#ed crying into his pillow like where did it all go wrong babe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years

Text

Unfurl and Fly

Prompt: Hello! I've been meaning to request this for so long but, you'd never posted any Sanders Sides fanfics till recently so I finally get to ask! = D

This is simply a request, but could you possibly to a Hurt/Comfort and Angsty o ed! Virgil fanfiction? Where he hides his wings for whichever reason you want- And it's *painful*, and eventually his wings get to damaged from constantly being hidden and self-groomed and other stuff of the sort and the others find out either accidentally cuz Virgil is in Too Much Pain, or Virgil reaches out- Just, take creative liberties with it! (Platonic LAMP all around- Or you can decide if it's romantic! Idc, whichever you prefer-) = D You can decide whether the others have wings or not, or if it's only the 'dark sides', or no one except Virgil, etc etc. I just have craved this for So Long in your writing specifically!

Whether you decide you would like to do this idea of not, that's fine! ^^ Just thought I'd suggest it! Thank you very much! = D - moonscar

Thanks for the request, babe!

Read on Ao3 The sequel: Soar

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, found family babes let’s go

Warnings: self-hatred, some implied self-harm, self-destructive behavior, poor Virgil is not having a good time, y’all. Sympathetic Janus, sympathetic Remus

Word Count: 7,932

Out of all of the Sides to have wings, why the fuck did it have to be Virgil?

Come on, it’s not like it even fits with Anxiety, being able to fly? Having these big fucking things sticking out of his back? No thank you, that’s more literally anyone else’s thing! Roman would love it, he’s sure, soaring to great heights and all that. Patton’s the closest one of them to actually being an angel. Logan could use them to fly away from the bullshit.

But nope. Virgil’s the one stuck with them. Isn’t that just fantastic.

Virgil grunts and pulls his hoodie on tighter, zipping it up over the sports bra. He growls and reaches back to tug the wings into place under the layers of fabric, hunching his back so the others don’t notice that there’s conspicuously more mass on his back than there’s supposed to be. Thank god he’s already known for baggy clothes.

He has to walk carefully. Too much jostling and the wings’ll pop loose. He leans on the stairs as much as he can before making his way to the back of the couch. He looks around. No one else is here.

Which would make sense, seeing as it’s three am.

Virgil winces when something twinges in his shoulder blade. His ears strain to pick up the sounds of anyone moving; no floorboards creak, no doors open or close, no sinks or anything else. Shit. Fuck, it’s happening when he’s breathing now too.

Shit.

Wincing, Virgil unzips his hoodie and slowly, slowly starts to lift his shirt up, sliding his hands under the material to try and—

A door opens upstairs and in a flash, Virgil’s hoodie is fully zipped up and his hands are back in his pockets.

Patton walks downstairs, rubbing his eyes. He blinks lazily and turns to go to the kitchen.

“Patton?”

Virgil winces when Patton startles horribly, whirling around until his eyes land on Virgil, perched on the back of the couch.

“You scared me, kiddo,” he pants, leaning against the counter before forcing a smile onto his face, “what’re you doing up?”

Virgil shrugs, trying to hide his flinch when one of his wings snag against something. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Aw, I’m sorry to hear that.” Patton tilts his head. “Anything I can do to help?”

Patton…Patton might be nice.

Patton would help, right? He—he’d care enough to help. Wouldn’t he? Patton had tried, so hard, when Virgil was first…around, just to make him comfortable, help him fit in, make him feel at…at home.

But—but Patton is the kind of person who would do anything to help someone and Virgil…Virgil doesn’t want that either.

Patton would see his wings—his ugly, dirty, huge wings—and look at Virgil with so much pity that he would be forced to help out. And the thought of hands in his wings was bad enough. The thought of unwilling hands in his wings was even worse.

Not Patton.

Virgil smiles, tightlipped in the dark. “No thanks, padre. ’S just the job.”

It’s a little sad how quickly Patton nods. “I trust you, kiddo, if you say you can do it I believe you.”

A sigh of relief lessens the ache in his shoulder blades for just a moment, then Virgil narrows his eyes. “What’re you doing up right now?”

“Needed a drink!” And sure enough, Patton goes into the kitchen and grabs a glass. “You want one?”

“…no, no I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.” Once the glass is full, Patton yawns, his jaw cracking, before he walks over to ruffle Virgil’s hair. “You gonna try and sleep a little?”

“Maybe.”

“G’night, kiddo.”

“Night.”

Once Patton vanishes back up the stairs, Virgil holds completely still until he hears the door click. As soon as it does, he slumps, burying his head in his hands, ignoring the bolt of white-hot pain that shoots through him. That was too fucking close.

What was he thinking? He can’t be here, not now, not while they hurt so much.

He sinks back to his room, biting his lip to stifle the noise when his wings slip under the bra. Now he won’t be able to get it off without hurting them—fuck why is this is fucking life?

He has to go slow, agonizing second by agonizing second, until the bra lies crumpled at the foot of his bed and he’s panting, sweat beading on his forehead and two new gashes in his lip. He takes one shuddering breath, then two, then—

“Come on, you assholes,” he mutters, “just…fucking cooperate for me.”

His wings creak and groan as he unfurls them, stretching them out until his throat protests with the effort of holding back a scream. He bound them wrong this time. One of the tendons is twisted, slipped over the bone on his right wing and every flex threatens to rip it entirely. His eyes, screwed tight from the effort, blink away tears, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He forgot to cover it again.

Virgil winces when he sees the state of his wings. The primaries aren’t lying flat, the secondaries are all bent out of shape, he can see the loose feathers stuck in the rest of the mess, and his oil gland must be clogged again. He can hear everything rasping together, the creaking, and everything. He—he has to try again.

Slowly, he sits down in front of the mirror, crossing his legs and sitting up as much as he can. He holds his wings out and winces at the sharp yank. Flexing his fingers, he reaches out with his hand and starts combing through his feathers. He can’t get the right angle no matter how much he twists his wrists and trying to hold the wing in place doesn’t work either. But he’s able to pull a few of the loose feathers out. It doesn’t matter that he plucks out several of the remaining healthy ones as well.

Alright. Step one done.

Virgil braces himself and twists, reaching out quickly for his wing before his back pulls away from him. He grabs it with two outstretched hands and can’t stop the cry of pain when another sizzling bolt races down his spine. He can barely hold onto it for three seconds before he has to let go. A roll of nausea makes him retch, hunched over himself, tears springing anew to his eyes.

Pathetic.

