Y/N would have loved to see in a romantic movie. Making it simply as simple and superficial. A surfer falling in love with a painter. A popular boy falling in love with a quiet girl. A girl who was born again, and a boy who lived again. A boy who turned all gold and a girl who turned all blue. A girl who was the moon and a boy who was the sun.

Simple. Beautiful. Colourful.

There are times when you can not stand with the different options and alternatives that life gives you. It is easy to accept that there is a risk that is actually based on non-existent probabilities.

But they had already decided. Tom had decided it, at least. They would have to break up. Tom had taken it for granted, for her, for him. Because he didn't know what the future would hold.

It was healthy. For now. Because while they had found each other in their eyes, they needed to know who they were after being reborn. Who they were after seeing that the sea had decanted the salt that was leftover. Heal wounds. They needed to be alone, no matter how much it hurt.

Besides, Tom wouldn't go to London. Not so soon, however. He had to get prepared for the chemos and had to take more therapy sessions. But they would see each other. Tom thought, at least.

It was not a pretty conversation. Not at first, at least.

"I need you to live," Tom told her. "Y/N, listen, listen."

"You promised not to get rid of me," Y/N said, raising her voice. "No ... No."

"It's temporary."

"And what do you know?" Y/N finally shouted. “You can't… You can't just say goodbye to someone you love when you still have time.”

“I am doing it for you.”

“For me?” She laughed. "Tom, you said it yourself, time ... All this."

Tom took his hands. "It's temporary, easy, easy y/n, we'll ... we'll see what happens in London."

"But, Tom what if ..."

"You're being very negative, Y/N," Tom continued.

She sighed. "That’s who I am, okay?" She laughed softly, mocking herself. "I always turn everything blue, remember?"

"But you also see the positive side, yes, I love you, but this ... This is ... For both of us you ... were reborn y/n and I still need to know who I am. I barely know it anymore, and I need to figure it out. Alone. ”

He kissed him, an innocent kiss.

"I will never stop loving you," Y/N told him.

"Until my last breath." Tom had hugged her. But she had screamed again, and it didn't end well.

They had been, for the last days, both fighting for their decision. Y/N said they had to be together. Tom begged her to find out who she was.

“It's just… Tom, no… I don't understand why it has to end like this, we should be like any movie, you know? Any love story. ”

“We are not a book, we are not a story, Y/N, you said it, ”Tom reminded her. “I need… I need to know that I will be fine.”

“You will be,” said Y/N. "And although ..."

"We both know that there is a possibility that I won’t be, everything looks blurry, Y/N, I can't commit to this," Tom explained. "I want you to ... Be happy."

"But I'm happy with you," she said.

"And I am happy with you, but I need you to get ahead, okay?" Tom asked.

"But how?" She frowned. “Please, do… Do something, so then I can hate you and even forget you.”

“What?”

“If you're going to break up with me at least make me hate you, it will be easier to know that it's over for something ugly rather than knowing we still love each other. ”

“No, because we love each other...Exactly because of that, I don't want to say goodbye with tears and reproaches, ”Tom asked. “You just have to let us go.”

“No, Tom… You can't build… It's like… It will erase a whole summer,” she explained.

"No, no," Tom said. "Do you remember everything you painted?" He asked.

“Tom, Tom, please,” she rolled her eyes, “not the time.”

“Our story will remain there, on those paintings,” I continued.

"What a stupid thing to say," she frowned, laughing.

Tom was thrown back. “What?”

“All of this summer, for nothing? And you try to come up with a wise romantic thing so I simply forget you're breaking up with me? ”

Tom closed his eyes. "Y/N."

"It is stupid," she continued. “Sorry, sorry. It's all so blurry right now. ”

“Exactly, maybe this will make things finally… clear. ”

And that had been his goodbye. So Y/N had returned to her old apartment in London, she would continue studying and painting. Tom kept surfing. Because sometimes love is about letting go. Sometimes love is simply knowing that you have to move on.

They stopped talking. She was finding herself in London, with her life back in her sights. To Tom's bad luck, Y/N had started to hang out with Marcus Jones.

Nothing important, but Tom knew that this could be good, in the future, at least. Tom knew who Marcus Jones was for Y/N. Marcus Jones had been what had kept Y/N a little distracted. Tom thought they had started dating.

He did not ask her about it, he did not talk to her.

How do you continue life after having lived a summer with such enthusiasm? The worst part about pain is that when you think it finally ends, it comes back stronger. To test your resilience, which sometimes isn't enough.

After months, Tom had gone to London. Around Christmas time. Talk about a Miracle.

Something that nobody says about chemos is how they take your life by putting your death on an extension. 5 years. 5 years that were nothing more than a promise without foundation. Chemotherapies that were just a way to delay the inevitable. They did not promise to eradicate it, and they did not promise that he would last the whole 5 years.

Tom was listening to those words. He was in London and his mother was holding his hand. The doctor was explaining the whole procedure and Tom really didn't want to pay attention. A lot of blablabla about how there could be side effects and how they didn't make promises, how this could weaken him and how he would go once a week. The cares he had to maintain and how he was going to lose a bit of his essence.

Tom knew that. Tom was perfectly sure that despite being alive, he would not have a... life.

But there was a motivation, Y/N. Y/N was in London. And at first, he had hesitated to call her, but eventually ... He called Joanne.

And the response was quick, they would see each other in a cafe.

How different everything was. The sea breeze was no longer felt, and both were in big coats and with their cheeks pink from the cold. And yet, seeing her, Tom remembered July, with the heat and the tide and the waves and the fires. Tom saw Joanne and remembered Y/N. With his sleepless nights and painting and discussions ending in kisses. Y/N was fine, he knew.

Tom ... Tom would be fine. Eventually.

He saw her and they hugged each other like old friends, as if they had gone to study elsewhere and simply gathered to know what was going to happen through life.

And they started to catch up, telling about their adventures. She would often visit the town, near Croyde, stayed at her grandfather's house and dated Haz, but Tom usually avoided seeing her, it was hard to know that he had let Y/N go, with a silly excuse. And he felt again as if it were summer, as if it were an afternoon in July with Y/N's embrace listening to Joanne’s stories.

Tom explained, how it would be, his cycles would last 6 weeks. He would be there for a while. He told her he would have breaks and told her he’d probably go surf in those breaks, although he knew he wouldn’t have the strength, but he didn’t tell her that, only the good things. He didn't tell Joanne about the side effects or the bad times that would happen, he didn't say it was basically postponing his death, nor did he tell her it wasn't safe. He told her that after 5 years, he would be cancer-free.

He asked for Y/N. Because he knew that being with her would make everything clearer.

"She's studying, she's doing a speciality... And in the afternoons she studies arts," she explained. "I thought you would call her."

"I will ..." Tom replied. "Eventually."

She looked at him.

"She still loves you, you know?" Joanne told him.

Tom cleared his throat. "And I love her."

"I never understood ... What happened."

Tom sighed. “I think we were both in murky waters, in the end, her greatest fear was true. We were swimming in riptide. ”

“She used the word storm, ”Joanne said.

Tom laughed. "She always said that I was one."

"Are you?"

Tom laughed. "I didn't plan it to be this bittersweet."

Joanne shook her head. "You don't always have a happy ending."

"We wouldn't have had it anyway," Tom said sadly.

"What about the 5 years of treatment?" Joanne asked.

Tom shrugged. "Nothing sure."

"Then?" Joanne asked. “Why the hell are you not going and looking for her? Have a fucking happy ending! Live what you have left together! ”

Tom sighed. “Yes, I suppose, yes. But what about Marcus? I know she is seeing him. ”

“ They work together, I don't know if they date, I just know that whenever I go to Croyde, she asks me about you, I can't tell her much because, well, I don't see you much, I also didn't know that you were in London. ”

“ And why doesn't she call me? ”

“I guess because you asked her not to. ”Joanne crossed her arms.

"Well, I ..." Tom sighed. “Will you tell her?”

“I don't know, Y/N has changed.”

“Is she okay?”

“Yes, perfectly, she keeps painting and… She's happy,” Joanne admitted. “She brought the blue Jeep, she wants to open her gallery.”

“See? That is her happy ending, she has ... to live, take a brush and paint it all blue. ”

Joanne looked at him. "You know, I think I owe you a favour," she reminded him.

"I thought we had already settled it," Tom denied. "I mean, I owed you one and now ..."

"I don't know," Joanne chuckled. “I could tell her to come now, you know? Tell her I want to see her in this cafe ... "

"I think it's not time yet. "Tom sighed. “I wanna… Heal, you know? I want to be sure that medicine will work. ”

“ And if it doesn't? ”Joanne asked, a little more directly than Tom wanted.

Tom crossed his arms. "Well thanks for your good will and vibes."

Joanne closed her eyes. “Sorry, sorry… I just can't stand to know that… You are apart, you know? I see a whole summer and it seems that everything went to hell in a second, please, you are Y/N and Tom! You have to go find her in the rain while she is crying in a car. ”

Tom sighed. "Yes, yes, problem is, London is too big, and I can't really afford the luxury to stand out, shaking in the rain anymore."

Joanne looked at him sadly. "Sorry ... Yes, you're right."

"I owe you, though," Tom admitted. “For bringing her into my life.”

"Really?" Joanne asked. "Huh, and all because I wanted to go out with Harrison."

Tom laughed after coughing. "Yes, thanks to those blue eyes."

"And that blond hair," Joanne said.

Tom looked down. "You ... your sister ever mentioned some of my hair?"

"Why would I do it?" Joanne asked.

"I don't know ... I don't know," Tom cleared his throat. "Well, I hope you didn't like it for that."

Joanne avoided her gaze, knowingly. “Oh, no, she… she liked you for you.”

“I'm… debating,” admitted Tom. "There's these ... Cold caps," Tom bit his lip. “To minimize hair loss.”

“Right,” Joanne sighed. “And do you want to wear them?”

“Dunno, they said it can be really painful but, well, I won't be the prince charming with amazing hair but…”

“And you need it?” Joanne pushed.

"My hair?" Tom laughed. "I ... I guess?"

"For what?"

"I dunno, my happily ever after," Tom joked. “There's never been a bald prince.”

“And there never really was a prince with cancer and a princess with anxiety,” Joanne spoke, clearly. Tom wasn't sure if her wording was what I needed to hear, he had started to refer to it as' the c-word '. "And yet."

"And yet," Tom admitted. "I ..."

Joanne smiled. "You know, a lot of things happen after a conventional Happily Ever After, life is more than that," she said.

"It doesn't always work out," Tom nodded.

"It's because it's not the end," Joanne told him. "Not really."

And it wasn't. And it was impossible. And neither of them had called the other, because they still had to meet. Tom was far from doing it, but he was in London and going to the places where he would believe Y/N would be found. She was never there

How easy it was to live in the fantasy of his summer, and how difficult it was now to be in that cold London.

Real life was not like that romantic comedy they had lived in. Less now in rainy London. Tom was going to the chemos and little by little the light he had found in the summer was fading. His hair fell and his dark circles grew, his skin paled.

An effect of chemotherapy, Tom said, was to look like a zombie. Besides, he saw others around him, fading away, but with hope.

Nikki and Tom lived in an old apartment they had rented, Nikki hadn't told him to whom it belonged. His brothers also went to see him, they took turns. Sometimes everyone came. Paddy liked to spend time with Tom, alone.

Jared went to visit him one day. It was like talking with an old friend, for the first time Tom didn't see him with such contempt and Jared seemed genuinely worried.

Haz would go visit him several times too. Even Joanne appeared from time to time, but not Y/N.

Tom was returning to London and at each visit, he intended to speak to her, he never did. And he didn't understand why she didn't look for him either.

On one of his many visits to the hospital, he had a recurrence. His mother told him that several of his friends had come to visit him while he was unconscious. He would have sworn he had seen Y/N beside his bed at the hospital.

Tom was an idiot. He had to call her. Who does not speak to who is possibly the love of his life? Tom was in a crisis. Because everything was still blurry. And he didn't have any strength. Another side effect. See yourself becoming what you did not want to be.

But it was for a good thing, right?

It's stressful, isn't it? Knowing that he lived something extraordinary and that he was now someone who no longer radiated light. He had no colors. Tom did not speak. He did not sing and when he returned, he did not want to surf.

Days after relapse around summer, Lex had gone to visit him in London.