Can’t even clean yourself properly.

Worthless.

Useless.

Dirty.

The room rings with shuddering breaths as his chest heaves, the pain still zinging through his wings. He can’t. He can’t do it. He can’t clean them properly, not now, maybe not ever. He fucking bound them wrong, like an idiot and now he has to sleep on his stomach and if someone walks in they’ll see them and he won’t be able to bind them properly if they don’t heal and—

The fucking worst thing about his wings is they always try and make things better. They twitch whenever he’s near someone he likes or bristle when he feels upset. And when he’s alone, all by himself, about to have a panic attack, they always try and hug him.

So Virgil cries there, on the floor, surrounded by his ugly, dirty, painful wings.

He sleeps on the floor that night too, a few pillows here and there to keep him from pressing his face directly into the ground, wings as outstretched as he can until he can ignore the pain long enough to fall into a fitful, uneasy rest. When he wakes, the joints are still tender and he curses, knowing if he tries to bind them again it’ll just get worse. That means a day of staying in his room, which by itself wouldn’t be awful except that the others would know.

When Virgil was alone, he could have his wing day all by himself and no one would care. He could stay shut up in his room without fear that someone would come and knock on the door, wondering where he was, if he was okay, did he need anything? He’d tried, he’d tried so hard to convince himself that alone was better, alone was safe, alone protected him.

But the others were magnets, always pulling him closer, closer, closer until he was bound within them. How was he supposed to pull away from that warmth, that care, when every time he was close to it his wings reached out? He had to start binding them when he first appeared to Thomas, yes, but it wasn’t until recently that he had to start binding them. Because they would reach for the others. All the time.

He couldn’t have that.

So he tied them up.

And it was worth it. It was worth being able to stand next to Roman, to see that smile up close. It was worth being able to stand next to Logan, to hear him talk and explain everything he could ever want to know. It was worth being able to stand next to Patton, to feel warm and safe.

The pain was worth it, even if it didn’t always feel like it.

The others couldn’t know about his wings. If they did, they might—they would—

Only dark sides had animal traits. If they knew Virgil had wings—

Virgil shakes his head and groans into the pillow. He can’t go back. Not after what he’s done. He can’t—he won’t—there isn’t—

He barely remembers being small. He remembers being scared, being afraid, fumbling in the dark, but he almost never remembers being small. Small enough where he didn’t know yet to be afraid to ask someone for help, when hands in his wings weren’t tied up with problems or intimacy or care or obligation. Small enough where he could cuddle into the lap of someone who loved him and not have to worry.

He remembers getting older and being scared, huddling in the dark with the others.

He remembers rubbing his hand over shedding scales. He remembers helping rub away the twitches in newly formed tentacles. He remembers hands, hands in his wings.

Those memories are locked away, behind bars Virgil won’t let himself bring down.

A knock on the door startles him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

Fuck, does his throat sound like that?

“Virgil?” Logan. “Are you alright?”

“What the fuck is an alright,” Virgil mutters, pushing himself up off the ground and wincing, before raising his voice, “I’m fine, Logan.”

“You didn’t come down for breakfast—“ shit— “and we were concerned.”

“Didn’t feel like coming down,” Virgil tries, aiming for nonchalance and failing miserably, “but I’m all good here.”

“Are you certain?”

Logan…Logan would help.

Logan would understand things from a logical perspective. He would be the most business-like about it, just doing what needed to be done and leaving. He might find it…interesting? He would get it over with.

He would…get it over with.

A human figure having wings is illogical. Virgil doesn’t want to be stared at like some sort of…object. And…and…Virgil wants to be cared for, not treated like a chore. The desire burns a shameful hole in his gut, the craving for soft words and gentle touches accompanied by flaming cheeks and a roll of disgust. He doesn’t think he’d be able to hold back the tears at being treated so…coldly, even if it would be better for him.

Not Logan.

“I’m sure,” Virgil grits out, “thanks, though.”

“Of course. Will we see you for dinner?”

Swallows before his tongue chokes him. “Dunno.”

“Very well.”

He hears Logan walk away and cringes. That was awful. But he’s made a commitment now, so he has to get ready for dinner. Four hours should be enough.

Sitting up is a slow process and every few moments he has to stop when his vision grows spotty. He flexes his wings, watches the shape twist back for a few seconds before he has to relax it again. The ache has dulled slightly and maybe he can try again.

Raising his arms straight above his head, muscles straining, shaking, Virgil bites his lip and holds for one, two, three seconds until he cries out and lets them drop. Nope. No way. If he can’t even do that, he’s not gonna be able to pull the sports bra over his head, much less get his wings tucked into position. He winces and looks around for the belt.

He hates using the belt but it is easier on his shoulders. Instead of tucking the whole folded-up mess into the sports bra, he folds his wings up as small as they’ll go and wraps a belt around them, straining behind him and valiantly ignoring how much it hurts until he’s sure he’s got it around the joints. He lets go with a gasp, rolling his shoulders experimentally. It still aches, yes, but much less, and as he turns to the side, if he just wears a big enough shirt, with his hoodie on, no one will notice.

That means he can use the rest of the time to get used to it.

By the time he walks down to dinner, the others are waiting, Roman’s face lighting up in a huge smile as he sees Virgil round the top of the stairs.

“There’s our little Stormcloud!” He waves Virgil over to the chair next to him. “Haven’t seen your gloomy face all day, I’ve missed it!”

Virgil snorts. “You’ve just missed seeing another version of you, Princey.”

“Can you blame me, Hot Topic?” Roman winks. “We’re gorgeous.”

“The fact that we all share a face should not be surprising to you,” Logan remarks as he closes his book.

“Aw, you think I’m hot.”

“Pasta!” Patton places the pot on the table and Virgil winces when the sound makes his wings twitch. He doesn’t catch Roman’s concerned look. “Who wants what?”

“Just olive oil for me.”

“You got it, Logan.”

“I’ve got mine,” Roman announces, sweeping half of the condiments on the table toward him and combining them in…a way.

“…jeez,” Virgil mutters.

Patton rolls his eyes fondly as Logan and Roman start idly bickering about the appropriate condiments for pasta. A steaming bowl slides to a stop in front of him and without pausing, Roman passes Virgil the jar of sauce.

Virgil watches the jar slide to a stop in front of him, blinking up at Roman who just gives him a quick wink and goes right back to bickering with Logan. Patton giggles as Logan pinches the bridge of his nose, obviously trying to hide his smile as Princey grins. It’s a game now, to see which one of them will break character first. Princey’s the actor, but Logan’s got an incredible deadpan face. And when he’s in a playful mood the two of them can go at it for hours. Virgil and Patton just sit back to watch the show.

As it turns out, both of them break character at the same time tonight, Logan stumbling over a word, and Princey accidentally slurring Logan’s name as he tries to come up with a comeback. Logan immediately tries to hide his smile behind his hand only to snort when Princey screws his face up in protest.

“How did I manage to do that,” he cries, “I said—what the hell did I say?”

Patton’s laughing too hard to answer and Virgil just shakes his head helplessly.

Logan snorts. Tries to stifle it again. Then his giggles start to slip out. “D-damn it.”

Roman gives up trying to stop his own cackles and throws his head back, letting it ring out. “We were doing so well, too!”

“We were indeed,” Logan says through a smile, “perhaps we should try again.”

“No, no, no, I won’t be able to get any words out before I’m reminded of whatever the heck my tongue did.”

“What word were you trying to say?”

“I don’t even remember.”

Dinner gets finished and Logan stands to help Patton clean up. Roman leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. Virgil watches him, his eye first caught by the movement, lingering when he sees the rush of relief on Roman’s face.

Is…is that what stretching is supposed to feel like?

“Stormcloud?”

Virgil blinks. Oh. Oh, fuck, he’s staring. Roman stares down at him, his head tilted.

“You’ve been quiet today, Stormcloud,” Roman says, too low for Logan or Patton to hear, “everything Gucci?”

Nope. Princey’s not allowed to do that. Definitely not. He’s not allowed to sound that caring because Virgil will talk to him.

“Everything’s fine.”

Roman raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

“Shut up,” Virgil grumbles, shoving Roman halfheartedly as he chuckles.

He goes to pull his hand back but Roman catches it, making him wince when his wings jar. This time he doesn’t miss Roman’s look of concern.

“Virgil,” Roman calls, “are you hurt?”

Yes. “Nah. Just slept weird.” On the ground, in pain.

“You don’t want me to sic Patton on you, do you?”

Virgil shudders, ignoring the twinge in his wings again. “No. Nope. I’m good.”

Roman chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Virgil’s hand. “Alright. You just come and tell me when you need something, hmm?”

Roman…maybe Roman?

Roman, who is desire and passion and so, so warm to the touch. Roman, who has tried so, so hard to make Virgil his friend, to care for him. Roman, who looks at Virgil with soft expressions and sly winks and is just so there.

…Roman, who treated him like a villain. Roman, who Virgil knows struggles to keep his own head above water most of the time. Roman, who can put on a mask to rival any actor’s, who can hide everything so well they might never know what’s really going on.

Not Roman.

“…yeah, sure, Princey.”

“Marvelous!”

And despite everything, despite the pain in his wings and the belt digging into the soft points of his feathers, Virgil smiles, just a little.

If this is what he has to deal with to be a part of this, then he’ll do it.

Then Deceit shows up and Virgil panics.

Not because of what this means, not because of how it’s going to affect Thomas, but because Deceit knows.

Deceit knows that Virgil has wings. Deceit knows that Virgil is a dark side. Deceit knows that Virgil hasn’t told the others.

He’s safe—at least he thinks he’s safe—because if Deceit tells them about his wings, he’d have to tell the others he sheds too. And Deceit won’t ever volunteer information about himself like that. Virgil has one moment of panic on the witness stand, thinking Deceit’s about to split his defenses wide open, but no, no, he’s wings stay tucked up, ugly and rumpled, Virgil’s very own dirty little secret.

Luckily—or unluckily—there are too many other things to focus on for Deceit to let slip that particular little secret. Virgil is too worried about Thomas and Patton and Roman and Logan and everything to worry any more about his wings. He runs on adrenaline and worries for days, weeks, months until it’s all he can think about, over and over, coffee being drained as quickly as Logan can brew it.

He plucks out his own feathers in the dark and washes the blood off the carpet. He strains to move his arms, his shoulders, anything, just to get a little more range of motion. He wipes the crusted salt from the corner of his eyes and grits his teeth.

Then Remus shows up and does what Remus does best: wreak absolute chaos.

Roman is knocked out, Logan gets a shuriken in the forehead, and Virgil tells Thomas he used to be a dark side.

The second he sinks into his room after that he tears at himself, his hoodie thrown to the corner of the room as his wings groan and buckle and writhe as Virgil paces.

Why did he do that why did he do that now he knows now they know now it’s going to be so much worse they’re going to hate me again I’m going to be alone alone is safe alone protects me but alone is cold and lonely and alone hurts it hurts I hurt make it stop please—

He’s panicking, he knows he’s panicking, he knows he should go, go find someone, have Logan help him, talk to Roman, get a hug from Patton, but his wings are out, he can’t put them away and they hurt, they hurt so much, everything hurts so much, he just wants it to stop.

Virgil collapses onto the floor, ignoring the sickening crunch as one of his wings buckles under his weight. It just…it just hurts.

Thomas doesn’t say anything.

Patton doesn’t say anything.

Logan doesn’t say anything.

Roman doesn’t say anything.

Remus doesn’t say anything.

Janus doesn’t say anything.

And somehow…somehow that’s worse.

It doesn’t get easier, it just gets repetitive.

He doesn’t try to get the spots he can’t reach anymore. He knows he can’t get the oil glands cleaned. He washes them as best he can but he knows he can’t dry them properly. He wears the sports bra. He wears the belt.

He endures.

Then he fucks up.

Janus has been watching him. In fairness, Janus watches everybody, but he’s been keeping a particularly close eye on Virgil. If Virgil didn’t know any better, he’d think Janus was suspicious of him, that he’d do something to ruin Janus’s seat at the table, or hurt the others, or try and turn them against each other. It would make sense, given their…history.

But Virgil knows Janus better than that.

He knows that look and that’s why he shies away from it.

He lashes out and he hates himself for it. He scorns Janus’s attention and has to hold back a gag. He slams his door shut and claps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying.

He can’t let himself stop now. If he stops he’ll fall apart. He’s been numb for so long he wants to stay numb, can’t start feeling it again or—or—

He can’t. He just can’t. The dark sides may be accepted now but that says nothing about Virgil.

Which is why it is so, so stupid that Janus chooses to stand next to Logan when the next session comes. Because he’s right there, so close, where Virgil can practically feel his presence prickling along his left side and he’s so glad he bit the bullet and wore the sports bra today because his wings are straining to reach for him.