"Do you remember when we came a few years ago?" She asked.

Tom just nodded.

"I want that, Tom," Lex admitted. "That light you had, all golden, no ..."

Tom looked at her.

"I don't mean with me, I know you wouldn't be happy," said Lex. "But yes ... I do want you to be."

"Be what?"

"Happy."

And that week ... that same week was his birthday. He could go home and have a party, pretending everything was fine. Another summer pretending.

On one of those days when Tom just felt cold, even though summer had come again, because it does get harder, he was staring at the ceiling of that old apartment they lived in. It was his birthday, His mother was not there, he had gone to God knows where, he supposed to buy him a cake. His mother did that, he supposed, to forget all this. It was raining, as always. London always seemed to adorn his sad days with rain. Tom was fed up, he had become someone he didn't want to be with, and what else could he do? He was always alone with his thoughts.

He heard how they knocked on the door. Tom sighed and eagerly approached.

"Who's there?"

"Someone who's interested in some surfing puns," a warm voice called from the door.

Tom opened it quickly and saw her, with a full bag, and a shy smile. She had certain raindrops around.

"Y/N," he murmured.

"Is it ... a good time?" She asked. He let her in while she hugged the bag. "I came to ... I came ... Well, I, I know you wanted time, but ... Your mother called me and then," she smiled delicately, while she looked at him sadly.

"I ..."

"No, no, I know," she looked at him. His hair had fallen, his eyes were dark and his skin paled. "I ... brought you this," he said as Tom sat down. She handed the bag over and he looked at it, shells. “They're yours.”

“What?” He stared at her hands, full of paint. It was a weird parody of his own hands, full of bruises.

“They're the ones you gave me at the beginning of the summer, last year,” she reminded him.

"Oh, they were a gift," Tom chuckled. “They're yours…”

“No, no, look at them, see? I painted them, ”she told him as she took one out, showing him the colours.

He smiled. "Thank you." And for the first time, he had smiled in a long time, genuinely. And the colour on his cheeks had returned.

"Happy birthday," she told him, with a small smile.

And Tom was struggling not to throw himself into her arms. But he only replied with a simple, "Thanks."

She looked at him. "Hey, hey, I .." She cleared her throat. “I came here because I wanted to take you out.”

“Out.”

“I enjoy your company, I've missed you, and really, you're such a mess, you need some sun,” she said, quoting the exact words Tom had used the summer before. He smiled.

"Really, Y/N?" He asked her.

"Really, let's go have an anti-date in London, my style this time, alright?" She grinned. “I want to show you my secret place in London, and… who knows?”

“I… I can't really…” Tom coughed.

“Tom, c'mon.”

“Fine.”

And he put on a jacket. He didn't know very well how to act in front of someone he had already seen the stars with. How were they supposed to go from being someone who loved to two strangers?

But, the moment they got into the blue jeep, everything was forgotten, they talked like they did in the summer and although Tom sometimes had to take time to breathe, he was still the same. And Tom felt how she, with her words, was painting on him again, but she didn't paint a storm this time, she painted a clear blue sky. Y/N had changed, she looked free, happy.

"So, your ... secret place?" Tom asked as soon as they arrived at an old place, it was an old building, winged from an old coffee shop and a clothing store.

"Yep."

"Are you kidnapping me?" Tom asked.

"I should, honestly, that's how I'd make sure you're not leaving me this time," Y/N joked.

Tom laughed. "I ..."

"No, no, I don't want to hear it, it's a new summer now, okay?" She told him.

He walked inside and looked at him, there really wasn't much, it was a single room, white with some drawings of Y/N hanging here and there. There was a table in the centre and two chairs. The place was a bit disastrous, there were canvases, some painted, some blank, paint on the floor, easels around the place. Y/N lit some candles.

“And what’s this place?”

“My gallery,” confessed Y/N. "Well, it will be one day, it’s my studio… Gallery, my..Everything, my room is upstairs."

Tom smiled. "I see you did well."

“This old place?” She laughed. Y/N smiled sadly, shrugging. "No ... not exactly, I missed you, I still do," she confessed.

Tom approached her, cupping her cheeks “Missed you too.”

“But I understand, you know? I think it was good to clear my life, sort it out. ”She walked around the place. "Well, everything is better."

Tom looked at her. Things had cleared up for him too, he needed Y/N's light.

He approached one of the drawings. A lighthouse.

“They clear the path,” she said as she watched him look at her drawing. “For the lost ones.”

“Always romantic,” Tom chuckled.

"Me? May I remind you who climbed a bloody Ferris wheel in the carnival? ”She laughed.

Tom sighed, he wouldn't be able to pull any stunt like that anymore. Tom walked over to the chair, and sat down, to catch his breath.

“I was madly in love with you,” he reminded her.

“You're using past tense I see,” she looked down. “I still… well, I still love you, Tom.”

He didn't answer.

“That's the worst thing you've heard, isn't it? That's possibly the worst thing I could've said, ”she closed her eyes, and sat across him. “If something goes wrong here and I have to sell out the place… because it'll be yet another thing that reminds me of you—“

“What?”

“Oh, it's going to sound stupid and cliché, but… I've had to hide everything that reminded me of you, ”he said. "That's why ... I haven't gone to town, nor ... I don't know, if something goes wrong here, I'll have to sell it because it will be another reminder of our 'what if."

"Pretty stupid of us to break up," Tom murmured.

She laughed, throwing her head back. “You were the one who suggested it… No, let me rephrase that, you were the one who broke up with me.”

“I was… I am very stupid,” he admitted.

"Ah, so for that you use present tense," she looked down, whispering to herself.

Tom closed his eyes. “I didn't-”

“No, hey, it's alright,” she dedicated him a smile, “I assume it's been hard.”

And Tom didn't know why he didn't want to admit that he still loved her. He guessed it was the face she had made when she first saw him, scared, or disappointed. Or a combination of both, because he guessed she didn't expect to see him so destroyed, and he guessed that he wasn't the guy whom she had fallen in love with. And things would only get worse from there.

Tom avoided her gaze. “You assume or you know?”

“Both, I guess, I can tell,” she agreed as she looked at his hand. "You're not being your particular way of being annoying."

Tom laughed. “I'm sorry, now, I'm a different kind of annoying.”

“Very annoying, Tommy.”

He cleared his throat. "Well, and ... How are you doing with Ken?"

"Ken?"

"Marcus, sorry, he’s so perfect."

She rolled her eyes. “I'm not dating him.”

“Huh, alright.”

“Not right now, at least,” she admitted.

"Oh."

"Went out for a few dates," she continued. “Really boring, you know.”

Tom cleared his throat. "Right."

"Have you ... seen anyone?"

Tom scoffed. “I don't exactly think I'm datable right now.”

She watched him. "You never were," she teased. “You were a walking cliché only willing to break my heart,” she reminded him. "Yet."

Tom smiled. “No, but…”

“You're still a work of art, Tommy.” And she meant it. They looked into each others eyes but before he could say anything, she looked away. “So… Uh, this is an anti-date, remember? I… ordered some burgers. ”

Tom smiled, slightly.

“So, what's it gonna be this summer?” She asked him. “Another hoax? Friendship? What cliché- ”

“ Y/N. ”

She chuckled. "C'mon, I'm just trynna ..."

Tom smiled. “I know.” He looked around. “So how did you buy this place?”

She cleared her throat. "Sold the Aston Martin."

His eyes widened. “What?”

“Well, it's… kind of pawned,” she admitted. “I… sold it to Jared and he promised to sell it back, eventually.”

Tom smiled. "Oh, alright," He looked down. “So, your gallery, huh? When are you going to…”

“Open it? ”She laughed. “I would love to know, too, I only have a few… Paintings but I haven't… Really.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What?”

“Well, I told you, I've had to hide everything that reminded me of you and well… The paintings I had--” She cleared her throat. “Well, they kind of all revolve around last summer.”

He stood up and scooted his chair beside her.

"Everything comes back to last summer," he admitted.

She looked at him. “You know, I'm not asking for much,” she started. “I just… I don't need you to say you love me back,” she said. “I just… Let me love you, you know?”

Tom reached out for her hand and intertwined their fingers.

"Love," He whispered.

She closed her eyes. "No, no, don't you call me love if ... If ..." She gulped. “I ... Look, I just want to love you, alright? Let me be around but if you're not going to ... To let me in, don't- ”

And he kissed her. Because he had missed her lips this whole year, and he knew that he needed her to be around. Because one love shouldn't last only a summer. A love like theirs should last a lifetime. And though he didn't have any strength left he managed to mould their lips together, creating a sunset. And it tasted just like the end of June, and he didn't want to stop.

"I love you, too," he whispered against her lips.

She sighed and smiled, resting her forehead against his. “That's the worst prelude to a kiss I've ever had.”

He laughed. “Why?”

“Really? You're asking why? Thomas! ”She rolled her eyes. “I thought you didn't — you didn't like me anymore.”

“I never liked you,” he joked. "I just loved you."

She pushed him away, jokingly. “You are such a complicated mess.”

He leaned against the table. “I've become more of a mess while we were apart.”

“I've been around,” she confessed. “I haven't exactly been… absent.” Tom knew that. “Sometimes I was with your mom, I went and talked to her in the hospital, I wanted… I wanted to know that you were fine.”

Tom kept listening to her.

"And last week..." she closed her eyes. “Sorry to do this about me, but I went to see you because… because we all believed we would lose you, and I thought… what would I do without you? I couldn't be away any longer. ”

“ I've been drowning without you, Y/N, ”Tom said. “I've been… feeling blue.”

“That's my thing, silly,” she chuckled but kissed him again. “I'm here to save you, now.”

“But now I feel calm,” he continued.

Tom hugged her.

“Soon you'll get better, Tom. You're healing. ”

Tom smiled. Although he didn't know if it was true, he believed her. And maybe it was a way to fool himself, like last summer, play pretend. He took her in his arms and walked to the centre of the room. And so without music, they started dancing. There were many reasons why Tom shouldn't have gone, but he decided to dance with her. Because they had run out of things they could say, and Tom fell again to her.

She gently began to whisper the lyrics of that song they both loved, Somewhere Over the Rainbow. They merged together, and their shadow did not let the incandescent candlelight see the street from the small window.

The blue moon and the golden sun had come together to form an eclipse. And it was beautiful, and although it was dark, they glowed.

They were the necessary antidote to make everything stop being blurry. And at that moment, Tom didn't feel it was just medicine.

And it was a decision. Because that's love, deciding to be together, in addition, Tom had made a promise that he would love her until her last breath. And he wouldn't break it. Because despite having little hope, there was a little light. It was like a lighthouse in the distance. And they would be together, because one summer is not enough. Because whenever they were together, no matter how dark, how agitated the sea was or how dense the storm was, everything became… clear.

Even if time ran out.

series masterlist playlist (updated!) previous chapter epliogue

what did you think?

tag list @fairydustparker @ymeradonnadx @underoosmarvel @its-the-unknownspidey @wronglanemendes @itsvianny @jake-and-amy-are-married @starlightfound @tiredfeels @thespiderdweeb @kill-the-stereo @originalpinkpowerranger @anxiousdesignerdancerbandlover @organicpurplepants @happywolves81 @nedthegay @skylar-mendes @emma-worthington @bluparis @badhollandfluff @myspideysensesrtingling @spidermansmj14 @soccerstud004 @marinaabernardii @applenter @silver-winter-wolf @harryh-peterp-stuff @dark-infernal-instruments @claredolphinbear24 @bookgirlunicorn @tomshufflepuff @avengersgirllorianna @alwaysbenhardysgirl @saintlavrents @herofiennestiffinashardinscott. @tomzfrog @tohollandback @morganhoran1671 @awkwardfangirl2014 @spideysimpossiblegirl @everythingbooknerd @captainbuckyy @xapham @parkerswebhead @gioandreolli @tomhollandisagod @danicarosaline @laurfangirl424 @vintageroses1014516 @cinnamon-roll-peter @the-lost-fairy-tale @lala-florez @fufaation15 @healthyassdonut @laurfangirl424 @ilcveyou3000 @xxtomxo @socorroann @muffinmari25 @cassindeansass @rogers-obsessed-barnes-curious @southsidespidey @nathaliabakes @miraclesoflove @spidey-pal @angelsparkels281 @thatweirdomimic @imfreefallinall @meg-holland @inlovewithmobtom @space-holland @astoldbydanid @hannahholland1811 @underooosss @snoopy3000 @honeymoonpeter @frustratingpaperclip @parkeret @lowkey-holland

129 notes · View notes

xxisxxisxxis · 5 years

Text

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty-Three

Table of Content or Part Thirty-Two

Word Count: 3.4K

Warning(s): Explicit language, Drug abuse, Domestic abuse, Minor sexual situations

Tag List: @unknownoblivion @sinningsixx @edwardtriggerhandzz @lemmyjelly @haileynicoleseavey17 @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @mgkobsessed @vamprlestat @sharon6713 @itsametaphorbriansblog @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium @caos18blog @ytwahsog @shamlessobsessions @scarecrowmax @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @loveofmyloif @sparxx27 @kaitieskidmore1 @xpoisonousrosesx @ijustwanttokiss70srogertaylor @triplehaitches @emmaelizabeth2014 @meetthesixxter @sixxsixxsexx @sublimeprincesswasteland

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED

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

I stare at Nikki, the breath knocked out of my body.