But then Remus pops up next to Roman and Virgil visibly flinches.

He’s able to pass it off as surprise but the knowing look Janus gives him tells him Janus can see right through him.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He shouldn’t. He left the dark side ages ago, he shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—

He shouldn’t be aching for them. For all of them. His wings shouldn’t be bristling and yearning and his back shouldn’t feel like it’s splitting in two right now.

His mind shouldn’t be filled with thoughts of the soft touches they would give him as the helped groom his wings, the gentle jabs and playful barbs tossed back and forth as they supported each other.

He shouldn’t feel so cold.

The debate is already going, Logan and Patton tossing things back and forth, Roman and Remus doing the same. Janus adds a comment here and there, Thomas frantically trying to keep track of all of them. It’s far too easy for Virgil to withdraw, sink into his head, focus on keeping his wings in, make them stop, ignore the ache.

Someone shouts right next to his ear and without thinking, Virgil reaches out and grabs Janus’s cloak.

He freezes.

Fuck fuck fuck he fucked up he fucked up—

Why the fuck had he done that? Was it just because he was scared? He’s Anxiety, he’s always scared, why had this made him do something he hadn’t done since he was tiny?

He’s not some frightened child anymore, tugging on his parent’s clothes to beg for scraps of comfort. Is this what he fucking wants, to be coddled, told pretty lies about how everything was fine?

Too late, he realizes he’s still holding on and tries to let go quickly enough that no one will notice.

It only partially works.

The others are too busy scolding Remus—who just looks very pleased with himself—to notice. Except for Janus.

Of fucking course Janus notices.

Virgil shoves his traitorous hands into his pockets. He hunches his back, not caring that it makes his wings strain against the fabric of his hoodie. The only one who could see them right now is Janus and Virgil’s already dug his grave there, hasn’t he?

He just wants this to be over so he can go and Janus will stop looking at him.

The video ends and he can’t be the first one to sink out of the common area, that will draw attention, he can’t draw any more attention, but the longer he stays then someone will ask him something and he doesn’t want to—

Oh.

He blinks. Is…is the room empty? Oh. He can sink out now.

…or he could stay here.

The others tend to go cool off in their rooms after heated videos, just until they can all come out and make nice again. Virgil…Virgil has the common room to himself.

“Virgil?”

Fuck.

“…hey, Janus.”

“Hello,” Janus says softly, and no, no, no, don’t do that.

Janus is being kind and it’s so hard for Virgil to just stand here and not let his wings rip out of the hoodie. He didn’t sink out, he stayed, of course he fucking stayed, Virgil tugged on his cape like a little kid—

Virgil curses under his breath, collapsing to sit on the steps. He ignores Janus’s soft noise of concern and balls his hands up, beating out an erratic rhythm on his legs. His back hurts. His shoulders hurt. His wings hurt. Now his legs hurt. Now his hands hurt.

Something grabs his hands and pulls them over his head. The searing pain tears a cry out of his throat.

“Shh, shh—“ Janus, it’s Janus— “none of that now, sweetie.”

“Let me go.” It’s meant to come out as a snarl but instead, here Virgil is, whimpering at Janus’s feet.

“Will you keep hurting yourself if I let you go?”

No, Virgil wants to lie, yes, he wants to say just to spite him, what comes out of his mouth is neither of these.

“You’re hurting me,” he pants, “you’re—it hurts.”

Janus is silent above him, still holding his arms firmly above his head. Virgil chokes back a sob in the agonizingly painful position, barely suppressing his cries enough to still his shoulders which of course did nothing to alleviate the pain. Then another hand—right, he has six—touches gently beneath his chin, guiding his head up.

Virgil meets such an open expression of concern that tears spring to the corners of his eyes. He looks away immediately, only for Janus to crouch in front of him. He keeps a hold of Virgil’s hands but the release in his shoulders is enough to make him gasp.

“Sweetie,” Janus calls, “sweetie, look at me.”

“No.”

“Virgil, I need you to look at me.”

Gritting his teeth, Virgil looks up at Janus. Janus squeezes his hands once.

“When was the last time you had your wings groomed?”

Virgil’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach.

“Y-yesterday.”

“Did you do it yourself?”

“…yeah.”

“When was the last time someone else helped you groom them properly?”

Virgil swallows heavily and doesn’t say anything.

“…oh, sweetie, have you not had anyone help you groom them since…?”

Janus doesn’t even have to finish his sentence before Virgil’s nodding, the shameful secret finally spilling out. It’s Janus, he rationalizes, he knows how to keep a secret, right?

“Why haven’t you told them,” Janus murmurs, his voice broken, “why, sweetie?”

“Because telling people things is always so easy,” Virgil snarls.

Janus accepts it with a slow nod, reaching out to cup Virgil’s cheek. On instinct, Virgil jerks back, unable to get away from the touch because of the grip on his hands. Janus’s eyes widen.

“…oh, sweetie…”

“Don’t tell them,” Virgil blurts out, “please don’t tell them.”

“You’ve been hurting yourself, Virgil,” Janus whispers, “so badly, I can’t let that continue.”

“I’ll—I’ll fix it, I can fix it—“

“You know you can’t do this by yourself, honey.”

“I have to,” Virgil cries out finally, “I have to, I can’t—I messed up, I messed everything up, I have to do it alone now, I have to—“

“What did you mess up, sweetie?”

“You a-and Remus and I can’t—I can’t ask you ‘cause I messed it up so bad—“

“Shh, shh,” Janus soothes instantly, reaching out with another pair of hands to cup Virgil’s face properly, “you haven’t lost me, sweetie, you haven’t messed anything up so badly. You know you can come to me for help, you can always come here.”

“But you’re—“

“What, sweetie,” Janus prompts when Virgil cuts himself off, “what am I?”

Nope. Because Virgil can’t even use the dark side excuse anymore because now the dark sides are accepted. He has no fucking excuse. He has no justification for why he’s doing this. He’s—he’s—

He’s hurting himself.

“It hurts,” he whispers instead, “m-make it stop.”

“Do you have enough energy to sink out, sweetie?” Virgil shakes his head. “Okay. I need you to stand up for me, honey.”

Getting to his feet is a slow process, Janus murmuring encouragement as they go. He sets Virgil’s hands gently against the stair railing and whispers that he’ll be right back, he just has to grab some things, wait here, please? Virgil lets him go and clutches the railing for dear life, trying to keep the waves of nausea inside thank you very much.

“What do you mean, you haven’t seen him?”