"Wh-What?" I ask, but there's no use in lying, he can read me like a book.

His hand, slightly shaking with anger, slides along the kitchen counter, picking up an envelope that's been torn open.

He picks the folded piece of paper out of it, and waves it at me before unfolding it.

"Viv, happy birthday. It's been damn near killing me to keep this from you. I hope you had a good day. Duff." He quotes the letter and then pulls out a second piece of paper, handing it to me.

It's proof of payment for that ticket I got.

He must have mailed it in.

"So not only did you lie to me about that fucking tail light, you also let another man pay for it!" Nikki's throwing at me and I keep myself calm.

"Nikki, why're you mad? That's just $350.00 you didn't have to pay—"

"Because you're my wife! You're my responsibility! You could have told me the truth and just let me handle it, but instead, you looked me in the eye and lied to my fuckin' face!"

Glass slashes at my skin when he throws his whiskey bottle against the wall, blood rolling down my leg to my foot as a hiss of pain cuts through my teeth.

"Yeah. I could have told the truth so you could have blown up on me then like you're doing now!" I fight back.

"I would've been irritated, Vivian, but I would have gotten over it! It's gonna take me a while get over this bullshit, though!" He points at me, letting a beat pass between us before he rubs his forehead. "I-I don't even wanna know who this dude is, right now, I just am too pissed off—"

"Nikki—"

"Don't, Viv!" He spits out, harshly. "I-I can't even be around you right now." His voice cracks a little, and I rub my lips together as he pushes past me to grab his keys and jacket.

"Just talk to me about this instead of running off and getting messed up, Nikki!" I follow him to the door.

"Fuck you!" He shoots, seething. "That's about all the fucking talking you're gonna get from me right now."

He slams the door, leaving me to myself, and I take several deep breaths to convince myself not to wreck our new house.

He didn't come back for a couple of days, and the only reason he did come back was because Robbin made him.

"All he's doing is moping around and shooting up and talking about how he misses you but refuses to call you when I tell him to, so here." Robbin says, trying to keep a nodding-off-Nikki up as he walks him to the couch and drops him on the cushions.

"Thank you." I say to him.

"Whatever you did, whoever that dude is, he had a right to know, Viv." Robbin tells me.

"It's completely innocent, Robbin. I swear. I didn't tell him because I knew he'd want to make a big deal about him and meet him so he could size him up." I roll my eyes and he raises his brows.

"If Nikki had a girl friend that he hid from you, you would claw his eyes out, and her's. I know you don't think he's overreacting. Just talk to him and own up to it." He advises and I nod a little. "I love you. Good luck." He pats my head.

"I love you, too." I reply as he steps to his car, and I shut the door and walk to the living room to wait for Nikki to sleep off his high.

The next several days are spent with him attempting to ignore me, but doing a shitty job of it when he sees me fresh out of the shower or changing clothes or coming back inside from the hot tub.

This time, I'm coming back inside from laying by the pool for a few minutes, and the sunscreen I slathered all over my body before going out, has created a light glisten over my skin and he's looking up from his bass, eyes rolling down my body and back up, lingering on my chest for a few seconds before pretending he wasn't just checking me out.

I just step to the kitchen and get some water before deciding to attempt a conversation.

"So, what do you wanna do for New Years?" I ask Nikki.

No response.

"I was thinking maybe we could call the guys and hang out with them since we haven't seen them in a few weeks and we can all go out or something." I suggest. "Or Tommy and Mick ateast...I don't think Vince feels like it."

Nothing.

"I could invite Duff so you can meet him." I offer and he stops writing, his jaw rolling.

It's ironic he was so pissed off at me when the first time I found out he and Vanity even knew each other it was because I walked in our house to see her on our couch, dressed for a night out with all of us, Tansy and Sparkie.

I never asked him then how they met because the chances I wouldn't like the answer were pretty high.

I leave him to be pissed, taking a shower and dressing in a t-shirt and panties before he comes in to get ready to go out.

"I won't be back tonight." He tells me blankly and I raise a brow.

"May I ask 'why'?" I ask.

"You can ask. Doesn't mean I owe you a fucking explanation." He snaps, and grabs his keys.

"I'm your wife so you kind of do when you tell me you won't be back tonight." I argue, losing my patience.

He ignores me, leaving the room and I follow him.

"I'm speaking to you, Nikki!" I hiss.

"Trust me, I know, I'm just hoping you'll shut the fuck up and hop the fuck off." He coldly cuts and my hand is grabbing at his arm, roughly, pulling him to a halt.

"Nikki, can we just talk about this?!"

He snaps around to face me, shaking my hand off of him like I've got a contagious disease.

"Talk about you lying to me or talk about you hiding an entirely different dude from me, because both make me want to set you pretty fuckin' straight, Vivian!" He bites and I shake my head.

"Of all the things you've lied to me about and hid from me?! For Christ's sake, Nikki, I had to find your used needle-farm before you admitted to shooting heroin for eight months!"

"I can't fuck heroin, Vivian!" He barks, balling his fists up, getting in my face.

"You think I'm sleeping with this guy?!" I scream, completely engulfed with outrage.

"Why the fuck else would you not tell me about him?!" He's got tears in his eyes, despite his loud, graveling tone.

Hurt roots itself in my chest, the fact that he thinks I would do that to him making me nearly see red.

"Careful, Nikki, your abandonment issues are showing!" I throw out, cruelly, regretting it the second it leaves my mouth, just before his fist is connecting with the wall inches away from my face, leaving a hole.

His hand is around my throat before I can say anything else.

"I want you out of my house by the time I get back. Or I'll kick you out myself." He puts it as calmly as he possibly can, anger seeping from every pore as he shakes, tense from probably keeping himself from strangling me.

I know, I know. "How do you come back from that?" The answer is simply, "the only way we knew how."

I stumble to the bathroom, cum and traces of blood running down my legs, my scalp sore from the tension of my hair being yanked around and my bottom lip is busted where Nikki bit in to it.

Some of Nikki's skin and blood is under my nails and when I look in the mirror, my face is tear stained and flushed from crying through indescribable ecstasy.

We would get into explosive fights, then screw the hell out of each other in the most aggressive and degrading ways.

Our eventual marriage counselor later explained to us it was because we felt we had no control over ourselves, the things around us, and each other, but one thing we did have control over, and the only time we felt we had control over each other, was sex.

If it was a decently mild fight—well, mild for us—Nikki would just storm out and stay gone for a while.

If it involved enough screaming, me hitting him, him calling me offensive names, me pouring out liquor, flushing his drugs, the both of us threatening divorce or packing our shit to leave the other person, it would come to a halt just for us to start ripping at clothes, scratching and biting at each other, him putting his prick wherever he could get it in the fastest, and me accepting every inch at the inevitable barbaric rhythm we fell in to that would always result in me having some internal bruising in some form or fashion.

By the time New Year's rolled around, it was like we never fought to begin with, which would have been great if we actually talked about the fight and genuinely resolved it instead of pretending it never happend.

Nikki grasps my hand as he helps me out of his car, whistling when I get out and I roll my eyes with a shy grin and nudge him with my elbow before he's pressing his lips to mine for a second. When we pull away we head to the Rainbow to meet Tommy and Duff.

When we're inside, I see Tommy at our usual booth, chatting away with Duff, who has newly bleached hair, as the two of them drink a beer, despite Duff being underage until next month.

I can already sense Nikki sizing him up before we even get to the table.

"There they are." Tommy tells him, motioning to us and I smile hesitantly while a smug, shit eating smirk adorns Nikki's face.

"Hey." Duff greets me, not even noticing Nikki yet, dopey smile on his face.

"Hey." I reply as Nikki clears his throat.

Duff takes notice and respectfully stands up and extends his hand.

"Nikki Sixx." Nikki introduces himself. "Vivian's husband." He emphasizes.

It doesn't phase Duff a bit.

"Oh, I know, dude. It's an honor." Duff replies. "Duff McKagan." He adds and I look between the two of them before we sit down in the booth, Nikki still studying Duff to decide how threatened he should be.

He eases up when he learns Duff is from Seattle, he plays bass, and has the same music taste as him.

Dear God did I have a type or what?

"Did you know," Duff starts, blowing cigarette smoke through his lips. "That your wife is a disgrace to punk?" Duff asks and I raise my brows.

"Man, I know, she doesn't like the Sex Pistols." Nikki tells him.

"I never said I didn't necessarily like them, I just think Sid killed Nancy." I argue and Duff and Nikki look at me with the same expression because this argument has been had plenty of times.

"He did not!" They simultaneously tell me.

"Why would he kill her? That would be like me killing you." Nikki states.

"I've told you he probably didn't intentionally do it." I reply. "They were both fucked up and he more than likely was hallucinating and did it on accident."

He just looks at me and shakes his head.

Sid was one of Nikki's heroes. So of course he didn't even entertain the idea of him killing the woman he was in love with...until Nikki tried to kill me two different times, both times when he was tripping after days of freebasing.

It's not fun waking up to your husband strangling you in a panic, or shooting at you.

"And she likes Bon Jovi." Nikki adds.

"Because they make good music." I say.

"They go with the grain." Duff tells me, shaking his head.

"Exactly!" Nikki enthusiastically agrees.

"Tommy, tell them Bon Jovi is good." I look to Tommy and he just opens his mouth to speak only to close it again.

"They're kinda..." Tommy starts after a moment and I look at him.

"...They suck." Nikki finishes his sentence.

"Oh, like Mötley Crüe can do any better." I smart off and Nikki and Tommy are looking at me with cut eyes.

"We are, actually." Tommy tells me. "Me and Nikki are currently working on a fucking masterpiece."

"You haven't talked to each other in weeks. How collaborative can you be when you haven't been talking? Communicate via carrier pigeon?" I ask them and a little tension settles around us.

I realize I've unintentionally brought up the accident and how it effected the band, and Duff's painting over my screw up in no time.

"What kind of masterpiece, if it's okay for me to ask." Duff seems interested and even excited to hear about it and Nikki and Tommy light up like Christmas trees as they explain a song called "Home Sweet Home" that is slowly coming to life off a random piano melody that's been in Tommy's mind for some time that he showed Nikki about a month ago and they've both been writing lyrics for it seperately.

By the time 10:58pm hits, we've migrated to a strip joint called the Seventh Veil, and Tommy and Duff are practically joined at the hip in terms of how well they get along.

I suppose it's because they're both easy going and just go with the flow of things and have really good senses of humor.

Nikki, however, is too busy trying to drunkenly get me in the mood.

I step out of the bathroom stall to wash my hands in the the sink, Nikki stays against the wall behind me until I'm done, then he's running his hand over my ass that's being contained by tight jeans.

"Baby, quit." I laugh out, trying to shrug him off before his hand is pulling at the top of my tank crop top, getting a grab at my boob. "Stop trying to feel me up." I scold him lightheartedly, even though I enjoy his unfiltered want for me.

"I wanna fill you up, though." He snickers against my neck, turning me around and putting me on the sink.

"I said 'feel' not 'fill'." I correct him, trying not to chuckle, my hands resting on his arms as he nestles himself between my legs.

"Well, I wanna do both." He says, nipping the skin of my neck between his teeth lightly, causing a breath to catch in my throat.

"When we get home." I assure him, using all of my will power not to take him up on his offer now.

"Fuck it, let's go home, then." He smiles, reaching in his pocket for his keys.

"We can't, baby, we're with Tommy and Duff remember? We can't just ditch them." I remind him.

"I like your him." He tells me out of nowhere and I furrow my brows a little.

"What?"

"Duff. He's cool."

"Really?"

"He doesn't wanna fuck you." He tells me. "Guys know when a dude wants to fuck their girl. Vince and Sparklette do. Robbin use to. But he doesn't wanna fuck you." He motions to the door as he refers to Duff.

He was right.

A few years ago Duff was asked what he meant about a comment he made about me being "in a whole other league" than most women he knew way back then, he answered: "I never looked at her and thought 'Oh my God, I've gotta sleep with her.' Sex was never the focus, even when our relationship became physical. I mean yeah she was beautiful but it was hard to think about her in the typical-rockstar debauched way because she wasn't a shallow groupie with a hot body and hungry for attention anyway she could get it. Like, she was just Viv and she's still Viv. That's what I meant. She's always been in a different league. We've been friends for, what, like, thirty-one years now, and I felt lucky to just know her, then, of course now I feel even more lucky because I've had the privilege of raising a son with her."

It explained a lot for how he treated me.

In a few hours, long after the New Year is rung in, I'm attempting to get a nearly passed out Nikki into the passenger seat of his corvette, with Duff's help, being that Nikki could barely walk after a few minutes in the bathroom which I know were spent shooting up.

I carefully shut the passenger side door, Nikki unconscious and Duff about to head to his car.

"Thanks for inviting me out, tonight. I had a lot of fun." He says, resting against the hood of the car and I do the same, rubbing my lips together.

"I'm sorry if Nikki was a little stand-offish to begin with." I tell him.

"No, no, don't worry about it. I get it." He assures me. "It was really cool to meet him and Tommy, though. Maybe some other time I can meet Mick and Vince."

"Absolutely. After Vince's trial and everything goes back to normal they'll be inseperable again and can get you into whatever trouble you want." I chuckle out and he laughs.

"I hope by then I'll have my own gang of trouble makers." He admits.

"Me too." I agree, exhaling.

A minute of silence passes by before I'm looking at him.

"You paid for that damn ticket anyway." I state, and he nods.

"I paid for that damn ticket anyway." He repeats smugly.

"I'll pay you back." I promise and he shakes his head.

"It was an early birthday present. You can't owe someone when they give you a present."

"You paid it in October and 'gave' it to me as a present last week." I point out. "That doesn't count."

"It does if your birthday is the only loophole I could come up with to avoid you insisting on paying it back." He argues and I just look at him, still feeling a little bad that he paid it. "Viv. I just met Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee and they might even consider me one of their buddies." He tells me. "That in itself is payment back."

"Thank you." I say in reference to my birthday present from him.

He nudges me with his elbow and smiles.

"Anytime."

It wasn't long after that, that I realized I had an angel bassist on one shoulder, and a fucking demon bassist on the other.

1985 tore around the corner and by the time May was in tow, Vince had been 30 days in rehab (the label gave him a Rolex if he agreed to stay sober for at least three months), Mötley Crüe were regularly in the studio recording "Entertainment or Death", and Duff had found his band, and Tansy...well...

Screams sound through the house, causing me to startle out of my nap.

I rush to the bedroom door and swing it open to see Tansy standing at our phone in the living room, tears streaming down her face, Nikki and Tommy looking at each other, worried.

"Wh-what did they say?!" Tansy asks, frantically, rubbing her forehead, and we all look at each other as anxiousness starts up within me.

A few moments pass as whoever she's on the phone with speaks.

"Oh, God, mama, I can't..." She sobs softly. "...I can't believe this."

I step to her, my brows furrowing.

"Alright, I gotta tell Viv and the guys before they think something's wrong." She laughs out through her tears and I let out a sigh of relief. "I love you, too. I'll call you later tonight. Bye."

She hangs up and immediately and starts crying again, gripping my hand.

"Tans, what's up?" Tommy asks, coming to us and she looks up at him and starts smiling, shock washing over her face.

"I got it." She tells us.

Everything she had worked her ass off for, took her clothes of for, got taken advantage of for, got abused for, got high for, hid her truth for, grinned and beared it for, entertained for, for years, had finally paid off.

Tansy Lyn was Playmate of The Year: Miss 1985.

#nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #mötley crüe #the dirt #douglas booth #daniel webber #colson baker #gateway drug

77 notes · View notes

francoiserenaldt · 4 years

Text

week three

last week | next week

warnings: several mentions of death, potentially triggering references to c****a, angst central, desirée is Bad At Feelings

word count: 1951

Sunday, August 17th, 2023 - Day 15 of quarantine

“Westchester County residents should be expected to shelter in place for at least 5 more weeks. Healthcare professionals are resigning by the hundreds as the disease spreads to nurses and doctors throughout the country. Over half of all patients that have tested positive for the Westchester Plague have either committed suicide or attempted to commit suicide. More at noon.”

“It only gets worse and worse every day,” Desirée frowns.

“Maybe we should take a break from the news for a while.” Andy turns the TV off and heads into the kitchen. “What do you want to eat?”

“Um…” Desirée could probably read him a numbered and alphabetized list of foods that she would ruin right about now, but she refrains. “What do we have?”

“Well, there’s some ramen in here…”

Not ideal, but it’ll have to do. They are in the middle of an epidemic, after all. “Awesome.”

So they eat chicken flavored ramen like a pair of broke college students while watching some old anime, which Andy adamantly rejects the second the words leave her lips (“Avatar: The Last Airbender is a cartoon, Desirée”), and she lets her mind wander.

Eventually, it arrives to Andy, as it seems to do more and more often these days. His name warms her skin like the sun on a late summer afternoon. His presence feels like the down comforter on her bed after a long day of work.

A small smile plays at her lips as she leans into the promise of an exciting summer and sweet dreams. It welcomes her with open arms and promises fond memories for years to come. But as soon as she goes to take it, she finds herself drenched in a raging storm.

While they polish off the last of their cups, a devastating truth hits her.

As lovely as their moment feels, its end is as inevitable as the bone-chilling winter or the start of a new day.

Monday, August 18th, 2023 - Day 16 of quarantine

“Did you want to give video games another try?” Andy asks tentatively. Then, like the infuriating bastard he is, he smirks. “I promise I’ll let you win.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Desirée retorts, donning a small smile.

“Don’t get too cocky or I’ll have to show you up.” Andy

After a tense round of Mortal Kombat, the TV screen flashes a victory. Andy slumps back, defeated.

“I...how…?”

“Lily and I used to play. I’m excellent at playing dumb, Andy,” Desirée smirks. “You know this about me.”

He shakes his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“If you say so.” Desiree rolls her neck and stretches her arms. “Ready for round 2?”

Tuesday, August 19th, 2023 - Day 17 of quarantine

“Scientists have found that cutis dissolutitis, better known as the Westchester Plague, mutated from Bacillus subtilis, a bacteria species found in dirt that acts as a decomposer of organic materials. It was first found in a large forest area. The best way to protect against this epidemic is to cover all exposed skin when you’re outside and sanitize once you’re inside.” A disgruntled news anchor reports from the outside of a nondescript building. The only patch of visible skin is around his eyes, which are covered by transparent goggles.

Desirée gasps suddenly. “Oh my god, the woods. Andy, you don’t think that…”

He catches the implication. “There’s no way. Devon would never do this.”

“We never suspected that Jane...or Noah…” She shakes her head. “I just hope not.”

Wednesday, August 20th, 2023 - Day 18 of quarantine

The official body count is projected to be 100. Over 200 citizens in the county have reported testing positive for the virus and 400 more are showing symptoms. Ignoring the news at this point is just short of irresponsible, but fear keeps her from lingering on the headlines.

As the day winds to a close, a feeling of dread slowly infiltrates her mind. The thought of tomorrow makes her skin crawl. Her stomach inverts and reverts on a constant loop as she reads yet another headline about yet another person committing suicide to avoid the disease.

The sun sets and she’s overcome with a terrible truth. A subtle prick of worry that blossoms into a deep ache in her chest that she can’t quite place.

“Something terrible is going to happen tomorrow.” Desirée whispers aloud. She locks herself in the bathroom as she feels the omen leave her lips. Andy doesn’t need to hear this. “Something that will change everything we thought was true.”

Thursday, August 21st, 2023 - Day 19 of quarantine

They don’t bother changing out of their pajamas anymore.

An alert on her phone tells her that the death toll in Westchester County has climbed from 100 to 1,000 overnight. Westchester alone has lost a third of its population. Then, she gets the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dizzy,” Lily sniffles.

She knows that something is very wrong for two reasons. One, no one has called her Dizzy since her junior year in high school. Two, Lily is a notorious night owl and wouldn’t be caught out of bed before 9 in the morning if she had her way, let alone willingly engaging in human interaction. If she was calling at 8 AM, it had to be serious.

“Lily, is everything okay?” Desirée whispered as she tiptoed out of bed to avoid waking Andy.

“It’s my mom.” She sobs, and suddenly she can no longer hear the hum of the vents above her head or the whirring of her computer on the coffee table. “She has the plague.”

“Lily, how long has she had it?”

“I don’t know.” She sobs harder. “They’re queueing everyone on the block for testing.”

“Lily, it’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay,” Desirée whispers. The burning in her eyes and the constricting feeling in her throat tell her that she’s crying, too. “You’re going to be okay.”

She’s lying through her teeth and she knows it, but the words seem to offer Lily some comfort as she recites them back to her.

“I will be okay,” she chokes out. “Everything will be okay.”

“If you need anything at all…”

“I know who to call,” Lily replies. The line goes dead.

Desirée holds the phone to her chest and sends a silent prayer. It’s bad enough that you’ve taken a third of our town. Please don’t take Lily, too.

Silent tears stream down her cheeks as she prays over and over again.

Don’t take Lily.

It’s that exact moment that Andy wraps his arms around Desirée’s middle and buries his head in the crook of her neck. She’s suddenly overcome with guilt and shame as she turns to him with shining eyes.

“Andy, I-”

“Shhh.” He shakes his head and pulls her into his chest, blinking back tears of his own. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Soon, everyone knows. The news is bleaker than ever, with cameras being shoved into the grieving families of the victims and the death toll climbing by the hour. As the day crawls to an end and she lays in Andy’s arms, one thing becomes astoundingly apparent.

Life will never be the same again.

Friday, August 22nd, 2023 - Day 20 of quarantine

It becomes physically unbearable to look at the news. Desirée briefly considers letting Andy unplug the TV again.

No one takes the news of Lily’s mother well, but Ava seems to struggle with it the most. She refuses to answer phone calls from anyone and only replies in short, but extremely worrying sentences.

“I wish this wasn’t going on so that I could check on her.” Desirée sighs after a fifth “missed” call. She’s curled up on the living room sofa with her head hanging on the arm. Her eyes are shut tight. “But here we are.”

“She’s never really been the emotional type, Rée.”

“That’s why I’m so worried about her. If she’s shutting down this early, what’s she gonna do if Mrs. Ortiz doesn’t make it?”

“I don’t know, but I think what Ava needs right now is space.”

“Andy, I can’t just let her spiral.” She sits up at this, frowning.

“I know it’s hard to see her like this, but you can’t protect everyone.”

“I know I can’t. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.” Desirée whispers. “But I can help.”

“What happened with Devon wasn’t your fault, Desirée. The only person you should blame is-”

“Don’t.”

“The point I’m making is that you don’t always have to be everyone’s person.” Andy stares deeply into her eyes. For a second, it feels as if he’s seeing her every flaw, every imperfection she’s buried deep into her heart and mind, every secret she’s ever kept and maybe even the ones she didn’t. For the longest second, it feels as if he’s peering into her soul and reading it with the ease of a picture book and she’s helpless to turn away and shut him out despite the fact that she desperately wants to. “You’re always so focused on being there for everyone else, but who’s going to be there for you?”

You. She almost whispers. It’s always been you.

“A therapist.” She replies instead, forcing a small smile. “And a bottle of wine.”

“Take care of yourself.” Andy squeezes her shoulders once and turns for the bedroom. “Let someone else be there for you once in a while.”

“Someone else like who?”