“I knocked on his door, he didn’t answer.”

“So?”

“So I…tried the knob.”

“Roman!”

“I know, I know, I’m not supposed to, but I was worried and he isn’t in there, so—“

“Wait, he’s not in his room?”

“No! That’s the problem!”

“Well then where is he?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I came to find you two!”

“Wait…Virgil?”

No, no, no—

“Stormcloud,” Roman breathes from the top of the stairs, racing down, “there you are, we’ve been looking for you!”

“What’re you doing down here, kiddo,” Patton asks worriedly, “are you…you don’t look so good.”

Logan hustles around the end of the stairs to face him and no, no, Virgil doesn’t want this, not now—

“Virgil,” Logan calls softly and he sounds so much like he cares— “Virgil, are you having trouble standing?”

Virgil nods jerkily.

“Let’s have you sit down, then,” he continues gently, trying to cover up the shake in his voice.

When he doesn’t move, Roman can’t help himself. He walks forward, his arms opening to hover around Virgil’s waist.

“Can I carry you, Stormcloud,” he asks, “just to the couch?”

What does he do? He can’t say no, not when they look so worried. They just keep asking questions, they’ll just—but Janus asked him to wait for him, but standing is so hard and they all look so worried—

He nods again.

Logan carefully places his hands around Roman’s neck as Roman scoops him into a princess carry, heading for the couch. He sits down in the middle, holding Virgil as securely as he can, looking up when Logan crouches in front of them, nervously adjusting his tie. Patton sits on his side, pulling Virgil’s legs into his lap.

“What do we do?” Roman whispers. “I don’t—what do you need, Stormcloud?”

Logan nods encouragingly, still looking at Virgil with his brows drawn until realization dawns on his face.

“Virgil,” he says as he gets up to sit beside Roman, resting his hands on Virgil’s shoulders to encourage him to lean against him, “are you…is your ‘everything machine’ breaking?”

Oh.

Yeah, that’s what’s happening.

It’s Roman’s turn to have the ‘aha’ moment when he nods, taking one of Virgil’s hands and tenderly pressing a kiss to it. Logan keeps a steady, grounding pressure on his sides as Roman carefully lies him on the couch, going to the kitchen.

“Can you sit up? It’s perfectly alright if you can’t,” Logan assures quickly, “but it might be easier to drink something if you are upright.”

Virgil nods.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “we’ll go slowly, alright? If you feel dizzy or light-headed at any point, squeeze my hand and you can lie back down.”

As promised, by the time they’re fully sitting up, Logan’s hand still on his shoulder, Roman’s breezed back in with a tissue box, a glass of water, a glass of orange juice, and a mini french loaf on a tray, set it all down on the coffee table, pulled the table close enough where he can perch on the edge, and reached out to take his hand again. Patton rubs encouraging circles into his knee, murmuring soft words of encouragement.

Virgil can’t move. He doesn’t know what to do. He—they feel so warm, they keep touching him so gently, it—his wings are straining.

He whimpers when Logan’s hand lands on his back and Logan moves away immediately. The loss of contact has him itching to reach out but he can’t can’t can’t—

“Well.”

Janus.

Virgil blinks, and sure enough, there he is, standing with his hands clasped out of sight. Distantly, Virgil thanks that he’s still trying to keep Virgil’s secret, hiding whatever he has behind his back. He makes eye contact with Virgil and asks a silent question.

Virgil can’t respond.

“Janus,” Patton says, “do you—do you know what’s going on?”

“Can we help,” Roman blurts, “with whatever it is?”

Logan stays silent, gaze going back and forth between Virgil and Janus. Janus doesn’t take his eyes off Virgil.

He’s waiting, Virgil realizes, to see if I’m going to let them help.

…he doesn’t really have a reason not to anymore, does he?

Logan leans closer, his lips barely brushing Virgil’s temple.

“Please,” he whispers, “please, dearheart, let us help care for you.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

“…help.”

It’s loud enough for Janus to hear and he nods sharply, sitting down on the floor and holding out his arms. “You’re going to need to pass him to me. Be careful of his back.”

It takes the other three to get him tucked up against Janus’s chest before they shuffle back, wary. Janus wraps his lowest pair of arms around Virgil’s hips, holding him close.

“You just focus on me, sweetie,” he whispers, much too quiet for the others to hear, “and if you want them gone, you say so, okay?”

“R-Remus?”

“Remus is coming, sweetie, he found me looking for your things.”

“You kept them?”

“Of course we kept them.” Janus rests their foreheads together. “Of course we did.”

Janus holds him close, whispers a few more soft words, until Virgil nods and lets him unzip his hoodie.

“How, sweetie?”

“…sports bra.”

He can hear Janus swallow a noise of protest before he nods. “I’m going to have to cut them off, it’s going to hurt too much if we try and pry it off you.”

“But—“

“Sweetie,” Janus hushes, “you’re losing circulation, it’s not good for you.”

Virgil shudders. “…does that mean you have to cut off m-my shirt too?”

“Do you think you can hold your arms up long enough to get it off?”

“…no.”

Janus holds him tightly. “I’m so proud of you, sweetie, I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

Against his better judgment, Virgil turns and tucks his head into the crook of Janus’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent. “…always are.”

“I’m going to need the others to help me, help you, okay?” When Virgil nods, he can feel Janus look at the others, can feel the way his face changes.

“Roman.”

“Yes, I’m here.”

“I need you to get Virgil’s hoodie off.”

“O-okay,” Roman says, and Virgil can hear him shuffle up behind them, “is it already unzipped?”

“It is.”

“Here we go, Stormcloud,” Roman says softly, sliding the battered old thing from Virgil’s shoulders like it’s some fine silk garment, “you’re doing great…there. Where should I—“

“On the couch.”

There are a few more rustlings and then Janus’s mouth appears by Virgil’s ear again.

“I’m going to cut them off now. You just hold still for me, alright?” Virgil nods and Janus squeezes him around the waist. “Good.”

He turns his attention to the others. “Virgil has decided to trust you with this. I have decided to trust you with this. Betray that trust and you will not like the consequences. Am I clear?”

Murmured assurances. Then the soft rip, rip, riiiiiip of fabric, and the pressure on his wings releases.

Virgil’s sure Janus is talking from the vibration of his throat and he’s also sure the others are saying something back, but he can’t hear anything right now over the rush of blood in his ears from his wings unfurling, creaking, in all their ugly, dirty glory.