“I don’t think either one of us is ready for that conversation.”

“You sure?” Desirée retorts, suddenly emboldened. She’s not the only mind reader between them and she’ll be damned if Andy Kang gets to leave her wondering like every night before. “Because I feel plenty ready to talk. If you’re scared of going there, just say that.”

“Who’s scared?” Andy turns back around, staring her down. She holds her own, meeting his gaze head on. “I’ll go there if that’s what you want.”

“Hey, don’t hold back on my account. If you want to say something, I’m all ears.”

“Could you handle that?” He walks slowly toward her as he speaks, sizing her up. “Could you handle it if I told you that I wish you’d stop trying to play tough all the time and open up to me like you used to? That I wish we’d just quit this dance where we pretend we’re still not in love with each other?” Her breath catches and his face is inches away from hers, so much so that she can feel his breath on her cheeks. “Could you even function knowing that?”

“I could. You know why?” She finally responds, placing her hand directly onto his chest. “Nothing is the way it used to be, Andy. We’re not the way we used to be when this started and we’ll never be those people again. So I suggest…” She tilts her head upwards and brushes her lips against his chin. “...you make peace with that.”

She lets him meditate on her words as she heads toward the bedroom and into the conjoined bathroom, where she finally lets her face rest in her hands as she cries.

Saturday, August 23, 2023 - Day 21 of quarantine

They don’t speak for most of the day.

“I probably should’ve told you this earlier,” Desirée tells Andy during the evening. They’ve just eaten dinner. “But everything that happened on Thursday...I felt it.”

“You...what?”

“I’d just been feeling horrible all day and I thought my anxiety was just acting up, but then I just felt this ache in my chest and I knew something awful was going to happen.”

“What did it feel like?”

“Death.” She inhales a shaky breath before nodding resolutely. “It felt like death.”

#something gained #mc: desiree ashton #li: andy kang #ship: desiree x andy

9 notes · View notes

peanutbutterjelly-pie · 5 years

Text

Back Home

Summary: After having been gone for a few days Castiel receives some slightly worrying text messages from both Dean and Sam.

Word Count: 2,185

When will you be back home, man?

Dean’s text reaches Castiel shortly after 6 PM, just when he stopped his car at a red light and took the chance to glance at the vibrating phone in his coat pocket.

Soon , he writes back immediately, hoping that answer is sufficient enough. Even though it’s been years since he found himself sans wings and constricted to automobiles instead he still has a hard times more often than not to estimate distances and how long it actually takes to get from point A to B.

It could be minutes, hours, even days - everything might be possible.

How long is soon???

The excessive use of question marks makes Castiel instantly wheel his car onto an open parking space right next to him and ask the internet for advice.

According to google five hours and fourteen minutes.

Good.

And that’s it.

No new messages, no inquiries, not even a flirty little pun Dean usually loves to send him on a regular basis.

Castiel blinks at the device in his hands and waits for a while, wondering whether a further response just might take a moment. But after ten minutes of silence the angel decides to start the car again and carry on with his journey, so he would actually meet google’s prediction.

About half an hour later, as he looks at his phone once more while he has to wait for a man to maneuver his car around some poorly parked motorbikes, Castiel discovers that yet another text message arrived somewhere along the way.

This one is from Sam, though.

Dean said you’re back soon? Hope that’s true, buddy. We REALLY need you here.

Castiel frowns at that. This sounds rather urgent.

What is it? he writes back right away. Is it a case?

Sam doesn’t wait around to answer, No, we just REALLY need you here.

Castiel feels a huge wave of worry wash over him all of a sudden. Are you hurt? Did something happen??

Ah fuck, no. Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out like that. No one is hurt or dying or whatever … yet, at least.

Castiel grinds his teeth. This is not reassuring, Sam!

Please don’t worry, there is nothing supernatural going on. Just brothers being VERY annoying. Dean is driving me NUTS.

Castiel slowly releases the breath he’s been holding in. This sounds harmless enough, at least. He left the bunker about five days ago to wrap up some angel business one state over and the brothers had been in Lebanon ever since. No case in sight and cooped up underground more or less the whole time because of severe rainstorms all over Kansas. It appears it finally caught up on Dean and Sam.

Just … come back home, Sam writes back. Dean’s getting insufferable without you around.

Castiel can’t help a small smile at that before putting the phone aside again and continuing his journey.

In the end he beats google’s forecast by twenty-seven minutes and feels fairly pleased with himself, even if he’s not really sure whether this is a cause for celebration or not.

Sam is to first to greet him as soon as he leaves the garage and steps into the living area.

“Damn, Cas!” he exclaims as he wraps his long arms around the angel’s torso and squeezes him so tightly Castiel sure as hell would’ve choked if he actually would’ve been dependant on oxygen for survival. “It’s so good to see you!”

Castiel pats Sam’s back awkwardly and patiently waits for the hunter to let him go eventually.

It happens just a few seconds later, fairly abruptly actually, when Sam loosens his grip and shoots the angel a bright smile before grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him deeper into the bunker.

“I can finally have some peace now!” Sam says happily.

Castiel creases his forehead as he lets himself manhandled through the bunker’s hallway. “I don’t understand,” he states, confused. “What is going on?”

Sam groans. “Call it pining or moping or Dean just being an ass …” He shuts his eyes for a second. “I’m just glad you’re back, man. Dean is so fucking sleep-deprived I’ve considered knocking him out with my fist constantly for the last couple of days!”

Castiel arches his brow, not sure what to even think about that, but before he has a chance to ask for some enlightenment they’re suddenly standing in front of the door leading into Dean’s room.

And Sam instantly kicks it in without any preamble whatsoever.

The hinges protest vocally against this sort of violent treatment and Dean inside the room, who has been sitting on his bed and reading a book, certainly seems to agree as his death glare focuses on his brother.

“Sammy, what the fuck ?” he growls, seemingly ready for murder. “What are you even -?”

He comes to a screeching halt, however, as soon as he spots Castiel.

His whole demeanor changes instantly. His face lights up, his snarl turns into a smile and his features soften so visibly for a moment it seems like he’s transforming into an entirely new person right here in front of them.

It’s truly a remarkable transition.

“Look at that, I found your angel!” Sam announces, meanwhile, before shoving Castiel kind of roughly into the room. “Now do me a favor and don’t leave these four fucking walls for the next twenty-four hours !”

Castiel looks back and forth between the brothers, unsure whether it’d be wise to say something or whether he should stay silent in order to keep his head on his shoulders.

“Sammy …” Dean says in the meantime.

“Don’t Sammy me!” Sam cuts in harshly. “Just. Go. The. Fuck. To. Sleep.”

With these words he slams the door closed again and storms off to where he came from, muttering underneath his breath something about “dumbass brothers” and “kindergarten” the whole way.

“What was that about?” Castiel wonders.

Instead of an answer, however, Castiel finds himself with an armful of Dean all of a sudden. The hunter’s arms cling to him so strongly, like he’s afraid the angel might escape any second now, as he aligns their bodies until there’s not an inch of air left between them.

“Cas,” he whispers, his voice laced with so much relief. “You’re back early.”

Despite his continued confusion Castiel can’t help reciprocating the embrace wholeheartedly. “Well, I beat the internet.”

Dean chuckles softly. “You sure did.”

And then he dives in for a kiss. It’s gentle, almost chaste, but there’s also some kind of urgency behind it that makes Castiel a little worried instantly.

He draws back somewhat and studies Dean’s features intently. His eyes, usually so lively and now a bit dull, the heavy bags underneath them, his skin slightly ashen …

“Dean,” he breathes as he cards his fingers through the other man’s hair. “What is going on? You look terrible.”

Dean scoffs before burying his face in Castiel’s neck, as though he’s trying to hide from the angel’s view. “Thanks for that, Cas.”

“I didn’t mean …” Castiel sighs. “Are you unwell? Sick?”

He’s already prepared to use his heavenly powers and cure Dean from any kind of disease that had the audacity to even look in his direction.

Dean, though, shakes his head. “I’m just … it’s stupid …”

Castiel frowns. “What is?”

“I missed you …”

Castiel still doesn’t grasp the problem at hand. “There is nothing stupid about missing me. I did so too. Miss you , I mean.”

Dean starts to squirm in Castiel’s arm, obviously uncomfortable by the whole thing. “I just … it seems I’ve got …”

He trails off, apparently not sure how to explain himself.

Castiel, meanwhile, keeps running his fingers through Dean’s hair, hoping the gesture might be soothing. And indeed Dean’s tense muscles begin to relax after a minute and he all but melts against the angel.

“I just missed you,” he whispers, his face still hidden against Castiel’s skin. “Especially … well, at night. In my bed.”

Castiel glances at the now so familiar memory foam. “You missed sex?”

“No!” is Dean quick to protest. He pulls back a little to look right into Castiel’s face, his cheeks beautifully flushed. “I mean, of course, you and me … it’s always … well, really awesome …” He blushes even more and Castiel can’t help enjoying the sight of Dean Winchester himself getting flustered about sex. “But I was rather talking about … well, you in my bed. With me. The whole night.”

Castiel tilts his head as he slowly starts to catch up. “Are you referring to sleep ?”

Since they “got their head out of their asses” a few months ago, as Sam had put it so romantically, Castiel started to share Dean’s bed with him. He doesn’t really require any kind of sleep, but since his time as a human he found a taste for letting go for a little while and simply succumbing to some blissful peace for a few hours. It turned out to be especially wonderful with Dean lying in his arms.

Just the two of them, underneath the covers, while time itself seemed to have frozen around them.

Castiel began to cherish these beautiful moments more than anything.

“It’s so stupid,” Dean repeats once again, pressing his face against Castiel’s temple. “I slept most of my life alone and I was totally fine. And now you’re coming along and I can’t even manage a few simple days. How pathetic is that?”

Castiel creases his forehead as realization hits him. “Are you implying you haven’t slept the last five days since I’ve been gone?”

Dean is silent for a moment, like he’d rather do anything else than answer, but eventually he admits, sheepishly, “Yeah, I guess.”

Castiel leans back enough to meet Dean’s gaze again. “Not at all?”

Dean grimaces. “Well, a little,” he tries to defend himself. “A quick nap or two.”

“But that’s it?”

Dean ducks his head. “Yeah, I know - pathetic ,” he says, snorting. “I got quite cranky after a while and Sam … well, you’ve seen him. I’m actually surprised I’m still alive. I really thought he would kill me at some point and dump my body somewhere deep in the woods.”

Castiel raises a brow. “Cranky?”

Dean fidgets awkwardly. “Yeah, I mean … lots of yelling and stuff. At one point I think I threw a book at him.”

“A book?”

Dean winces. “Or maybe it was a mug?” He shakes his head. “God, I’m such an ass when I’m sleep-deprived. It’s actually a wonder Sam didn’t commit fratricide.”

Well, Sam surely seemed highly agitated by his brother’s behavior. And if Dean indeed barely slept since Castiel left and eventually lashed out, that’s not very astonishing. There’s a fairly good reason why humans need their daily dose of sleep, otherwise mankind would’ve murdered each other a long time ago.

“Dean …” Castiel whispers, cupping Dean’s cheek tenderly.

“It’s just so stupid, right?” The hunter shakes his head as he averts the angel’s intense gaze. “I shouldn’t be so used to it by now. It’s not like we’re doing this thing that long anyway -”

He doesn’t really know what to think anymore, so Castiel simply presses his lips against Dean’s, as softly as possible. The hunter relaxes once more right away and deepens the kiss after a short while.

“It’s not stupid,” Castiel whispers against his skin, “every single night since I’ve been gone, I missed you so much . I looked up into the dark sky and longed to be with you.”

Dean’s entire demeanor gentles at Castiel’s words.

“And I didn’t catch any sleep either,” Castiel adds. “I didn’t even try, I just knew it would be a futile endeavor.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need any sleep,” Dean points out.

“But I missed you so much I annoyed the other angels severely with my ‘crankiness’ either way,” Castiel tells him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “At the end they looked at me with the same murderous eyes Sam shot at you.”

Dean laughs softly at that. “We’re two seriously pathetic dumbasses, huh?”

“If that means I can be with you, I’m fine with that.”

Soon enough they find themselves shedding their clothes and stealing gentle kisses, unable to stop touching for very long, but also eager to get into bed and catch up on what they’ve missed.

Castiel breathes a sigh of relief as they finally hit the mattress and spread the covers above them, a sensation of warmth and home filling him up. A feeling that only gets exceptionally stronger when Dean pulls him into his arms, as close as possible.

“Love you,” Dean mumbles into his skin, seemingly already on the verge of sleep.

Castiel’s heart squeezes automatically. It’s not the first time he’s heard those words from Dean, not by a longshot, but everytime it feels absolutely exhilarating.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, his fingers brushing over Dean’s back. “So much.”

And so they sleep.

-----

Meanwhile, Sam throws himself a big party in his room and swears to every deity that might listen that he will never leave the angel out of his sight ever again.

#destiel #destiel drabble #ficlet #fanfic #fluff #domestic #established relationship #poor sammy #he has to suffer a lot >.<#fanfiction: mine

226 notes · View notes

river1983 · 5 years

Text

Journey

Hello guys! Back at it again with another aziracrow fic.

This is supposed to be the journey Crowley and Aziraphale had through the years of their friendship but tweaked a little so it shows more romanticism. A lot of the things described are my headcanons/ideas, and some of the historical events were not apart of the show and stuff I added in. Most of my added pieces probably aren’t historically accurate, though I tried, so I apologize in advance lol. Some of the speech lines have been cut out also. A lot of this is just what I saw and inferred as I watched and in no way actually canon. I hope you like it! :)

You can also think of this as being narrated by God or someone, but also as just a thing I dunno.

Credit Disclaimer: Some of the scenes and lines are from the TV show Good Omens. I DO NOT own Good Omens, it belongs to Neil Gaimen and Terry Pratchett.

journey - an act of traveling from one place to another.

Starting six thousand years ago, in the beginning, an angel and a demon met in the Garden of Eden at the beginning of everything. The demon had just finished his job, and though he wouldn’t explicitly admit it, he didn’t agree with the punishment that ensued to the only two humans on the face of the Earth. The angel didn’t either, and rebelled slightly by giving the humans aid. The demon and the angel stood side by side as the first storm rained down on them, and the angel offered his wing to the demon, who gladly welcomed it.

This was only the beginning.

A thousand years later in Mesopotamia, they met again as Noah and two of every animal (minus the unicorn...it got away) boarded the Ark to escape the oncoming raging storm that would wipe out the human race. The angel, named Aziraphale, explained the Almighty's plan to the demon, doubt creeping into his mind with every word he said.

“All of them?” The demon asked incredulously. Heaven? Kill all of Creation? That sounds more like Hell.

“Well, not all of them,” The angel responded. “Noah, up there, his wife, sons, and their wives will live.”

“And they’re going to drown everybody else?”

The angel nodded hesitantly. Of course, it was wrong, of course. But what was he to do about it?

“You mustn't judge the Almighty, Crawley,” The angel said. “God’s plans are--”

“Are you going to say ineffable?” Crawley asked with a huff.

“...Possibly.”

Rain fell down on the two, signifying the start of the wipe out the human race. The demon looked up like he couldn’t believe this was happening, and the angel looked down, ashamed.

“Come to smirk at the poor bugger, have you?”

In Golgotha, 33 AD., the angel and the demon found themselves together again.

“Smirk? Me?”

“Well, your lot put him on there,” The demon, now named Crowley, spat.

The demon had met him, Jesus. He felt...bad, for the man--for his fate. Showed him all the kingdoms of the world.

Aziraphale winced as the nail was hammered deeper and deeper into Jesus’ wrist. Guilt seeped into his angelic bones, despite knowing he was not consulted.

Jesus was pulled upright as he wailed in agony, the angel and the demon together watching on.

Eight years later the pair met again on accident, presumably, in Rome.

The angel spotted the demon at ‘the bar’ and moved to sit next to him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Still a demon then?”

“What type of question is that? Still a demon, what else am I supposed to be an aardvark?” Crowley retaliated, irritated. He took a sip of his house brown.

“Salutaria.” They clinked glasses.

The angel cleared his throat. “In Rome long?”

“Just popped in for a quick temptation. You?”

“I thought I’d try Petronius’ new restaurant. I hear he does remarkable things to oysters.”

Crowley sipped his drink again. “I’ve never had an oyster.”

Aziraphale looked at the demon incredulously. “Oh, well let me tempt you to--”

The demon turned around with a smirk, looking at the angel.

“Oh,” The angel muttered, realizing his mistake. “No, that’s your job isn’t it?”

Crowley smiled and sipped his drink again, falling just a little more for the angel.

Rome was falling.

It was 79 AD as the demon covered his face onslaught of soot fell on the ruins of Pompeii. He wasn’t even supposed to still be there, but one quick temptation turned into a more complicated matter.

But nothing that was happening now was his doing. He ran through the ruins as fire erupted in shop and homes. People running in all directions as they tried to escape the city.

Crowley ran through the ruins, trying not to get discorporated, when he bumped into a little girl who was crying. Kneeling down, the demon grabbed the little girl without thought and continued to look for an exit. As he passed a shop, he saw a sliver of white hair and turned around.

“Aziraphale?” He said incredulously as he walked into the shop, trying not to inhale the smoke with the little girl in his arms.

“Crowley,” He looked at the little girl then back at Crowley.

“What the Hel--Heaven’s are you doing!?”

“I was looking for some old scrolls--”

“The city is on fire and you’re looking for scrolls?”

They ducked as another boom shook the ground.

“Aziraphale, we have to go now or you’ll be discorporated!”

“What does that matter to yo--”

“No time! I have to get this girl to safety, come on!”

He tugged Aziraphale along and searched for a way out of the falling city. Soot covered them head to toe as they emerged from the city as volcanic ash continued to fall, coughing from the thick smoke that hung in the air. They got as far from the city as they could before Crowley set the girl down.

“Try and find your family, alright? Don’t go near the city.”

The little girl nodded and ran off, leaving the angel and the demon alone.

Aziraphale stared at Crowley. “Why’d you save her?”

Crowley snorted as he settled himself on the ground. “What was I supposed to do, just leave her there?”

“Well, you are a demon.”

Crowley scoffed. “You know that wasn’t my doing, right? I didn’t set that volcano to explode.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. “I know.”

As the demon watched the city fall, the angel couldn’t help but stare at the demon in curiosity. A demon showing empathy and compassion? It was different.

He could get used to it.

In the Kingdom of Wessex in 537 AD., the demon and the angel were doing their respective jobs, fomenting peace and causing trouble, without knowing of the other’s presence.

“I was hoping to meet with the Black Knight?”

Aziraphale (of the Table Round) walked forward as the Black Knight emerged from the smoke.

“You have sought the Black Knight, foolish one,” The Black Knight responded. “But you have found your death.”

Aziraphale squinted and tilted his head. “Is that you under there Crawley?”

“Crowley,” Crowley responded, pulling up his helmet, revealing his yellow, piercing snake eyes.

“What the hell are you playing at?” Aziraphale said in exasperation.

“I’m here spreading foment.”

“What is that, some kind of porridge?”

“No. I’m, you know, fomenting dissent and discord.”

“Well, I’m meant to be fomenting peace.”

“So we’re both working very hard in a damp place just canceling each other out?”

“Well, when you put it like that...it is a bit damp.”

“Be easier if we both just stayed home.”

Aziraphale looked at the demon, confused.

“Just send messages back to head office, saying we’ve done everything they asked for, wouldn’t it?”

“But that would be lying,” Aziraphale exclaimed.

Crowley looked to the side and shrugged. “Eh, possibly, but the end result would be the same.”

“But,” Aziraphale protested. “my dear fellow, they’d check!” His face hardened slightly. “You don’t want Gabriel to get upset with you.”

“Oh, our lot have better things to do than verifying compliance on Earth.”

“No! Absolutely not. We’re not having this conversation, not another word.” Aziraphale turned around, going back to the knights behind him.

“Right,” The demon muttered as he closed his helmet.”

“Right!”

It was right in the middle of the 14th century, in 1347 as the Black Death raged across Europe, Crowley and Aziraphale are together again.

“I hate the 14th century,” Crowley growled as he paced the room he was in. “The humans are all at war with each other, disease is wiping out half the population, there’s nothing to do.”

Aziraphale sighed. He had been hearing Crowley rant about this century for 20 years now. “Isn’t this supposed to be good for you? You can lie to your head office about all the wondrous work you are doing, possibly get that promotion.”

Crowley groaned.

“Can you do me a favor?” Crowley asked as he collapsed on the chair.

“What would it be?”

“What if you...” Crowley started. “Did both the tempting and the blessing?”

Aziraphale whipped around. “You can’t be serious!?”

Crowley shrugged. “The end result would be the same. There’s no point in both of us being here since we just cancel each other out.”

Aziraphale said nothing.

“It saves time,” Crowley added.

“But if Hell or Heaven found out--”

“No one has to know, Aziraphale.”

The angel sighed. “Fine, I agree to this...arrangement. But only this once, Crowley.”

The demon smirked. “Sure, angel.” He walked out the door.

The angel blushed at the nickname and watched Crowley as he left, sighing in defeat.

That was the beginning of the Arrangement.

At the Globe Theatre in London, 1601, the angel and the demon met again.

As Burbage performed Shakespeare’s Hamlet on the stage (with very few watching), Aziraphale watched with a smile on his face as Crowley stood next to him, smirking at the angel.

“He’s very good, isn’t he?”

“Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety,” Crowley responds, profoundly.

Shakespeare looks at Crowley strangely. “Yeah, I like that,” he says, slowing walking off to write it down somewhere.

As Shakespeare walked away, Aziraphale piped up.

“What do you want?”

“Why ever would you insinuate that I might possibly want something?”

“You are up to no good.”

“Obviously. You are up to good, I take it?”

“No rest for the...well, good,” Aziraphale responded. He turned toward the demon. “I have to be in Edinburgh by the end of the week. A couple of miracles to perform.”

He made a face. “Apparently I have to ride a horse.”

Crowley grimaces. “Oh, hard on the buttocks, horses. A major design flaw if you ask me.”

Crowley walks around to the other side. “I’m meant to be heading to Edinburgh too this week,” He says. It was slightly too convenient, heading to the same place as Aziraphale.

“I thought we should...” He trails off, looking at the angel expectedly.

“You cannot actually be suggesting...” Aziraphale started, trailing off. “What I infer...you are implying.”

“Which is?” Crowley teased.

“That only one of us goes to Edinburgh, do both.”

“We’ve done it before,” Crowley says, looking back at the stage. “Dozens of times now.”

He leaned towards the angel. “The arrangement--” He sing-songed before Aziraphale cut him off.

“Don’t say that!” He whispered, more afraid of Heaven than of the demon next to him.

“Our respective head offices don’t actually care how things get done,” Crowley retorts.

“But if Hell finds out, they won’t just be angry,” Aziraphale protests, voice softening with worry for the demon. “They’ll destroy you.”

“No one has to know,” Crowley reassured, pulling out a coin. “Toss you for Edinburgh?”

Aziraphale sighs but gives in. “Fine, heads.”

Crowley flips the coin, both of them leaning in to look. “Tails, I’m afraid. You’re going to Scotland.” Aziraphale sighed, turning back to the stage.

“-it’d take a miracle for anyone to come and see Hamlet,” the pair hear Shakespeare complain, shaking his head.

Aziraphale turned toward the demon, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Yes, alright, I’ll do that one, my treat,” Crowley said, falsely exasperated.

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale says with a smile.

“I still prefer the funny ones,” Crowley says as he walks out.

Aziraphale turns toward the stage again with a smile on his face, popping another grape into his mouth. The angel won’t admit it, but he was starting to warm up to the demon.

And the demon would never admit he was already far gone on the angel.

Aziraphale sat in a cell, hands chained to the wall in Paris, 1793. He sighed as he looked at his confined hands. All he wanted were some crepes, for Heaven’s sake.

A man walked into the cell, speaking to him in French. Probably something about cutting his head off in about five minutes...His French was a little off.

After a bad attempt at responding to the man in French, the man revealed himself as Jean-Claude (in English), his personal executor.

“You are lucky that it is I, Jean-Claude, who will remove your traitorous head from your shoulders!”

“Look, this is all a terrible mistake. I don’t think you understand--”

“I have some good news for you. You are the 999th aristo to die at the guillotine by my hand! But the first English.”