He winces, tries to stretch them, only to hear a cry of dismay from over his shoulder and an ‘oh, sweetie,’ from Janus. The tendon snaps back out of place and his wings slump.

“Virgil,” Janus says next to his ear, “Virgil, Remus is here now. Do you think you can explain what we need to do or would you like us to?”

Virgil should explain. It’s his problem. It’s his responsibility.

But…but it would be nice to not have to…for once. To…to let them take care of him.

“…c-can you?”

“We can.”

He feels another warm hand on his bare side and Remus’s voice in his ear.

“Hey,” Remus says, “you really are a mess right now, huh?”

Coming at any other time, it would be an insult. But right now, laced with concern, Remus’s statement sends a rush of warmth down Virgil’s spine.

“We need to get the tendon reset first,” Remus says. Someone shuffles over to join him. “You know what you’re doing?”

“I think so.” Oh. It’s Logan. Logan knows what he’s doing. Good, good. “Hold still for us, dearheart.”

“Ah!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Logan stammers, “but we’ve got it now.”

“You’re gonna be sore for a bit, little monster,” Remus says, “but Logan’s right. You’re all reset now. You wanna stretch it out? Carefully?”

Virgil does, tentatively extending his wing and it—it feels better. Well, it feels bruised and sore and achy—but it feels better.

“It…it’s back,” Virgil says in a strangled whisper, “it’s back.”

“Yes, sweetie,” Janus murmurs, “now let’s get you cleaned up.”

Virgil drifts. In and out. He hears Remus explain how to straighten his feathers, feels two strong steady hands carding through them, Looks up to see Roman, expression more focused than he’s ever seen, sees that expression melt when he catches Virgil’s eyes. Plucks a loose feather out and lays it in a growing pile.

Feels two more on his other side and looks around to see Patton doing the same, running his fingers through the primaries, secondaries, up to the covets, and through the scapulars. Feels his fingers linger just where the tips of the feathers brush Virgil’s bare back, stroking reassuring rhythms where he lands.

Janus still has two of his arms holding Virgil in his lap. With Virgil’s nod, he slowly raises Virgil’s arms above his head again, letting the others have access to the rest of his wings. With his last two hands, he starts smoothing the bottom of his wings, lingering in the spots where Virgil winces, gently tugging and adjusting until everything’s just right.

A flash of movement and he sees Remus over Janus’s shoulder, grabbing a spray bottle and two hairbrushes. He ruffles Virgil’s hair as he goes back around, warning him before he starts gently spraying Virgil’s wings, passing the hairbrushes to Roman and Patton with the instructions to try and get as much of the gunk out as possible.

“You,” Roman murmurs as he works, “are magnificent, Virgil, just look at you.”

“Don’t,” Virgil manages, “please don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing,” Roman promises, brushing a part of his wing that sends a shudder down his spine, “you’re…you’re—these are spectacular, Virgil, truly.”

Virgil shifts in Janus’s lap. “…ugly.”

“What?”

“…they’re ugly.”

“Of course they’re not, what do you…” Roman turns to him. “Stormcloud, who told you that?”

“…me.”

“Falsehood,” comes Logan’s voice from directly behind him, “your wings are indeed quite splendid.”

“Because they’re interesting?”

“Because they are a part of you,” Logan corrects softly, “and yes, because they are interesting.”

“We love you, kiddo.” Patton reaches up to squeeze his hand. “That means all of you, even your wings.”

Virgil opens his mouth to respond when hands slip through his feathers and every breath is stolen from his body.

“Here,” Logan says softly, “are they here?”

“Yep. Feel around in there a little, you should find the—“

“Here.”

Two thumbs swipe over the glands and Virgil shudders, right down to the tips of his wings. Logan pauses, leaning forward and doing it again. Virgil shudders harder, warmth shooting through his body, so warm, so warm. Then Logan’s hands start spreading the oil through his feathers and Virgil can’t.

“Shh,” Janus soothes, holding him tightly, “shh, I know, sweetie, just hold on…you’re doing so well.”

“Be gentle, Logan,” Roman orders, his gaze fixed on Virgil’s face.

“I am.” Logan does it again and Virgil gasps. “This area is simply…sensitive.”

Virgil swallows. “…haven’t…haven’t been able to…to…”

“You have not been able to reach these areas yourself,” Logan finishes when Virgil can’t make words happen anymore, “and so the sensation is heightened by the newness of it.”

“Y-yeah.”

Then Roman’s hand brushes over his alula and he whimpers.

“S-sorry.”

“Would I be mistaken in saying this is quite…an intimate action?” Virgil shakes his head at Logan’s question. “Then you do not need to apologize. Trusting others with this level of intimacy is difficult, and you are doing very well.”

“You are, kiddo,” Patton adds when Virgil makes a noise of protest, “and you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. It’s okay that you’re sensitive, it’s okay.”

“Is this alright, Stormcloud,” Roman asks softly as he keeps brushing the feathers, “can we keep going?”

“Mhm,” Virgil mumbles, head lolling forward, “mhm.”

“Good.”

As they finish removing the clearly damaged feathers, the real grooming starts. Roman and Patton start gently tugging here and there to pull out loose and broken feathers, pushing the ones that are just slightly crooked back into place. The hairbrushes, with nice wooden spokes, split the feathers easily without a snag as Logan carefully works the oil throughout. Remus slips down, carefully spreading the oil over Virgil’s back, kneading out the tension from his sore muscles. Janus holds him steady, murmuring softly.

Virgil floats, punch-drunk on the fuzzy feeling from Logan’s hands, Patton’s hands, Roman’s hands, Remus’s hands, Janus’s hands. It’s so warm, so warm, as he feels the lingering strings of hurt and tension slowly and persistently untangled from his wings.

“I think that’s everything,” comes Logan’s soft voice an uncertain amount of time later, and yet none of the hands move away.

“You’re so pretty, kiddo,” Patton murmurs, running his hands through the feathers, “so, so pretty.”

“Guess you really did dig the purple, huh?” Remus gives Virgil’s hair a ruffle. “I think these are the best these have looked in a while.”

Virgil shifts in Janus’s lap. “…yeah, well…”

Janus shushes him. “It doesn’t matter, now, sweetie. It’s okay.”

“You were hesitant because being vulnerable is hard,” Logan adds, still stroking up and down the joint of his wings, “that isn’t anything to be ashamed of.”

Virgil opens his mouth to reply when Logan’s fingers skitter over the spot right under the joint and he cries out.

“…Virgil?”

Logan raises an eyebrow when Virgil simply shudders, his back arching. Slowly, he does it again, smiling when Virgil all but purrs.

“I think he likes that,” Patton says quietly, “don’t you, kiddo?”

Virgil whines.

“Where else are you sensitive,” Roman murmurs, scritching his fingers lightly along the top of Virgil’s wing, “where else, Stormcloud?”

“I don’t think he’s got command of words right now,” Remus chuckles.

“If Virgil’s wings are anatomically similar to bird wings,” Logan murmurs, “then…”

Roman’s hand is tangled in his alula. Patton’s hands are rubbing at the crook of his wings. Logan’s thumbs stroke over the oil glands again.

Virgil’s mouth is suddenly very, very dry.

Remus’s thumbs suddenly dig into the space between his shoulder blades, startling a short moan out of him. He hears a chuckle from over his shoulder.

“Does that feel good, dearheart,” Logan murmurs, his nails scraping lightly over the soft skin where Virgil’s wings met his back, “right there?”

Virgil’s only response is a long, low, drawn-out sound that would have been mortifying had he any control over his brain right now.

“Oh, wow,” Patton mumbles from the side.

Roman reaches up and wiggles his fingers next to Logan’s and Virgil keens.

Janus chuckles, lowering Virgil’s arms around his neck and reaching out to scritch lightly at the marginal covets. “You’re about to get spoiled, sweetie,” he murmurs, “you just hang on, hmm?”

Virgil wraps his arms around Janus and holds on for dear life just as fingers wiggle into his axillaries and he freezes.

Then he melts, right into Janus, right into the hands in his wings, the sound physically being ripped out of his chest.

Lips brush the side of his neck like the owner couldn’t stop themselves. The hand on his right twitches violently. From his left comes a long, shuddering breath.

“Oh, Stormcloud—“ Roman, that’s Roman— “you best believe we’re going to spoil you all the time.”

Just like that, everything multiplies. Pats, strokes, kneads, scritches, ruffles, so many so many so many gentle, adoring touches and soft voices in his ears and Virgil flies.

General Taglist:

@frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @marshmallow-fluffy @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @such-a-dumbass

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist please let me know!

#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #remus #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #sympathetic light sides #tw self harm

645 notes · View notes

logicalbookthief · 4 years

Note

76 on the prompt list :>>> excited to see what u come up w/

Anon, your faith in me was truly misguided. I saw this prompt and went, “ooh, ok, let’s do some heartfelt angst,” and then as I started that my brain went, “nah, this instead.”

And by this, I mean “domestic & married Reddie being gross and in love and having a drama queen for a kid”

Prompt: 76 – “It could be worse. They could be dating.” “Wait. They are?!”

Summary: “Our daughter is dating a nose-picker?!” Eddie says it with the disdain of someone describing a serial killer.

Richie kicks the door closed with his foot, already slipping it halfway out of his shoe. He dumps his duffel on the floor, which Eddie’ll chide him for later. That’s a problem for future Richie, not present Richie, who’s running on pure caffeine after his non-stop flight from Atlanta to LA.

The distant thump of 80s music lures him to the kitchen. Eddie’s humming along to the radio as he rinses lettuce for one of his seasonal salads. Richie would bet his life it includes pine nuts.

Padding quietly across the hardwood, Richie warps his arms around his husband from behind. “Honey, I’m home!”

Eddie jolts, relaxing the minute he feels the frame of Richie’s glasses against his head. “Jesus,” he sighs, dropping to a whisper. “Jack, what’re you doing, you know my husband’s coming home today!”

“Jack?!” Richie squawks, twisting him around by the lapels. “As in, our mailman?”

“Oh, whoops,” Eddie feigns shock, the facade lasting all of a second before he throws his arms around Richie’s neck, swooping in for a kiss.

Richie moans, a little satisfied hum against Eddie’s lips. “Where’s my other sweetheart?”

His husband adjusts his shirt where it’s riding up, due to his Richie’s wandering hands. “Moping,” he explains, delicately.

“She’s seven. What does she have to mope about?” Richie deadpans. His mouth twists into a grimace. “Wait. Are you trying the tuna casserole recipe again?”

Eddie whips around. “What the fuck’s wrong with my–?”

“Nothing!” he answers quickly. Eddie narrows his eyes, wielding the salad-spinner like he wants to use it on something besides leafy greens. “So what’s eating my little Spaghetti-o?”

“Mrs. Diaz separated her from her cubby-buddy, Jonas,” Eddie informs, eyebrows rocketing to his hairline. “Apparently they were too disruptive as a pair.”

“Jonas? Isn’t that the nose-picker?” He regrets this observation as Eddie gags over the croutons.

Everyone has a thing, a thing that trips the gag reflex. Many things bring out that response in Eddie, yet none so viscerally as his aversion to snot, boogers, and the like. Ever since they were kids, it was the surefire way to make him heave. Even if the snot in question was connected to their child.

So when it came to boogers, Richie was the go-to parent, while Eddie graciously agreed to handle the diaper meltdowns. After all, the key to a successful marriage is compromise. Compromise, and lots of Clorox wipes.

At the school’s Christmas pageant last year, the boy standing next to Nina started digging for gold halfway through Twelve Days of Christmas and found a nugget before they hit two turtle-doves. Poor Eds nearly hurled in Richie’s lap.

“Don’t remind me,” Eddie shudders. “Anyway, she’s heartbroken over it. As soon as we got home she ran to her room. I tried to talk to her when I brought her a snack and she asked me to please give her time.”

Richie imagines that coming out of his seven-year-old’s mouth and snorts. “Sorry,” he adds. “Not funny.”

Eddie ducks his chin to hide his smile. “Even for her, it’s a tad overdramatic,” he admits, glancing up at Richie through his lashes. “I didn’t have the heart to pester her, but, maybe since you’re home…”

“I’m on it!” Richie stretches the lingering kinks out of his neck. “I’m a world-famous comedian back from a sold-out show. Cheering our daughter up should be a cinch.”

“Mhm,” Eddie intones, not sounding very confident. Which, rude. He seems rather distracted by the length of Richie’s biceps as they stretch over his head. His eyes gleam with an anticipation that has nothing to do with salad. Richie’s got the same itch crawling beneath his skin and he’s very eager to scratch it. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and the dick grow harder.

His knocks at Nina’s room are ignored, so Richie gently pushes the door open to peer inside. At the sight of his daughter curled up on the bed, he breaks into a smile.

“Eyyy, there’s my girl!”

Nina raises her head from the pillow, uttering a curt, “Hi, Dad.”