The angel smiled curtly and nodded, beginning to regret dressing the way he did, and found himself wishing Crowley was here.

“Now--” Jean-Clause moved to remove his scarf.

Aziraphale stood up quickly, stepping toward the wall. “Please! No!” He said. “Dreadful mistake, discorporating me,” He blew air out of his mouth and rolled his eyes. “Ugh, it’ll be a complete nightmare,”

Jean-Claude looked at the angel, confused about his sudden outburst. The sound of the guillotine blade filled the cell again and the executor turned toward the window, then time froze.

“Animals,” Aziraphale muttered.

“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, angel. Only humans do that,” A familiar voice said behind him.

Aziraphale’s whole face and mood lit up (without his permission). “Crowley,” He said with relief as he turned around.

The demon sat on a rock in the corner, dressed in “appropriate” attire at the time, due to where they were. Aziraphale looked him over, appalled. “Oh, good Lord,” He said, setting his shoulders a little straighter.

“What in the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening a bookshop,” The demon says incredulously, propping his arm on the wall next to him as he stared at the angel through his glasses.

“I was,” He nodded. “...I got peckish.”

“Peckish?’“ Crowley inquired, leaning forward a bit.

“Well if you must know it was the crepes,” Aziraphale admitted, moving to sit down in his chair, still chained. “You can only find decent ones in Paris. And the brioche,” He said with a tilt of his head.

“So you just popped around the Channel during a revolution because you wanted something to nibble? Dressed like that?”

“I have standards.” Aziraphale defended.

Crowley smirked slightly, amused by the angel’s stubbornness, even if it almost got him killed.

Crowley snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale’s chains fell to the ground. the angel rubbed his wrists, looking back at the demon.

“I suppose I should thank you. For the, uh, rescue.”

Crowley got up from his seat, walking over to the angel. “Don’t say that. If my people hear that I rescued an angel I’ll be the one in trouble. And they don’t give strongly worded notes.”

“Well anyway, I am very grateful,” the angel said, looking at the demon in the eye. “What if I buy you lunch?”

The demon raised an eyebrow. “Looking like that?”

Aziraphale glared at the angel in annoyance, before huffing and snapping his fingers, changing his attire so it was similar to Jean-Claude’s.

The angel stepped over to the demon and stood next to him as Crowley snapped his fingers once more, changing Jean-Claude’s attire so it looked like he was the aristocrat, and the guards pulled him away while Crowley and Aziraphale watched undetected.

“So what’s for lunch?” Crowley said to the angel, turning to face him.

“How would you feel about some crepes?” Aziraphale responded with a smile.

The angel and the demon stood by a pond in St. James’ Park in 1862, Aziraphale throwing bread into the pond for the ducks while Crowley just stood, preparing to ask a question.

“Look, I’ve been thinking, what of it all goes wrong?” Crowley started, still staring out across the pond. “We have a lot on common, you and me.”

“I don’t know. We both may have started off as angels, but you are fallen,” Aziraphale responded someone terse. He had found himself becoming too attached to the demon, and by any circumstances, he simply couldn’t.

“I didn’t really fall,” Crowley argued, slightly hurt by Aziraphale’s comment. “I just, you know...sauntered vaguely downward.”

He cleared his throat. “I need a favor.”

Aziraphale threw the last of his breadcrumbs and put his hat back on. “We already have an agreement, Crowley.”

“This is something different,” Crowley handed him a slip of paper. “I wrote it down. Walls have ears. I mean, trees have ears. Ducks have ears.”

Aziraphale opened the paper and his eyes widened as he read the words.

“Do ducks have ears? They must do, it’s how they hear other ducks.”

“Absolutely out of the question!” Aziraphale retorted, appalled. How could the demon even ask him of this?

“Why not?”

“It would destroy you!” Aziraphale whispered, worry dripping through his voice. “I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley!” He shoved the slip back into the demo’s hand, angry that he would even suggest such a thing.

“Not what I want it for, just insurance,” Crowley insisted, handing him back the paper, which had the words Holy Water scrawled over it.

Aziraphale’s distant façade dropped. “I’m not an idiot, Crowley,” He almost pleaded. “Do you know what trouble I’d be in if...” He looked up at the sky, then quieting his voice. “They knew I’ve been fraternizing!?”

Crowley turned toward the angel, finally. “Fraternizing?” He spat. He thought they were past this--seeing each other as the enemy.

“Or whatever you wish to call it,” Aziraphale responded, his anger and hurt still seeping through. “I do not see any point in discussing it further.”

“I have lots of other people to fraternize with, angel,” Crowley retorted, when in fact, he did not.

“Of course you do.”

“I don’t need you,” When in fact, he did.

“Well, the feeling’s mutual, obviously!” Aziraphale said, whipping around and storming away, throwing the slip of paper in the pond where it caught on fire.

Crowley turned back to the pond. That conversation did not go as planned.

“Obviously,” Crowley mocked, hiding his hurt.

As Aziraphale negotiated with Nazi’s in London, 1941, he couldn’t get Crowley out of his mind. He hadn’t seen the demon in a little over a century. They had left on...less than ideal terms, and despite how much Aziraphale tried not to, he missed the demon. It was unlike Crowley not to pop up somewhere, and the angel worried that he might not see the demon ever again. He didn’t--couldn’t regret saying no to giving Crowley holy water, whether it was for insurance or not. The chance was too great.

Mr. Golzier pulled a gun after Aziraphale put his beloved books down.

“Such a pity you must be eliminated, but take heart,” he said, cocking the gun. “Just another death in the Blitz.”

“That’s not very sporting,” Aziraphale said.

Golzier cocked his head. “You don’t appear worried, my friend.”

A woman appeared behind him, cocking her gun, just like Aziraphale planned.

”He is not worried,” she said.

“Who’s she?” Mr. Harmony said, standing up.

“She, my double-dealing Nazi acquaintance, is the reason why none of those books are going back to Berlin! And why your nasty little spy ring will be spending the rest of the war behind bars!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Let me introduce you to Captain Rose Montgomery of British Military Intelligence.”

“Thank you for the introduction,” Captain Rose said calmly.

“So, Rose, where exactly are your people?”

Harmony let his hands fall. “We are all here,” He laughed.

Golzier walked towards the Captain. “Allow me to introduce Fraulien Greta Klienschmidt. She works for us.”

She pointed the gun at the angel, who stepped back, mouth gaped.

“Now, where were we? Oh yes, killing you.”

“You can’t kill me!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “There’ll be paperwork.”

A door slammed. All four turned their heads to the sound.

In comes no one other than Crowley, hopping around on the consecrated ground they were standing on, making sounds of discomfort.

Aziraphale had never been so glad and furious to see the demon.

“Sorry, consecrated ground,” Crowley gasped, still hopping around. “Oh! It’s like being at the beach in bare feet!”

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale exclaimed. I’m so glad to see you.

“Stopping you from getting into trouble,” He retorted.

Azirpahale rolled his eyes. “I should have known. These are your people.”

The demon leaned on a pue. “No! They’re a bunch of half-witted Nazi spies running around killing people, I just didn’t want to see you getting embarrassed. Gah!” He hopped around some more.

“Mr. Anthony J. Crowley,” Golzier says. “Your fame precedes you.”

“Anthony?” Aziraphale asks.

“You don’t like it?” Crowley responded, ignoring Nazi.

“No, no, I didn’t say that,” Aziraphale said quickly. “I’ll get used to it.”

“In about a minute,” Crowley said suddenly. “a German bomber will release a bomb that will land right here.” He pointed to the ground they were standing on (well, he was hopping on). “If you all run away very, very fast, you might not die. You won’t enjoy dying, and definitely won’t enjoy what comes after.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Golzier scoffs. “The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.”

“Yes. It would take a last-minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes.”

Aziraphale looked toward the demon, realizing his plan.

“You’re all wasting your valuable running away time!” Crowley exclaimed. “And! If, in thirty seconds a bomb did land here, it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it.” He looked toward Aziraphale with his shaded eyes.

“A real miracle?” Aziraphale stammered. Oh, right.

“Kill them,” Harmony said. “They are very irritating.”

On cue, Crowley pointed his fingers up at the roof and the sound of a whistling bomb sounded. All three Nazi's looked up toward the sound in disbelief.

Then the bomb landed.

Aziraphale and Crowley stood unharmed in the rubble, the demon cleaning his glasses and the angel taking off his hat.

“That was very kind of you,” The angel said, in slight disbelief. After that entire argument they had a century ago, he was surprised the demon would come to his aid, that he even knew where Aziraphale was.

Crowley pulled his glasses over his yellow snake eyes. “Shut up.” He said jokingly, hiding his smile.

“Well, it was. No paperwork, for a start.” Aziraphale smiled.

“Oh, the books! Oh, I forgot all the books! Oh, they’ll be blown to--”

Crowley walked over to Harmony’s dead body, buried underneath the rubble. he wrenched the bag of books from his dead hand and handed it to the angel. “A little demonic miracle of my own.” He said. “Lift home?”

He walked away, and Aziraphale stared at his back in disbelief. He couldn’t believe Crowley had remembered his beloved books when Aziraphale didn’t.

That was the moment the angel realized the inevitable.

He was in love with a demon.

While Crowley negotiated plans to steal holy water in Soho, 1967, he wondered about Aziraphale.

There was something about the angel that Crowley couldn't pin that drew the demon in, as much as he hated it. He had feelings for Aziraphale, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. He wasn’t supposed to feel, not after the Fall. Especially not for an angel.

He walked over to his car after an interesting conversation with Shadwell, collapsing into the driver’s seat. He looked to his left and saw Aziraphale sitting in the passenger’s seat.

“What are you doing here?” Crowley asked incredulously. I was just thinking about you.

“I needed a word with you,” Aziraphale responded.

“What?”

“I work in Soho, I hear things.” He paused. “I hear that you’re setting up a...caper to rob a church.”

Crowley sighed and turned his head forward.

“Crowley, it’s too dangerous,” Aziraphale pleaded. “Holy water won’t just destroy your body, it’ll destroy you completely.”

“You told me what you think one hundred and eight years ago,” Crowley said, turning back to the angel.

“And I haven’t changed my mind,” Aziraphale interrupted. “But I can’t have you risking your life.” You mean too much to me.

“So...” Aziraphale pulled out a beige flask. Crowley’s eyebrows raised slightly as he looked at the flask. “You can call off the robbery.” The angel held the flask gingerly, as if it might break and the water would spill out, vaporizing the demon forever. He shuddered at the thought.

Crowley looked at the angel in surprised, then back at the flask. He took the flask gingerly, holding it out in front of him.

I’m not planning to use it on myself, angel. He wanted to say. But he didn’t.

“After everything you said?” He said instead, the century left not talking that they both regretted brought up without speaking of it.

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley looked at the flask again in disbelief. “Should I say thank you?” He said after a while, looking back at the angel.

“Better not,” Aziraphale said, smiling softly.

“Well can I drop you off anywhere?” Please let me say thank you.

“No, thank you.”

Crowley’s face fell.

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed.” Please. “Perhaps one day we could...go for a picnic,” Aziraphale smiled at the thought. “Dine at the Ritz.” He smiled at the demon.

“I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go,” Crowley insisted. I love you.

Aziraphale was quiet or a time. Then he sighed. “You go to fast for me, Crowley,” He said sadly, like it hurt his very Grace to say that.

Crowley’s demonic heart broke, despite deep down knowing Aziraphale’s answer.

The angel left the car, walking away.

Crowley stared at the flask in his had once again, and set it down. He sighed, then started the car.

In the End Times, as Satan manifested on Earth and the Anti-Christ went against the Great Plan and stopped the Apocolypse. The angel and the demon clasped hands, and three words passed between them without being spoken.

I love you.

The Anti-Christ willed the Devil out of existence, leaving the Earth untouched just for a little while longer.

So, now, all of the angel and the demon’s interactions have led up to this moment, after preventing the Apocalypse by the sheer force of will, and defying their respective head offices just by being together, they sat at the Ritz, a glass of champagne in each of their hands.

“I think none of this would’ve worked out if you weren’t at heart, just a little bit a good person,” Aziraphale said.

“And if you weren’t, deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing,” Crowley said with a smile.

Aziraphale gushed, looking down at the table then back at the demon.

“Cheers,” Crowley said, raising his glass toward the angel. “To the world.”

Aziraphale raised his glass, smiling. “To the world.”

They clinked glasses.

The journey of an angel who fell in love with a demon, despite what he had been taught, and a demon who fell in love with an angel, despite thinking he couldn’t even feel after the Fall, had ended, but was only the start of the beginning of the rest of their lives, together despite all odds.

They sat, fingers entwined, chatting at the Ritz while a Nightingale sang for the first time in Berkeley Square.

Finally! I’m done with this fic! It took forever because of the scenes, and I’m sorry about that! I’m really proud of how it came out! I hope you guys like it :)

-river

49 notes · View notes

grapesodatozier · 6 years

Text

I’m a Ruin

some nice, sad wheelzier angst lol. title from the song of the same title by marina and the diamonds. also there are some small references to past mileven, byeler, and reddie, all of which are implied to have ended badly bc apparently it’s angst hours for all of my favorite ships lol

warning: this is about drug addiction. it’s told from Richie's POV, and as we know Richie Tozier hates himself a lot sometimes, so he blames himself for a lot of stuff, but I would just like to make it clear that addiction is a disease that many people go through, and it's something that can be different for different people. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and it does not make you a bad person. Recovery is always possible and happens at different speeds for different people. <3

words: 2,306

read on ao3 or below

Richie came home already exhausted. Work had been hell, and his entire body felt simultaneously like it was a live wire and full of cement. He was planning on bypassing Mike and heading straight for the bedroom to take a long fucking nap. However, he couldn’t do that without walking through the living room, where Mike was standing with his arms crossed behind the coffee table, which had a bag of cocaine on it.

“You wanna explain this?” Richie rolled his eyes at the question. His head was already starting to pound from the sanctimonious tone his boyfriend had immediately broken into.

“It’s powdered sugar, borrowed a cup from the neighbors,” Richie grinned humorlessly as he headed for the bedroom.

“You’re really just gonna walk away from me right now?” Mike’s voice was strained, almost a screech, trying to sound indignant through the obvious pain he was feeling. Richie’s shoulders sagged, his chest suddenly heavy. He hated hearing that pain in Mike’s voice, he hated being a disappointment to him. Mike had only ever been good to him, and he kept fucking up, kept proving to him that he didn’t deserve Mike’s signature undying faith. Richie turned to face Mike and shrugged weakly.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he sighed.

“I want you to throw it out,” Mike said plainly. “Burn it, toss it in the Hudson, I don’t fucking care how you do it, just get this shit out of my house.”

“Your house?” Richie scoffed, a bitterly unamused grin on his face. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize your fan fiction and DnD campaigns were paying for this place.” Mike always did this, always acted all high and mighty and made Richie feel like shit for needing a way to unwind or have a laugh from time to time. Richie knew that it came from a well-meaning place, that Mike was just trying to convince Richie to quit his bad habits, but the way he went about it kind of pissed Richie off. There was also the disappointment again, the reminder that Mike deserved better than Richie. Richie really didn’t know why his boyfriend tried so hard; Richie clearly wore him down.

“Don’t start that,” Mike shook his head. “We both live here. We both pay rent and bills. If we get caught with this shit I’m taking the fall too. Don’t you care about that? Don’t you care what happens to me?” Richie rolled his eyes despite the guilt dragging his stomach down to his feet. Of course he cared, how could Mike not see that? And how could Mike not see what Richie needed? “We agreed you wouldn’t bring this here anymore. I just don’t understand why you’d lie to me.”

“Because you never hear any fucking side other than your own!” Richie exploded. “We don’t discuss, you just tell me what to do and assume I’ll follow every order you give me!”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize that ‘Please don’t bring illegal drugs into the house and then hide them from me, honey’ was such a controversial request!” The hurt Richie was feeling must’ve shown, because Mike sighed, his anger fizzling out a bit. “I’m just worried, Rich. This clearly isn’t just about having a good time every now and then. This keeps happening, and I think it’s a serious problem.”

“Why does it have to be a problem?” Richie challenged. “I’m functional. I shower and go to work and make money and eat food and drink water. I’m fine.”

“If you’re lying about it you know it’s wrong.”

“No, I know you think it’s wrong. That doesn’t make it wrong.”

“Are you happy without it?” Mike asked. His voice was so sincere, his eyes wide and brown and heartbroken. Mike was awful at hiding what he was feeling, so the sadness and pain in his voice and his eyes and his posture tore Richie up pretty bad. He hated himself for hurting Mike like that. It was selfish. But there were certain things Richie needed, and if those things hurt the ones he loved… then maybe the only way to stop hurting them was to leave them. But Richie had to make sure that wouldn’t hurt Mike, he had to make it Mike’s choice. He had to show Mike he wasn’t worth the effort or the pain he was putting himself through to stay with Richie.

“I can go without it,” was all he said, forcing an edge into his voice.

“Then why don’t you?” Richie was pleased to see that Mike was becoming irritated again. Good. He wanted Mike to see that he was better off without Richie dragging him down.

“Because I like it. That’s who I am, Mike,” Richie said helplessly, deflated. “You can take it or leave it, but stop trying to change it.”

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to change it! You can get better, Richie. I can help you get better.” Mike put a hand on Richie’s shoulder, which Richie shrugged off with an exasperated groan.

“I’m not something for you to fucking fix, okay? I know you wanna fix everything that you don’t like, but you can’t fix me! You can’t fix people!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for wanting you help you,” Mike replied snidely.

“You don’t wanna help me, all you’re worried about is having a perfect boyfriend, or working on me like I’m a project to be accomplished and finished so you can feel good about yoursel. When are you gonna realize that I’m not a project? I’m a fucking person, and I’m never gonna be the person you want me to be.”

“I don’t treat people like projects!” Mike said defensively, his arms crossed.

“Yes, you do! You always have! You did the same thing to El and Will!” Richie watched all of the momentum of Mike’s anger drain from his body at Richie’s accusation. It made his blood run cold, the way Mike clenched his jaw, but he knew he was doing the right thing. Even if it felt awful for both of them, it was for the best in the long run.

“This isn’t about El or Will,” Mike said, his voice low and strained, trying to be measured. Richie felt a pang in his chest; he wondered if Mike had ever loved him as much as he clearly still loved both of them. “This is about you-”

“Do you think that’s why they both left you?” Richie urged on, stepping closer into Mike’s space. “Do you think they got sick of being your little projects?” Richie’s stomach dropped as he saw Mike’s lower lip start to quiver. No, he thought, nonononono. He could deal with Mike angry, he wanted him angry, but he couldn’t deal with tears. There was no way Richie could just stand there and watch him cry, he couldn’t walk away from that.

Thankfully, Mike’s misty eyes steeled then, and the coldness in them strengthened the coldness in Richie’s own chest. “I know that this,” Mike said, looking Richie up and down, almost in disgust, “is why Eddie left you.” And yeah, that hurt, but it was exactly what Richie needed to hear. And he was so glad Mike said it. It was the final push he needed to really walk away, to really push Mike far enough way that he could stop hurting him. “Maybe he had the right idea. He seems pretty happy these days.”

“Then leave,” Richie replied, his voice deep, almost threatening. None of the pain that was aching in every bone in his body showed through. “Fucking leave if you think it’ll make you happy. I don’t need your goddamn pity.” He swallowed thickly before forcing himself to say, “I don’t need you.” And god, the lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but Richie knew he would do anything he had to in order to save Mike the pain and disappointment.

Mike looked at Richie like he had slapped him. He wrapped his arms around himself as his lips quivered, searching for the right words. “Do you want me?” he asked eventually, his voice trembling. Richie clenched his jaw; he focused on the tears welling in Mike’s eyes, on the way he curled in on himself, as if he was afraid to be so close to Richie. He reminded himself that he did that, that he would continue to do that if he tried to make things better, if he kept holding onto someone he would only drag down.

“Not if you’re gonna try to control me like this,” he forced himself to say, his stomach churning at how easy and true he was able to make the words sound.

“You don’t mean that,” Mike said, shaking his head, his voice as thin as air.

“I do.” Richie’s heart sunk to his feet; he couldn’t help imagining a reality where he was saying that at an altar, where Mike still had tears in his eyes but a smile on his face.

The dam broke then, and Mike’s tears flowed freely. His body wracked with sobs, but he stayed put, not moving in any direction but further into himself. Richie couldn’t take that.

“Baby,” he whispered, taking a step toward Mike and reaching to pull him in.

“Baby?” Mike exploded, smacking Richie’s arm away as his head whipped up in fury. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You’re breaking up with me for, for fucking drugs, and you’re trying to comfort me? You just told me you don’t want me and now you’re calling me baby?” Richie’s mouth opened and closed silently, the only part of his body he could move as the pain and anger and heartbreak in Mike’s watery eyes struck him like daggers. He grabbed the bag from the table and nearly threw it at Richie as he shoved him in the chest. “Fuck you. You can have this, since it makes you so much happier than I do.” Richie flinched. Mike stormed away toward the bedroom, shouting over his shoulder as he went. “I hope you shove it up your ass!” Mike slammed the bedroom door then, not giving Richie room to reply even if he could’ve thought of something to say.

Richie left the bag on the floor and collapsed onto the couch. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, one of which was bouncing incessantly. He eyed the bag, which sat on the floor where it had fallen at his feet. He hated how much he wanted to get his credit card out just then, how badly he wanted to feel that rush, to ignore all the bad feelings clawing at his heart. He just needed a distraction, needed to stop feeling the way he did. He heard muffled banging and talking coming from down the hall. He lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling and picking at his hangnails. He resolved to not look at the bag while Mike was still home, but its very presence weighed down on his chest, had him itching for it. He’d been saving it for his day off, when Mike would be at work, but it sounded like he was gonna have the house to himself a lot sooner than that. Good, he thought, but he didn’t feel good at all.

Richie really didn’t know how much time had passed by the time Mike came storming out of the bedroom and began making a racket in the bathroom. A few minutes later he burst back into the living room, a nearly bursting backpack over one shoulder and a duffel bag over the other. Richie’s chest seized at the sight. He sat up, but didn’t move from the couch. “Going somewhere?” he asked, his voice rough. Mike turned to him, his face splotchy and eyes red.

“I’m gonna go stay with Nancy and Jonathan,” he said, his voice raw but steady. Richie blinked, trying to hold himself together.

“For how long?” His voice sounded much stronger than he felt, almost uncaring. He sounded like an asshole, which he supposed was appropriate.

“Until I find my own place, I guess,” Mike shrugged. Richie felt like he turned to stone just then. Mike looked at him then, and his eyes said it all. His wide, brown, red rimmed eyes. They were near pleading, and in that moment Richie knew Mike was giving him one last chance. Richie just had to get rid of the bag, he just had to swear it off. If he asked Mike to stay he would.

But he couldn’t do that to Mike. He loved him too much.

“Think there’s anything in your price range?” he smirked. “Or are you gonna have daddy pay for it?” He saw fire try to flash behind Mike’s eyes, but it died almost immediately. He shook his head, tired and disappointed in a way that made Richie want to melt into the floor.

“I really hope you get better, Richie.” He looked around the living room for a moment before finally meeting Richie’s eyes. “I really did love you.”

That nearly broke Richie. He screamed at himself internally in the breathless moment Mike took before turning toward the door. Don’t let him walk out that door, he told himself. Don’t let him go. You know you need him, you love him. Get on your fucking knees, beg, burn that shit, anything you have to do, just don’t let him leave you. Then, one silent plea to Mike before the door closed, Please don’t leave me.

Then he was gone.

Richie swallowed thickly. He thought he should feel tears, thought he should be crying, but he just felt a bone-deep, aching emptiness. He sighed and eyed the bag on the floor. He cleared the table and got his credit card out.

a/n: I know this ending was very bleak and not promising, but that's just because it's a small snippet of this (fictional) universe. Like I said before, recovery is always possible! Help is out there, and it's okay if it takes some people longer than others to recover.<3

taglist: @clouded-eyes-and-salty-tears @reddie4thesinbin @deadlighturis @constantreaderfool @reddieloserz @jessicaheartsderry @vegetarian-avocado @tinyarmedtrex @sml1104 @chocolatemangoose

@reddie-for-anything

#wheelzier fic #wheelzier #wheelzier angst

18 notes · View notes