Well, that’s far less enthusiasm than he was expecting. Considering he was gone for almost a week. Nothing like a child’s indifference to keep you humble.

“Aww, sweetie, what’s wrong?” His ears perk at the soft croon of Whitney Houston in the background. “And … what the heck are you listening to?”

“Playlist,” she mutters, blindly flinging an arm toward her device. She’s got it open to his Spotify.

Richie should probably delete the app from her tablet, like, yesterday. If she ever stumbles across his “Songs to fuck Eddie to” playlist he’ll have to commit samurai-suicide.

However. Given this playlist is called “Sad love songs to cry into your Chipotle burrito,” Richie has a better idea of what type of crisis he’s dealing with here.

“Sooo, uh. Your daddy told me. You and Jonas, you two are…?” He winces at her lip-tremble, which confirms his worst suspicions. “That’s rough, kiddo.”

“I’ll never be happy again,” Nina sniffs miserably. “I love Jonas and now we’ll never see each other!”

“You are still in the same class,” Richie points out.

She whirls on him, eyes flashing lividly.

“We sit by last names! His is at the beginning, mine’s at the end!” With more venom than a child should be capable of, she hisses, “I hate the alphabet.”

“O-Kay,” says Richie, truly at a loss. Luckily, she doesn’t seem inclined to talk about it anymore. Instead she stuffs her face back in the pillow, not quite fluffy enough to absorb her lovelorn sigh.

He pets her hair, curling it around his fingers, until the sniffles eventually dwindle. “Do you want us to make you a special dinner? Anything you want,” Richie cajoles.

Nina thinks it over, tilting her cheek enough to say, “Can you ask Daddy to make tuna casserole?”

Richie blanches. “Wha– Why?”

“I want my belly to feel as bad as my heart,” she mumbles.

He manages to keep a straight face as he bends to kiss her brow and leaves her to sulk, but it’s a close call. When he reports back to the kitchen with his news, there’s no tact necessary.

Eddie laughs ‘til he’s out of breath. “It isn’t funny,” he repeats, slightly winded.

“Of course not,” Richie agrees, failing to stifle his own grin.

“I love her, I’m sorry she’s hurting, but she’s so–”

“Theatric?”

“She gets that from you,” Eddie accuses.

“Excuse a moi?” Richie balks. “This, coming from the guy who kissed me out of the deadlights like some low-budget horror rebut of Sleeping Beauty?”

“What, should I have let the clown eat you?” Eddie glances his way, slyly. “I was referring to middle school. When you spent an entire night cranking your mom’s Bonnie Tyler records because I said you kind of looked like a frog, and you remembered how three weeks ago I told Bev I’d never kiss a frog even if it turned into a handsome prince?”

“Fucking Stanley,” Richie huffs. “I swore him to secrecy. We spit on it and everything.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “At least for Nina, it’s only a crush. It could be worse,” he scoffs. “They could be dating.”

Richie tries to school his expression, he does, but – the thing is. After spending almost their whole fucking lives together, minus those twenty-two years of amnesia in between, Eddie can spot his tells from a mile away.

“Wait. They are?!” He slaps a hand over his mouth, aghast. “Our daughter is dating a nose-picker?”

He says it with the disdain of someone describing a serial killer.

“Ugh, Rich, that–ew! What if they hold hands after h–he–”

The suggestion of it alone has Eddie bending over the sink.

“Babe, c’mon.” Richie soothes a palm up-and-down his spine. “You’ve drilled the importance of hand-washing into Nina since she could walk. I doubt she’s carrying around any clingers.”

On cue, Eddie lets loose another dry heave.

“Will you stop?” he groans, glaring over his shoulder at Richie. “This is awful. Literally, of all the kids in her class, why this one?”

“You’re blowing this way out of proportion,” says Richie, though Eddie’s eyebrows beg to differ. He loves his husband, deeply, irrevocably, but he’s also one of most ridiculous people on the planet. “Remember, we like Jonas? Jonas is nice! If a little unsanitary… He’ll grow out of it, though. Like I did.”

The words leave his mouth before his brain can flash any of the red warning signs. Slowly, ever so slowly, Eddie turns. They lock eyes. His gaze brims with the horror of this realization.

“Are you saying,” Eddie begins, dangerously low, “that you used to pick your nose when we were kids a-and then, you’d touch me?”

“Used to?” Richie grabs the fleeing Eddie and hauls him back before he really does leave him for their incredibly buff mailman.

“Babe!” he chuckles. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I swear! I swear on Ben’s chiseled abs!”

“Disgusting, you’re disgusting,” Eddie grumbles, wriggling in his grasp. “Let go of me, don’t even think of touching me with–”

All of a sudden, Eddie squeals, wracked with a full-bodied spasm.

“With what?” Richie taunts, continuing to tickle him. “With these filthy, boogery fingers of mine?”

“St–op!” Eddie wheezes. “I’m gonna piss my pants!”

“Don’t exploit my pee kink,” he snaps, which only makes Eddie wheeze harder.

“I’ve had my fingers in your ass,” Richie reminds. “In fact, you love my fingers in your ass.”

Whether from embarrassment or exertion, Eddie flushes. “Fuck you, that’s extremely different!”

“You’re right, it’s probably more disgusting.” Teeth skirting over his earlobe, Richie leans down, his voice a sultry hush, “Because I like to use my mouth there, too.”

Eddie muffles a moan into his fist. “I see what you’re doing,” he grits out. “And it won’t work. No way I’m sleeping with you now, nose-picker.”

Richie makes a wounded noise, clutching him more firmly to his chest. “Please, Eds, baby, I can change! I’ll go to meetings, therapy– I’ll never stick my finger anywhere you don’t want again!”

“I don’t know if I can ever look at you the same.” Eddie’s reply cuts off into a giggle as those fingers attack his flank. “Seriously, Rich, I am going to–!”

They’re interrupted by the violent swing of Nina’s door against the wall.

“Will you two keep it down?!” she shouts. “I’m trying to mourn!”

The door slams shut again. They gawk at each other in silence. Finally, Richie pools enough blood into his brain to speak.

“Are we terrible parents?”

Eddie kisses the underside of his chin. “Ask me that when your semi isn’t plastered against my ass,” he says, flatly.

@trashmouth_tozier

Hi my name is Richie and I’m a recovering nose-picker. Ages 3 thru 9 were rough, but with the support of my dear husband, I’ve managed to keep my fingers clean. Hope my story can help inspire someone else xx

Bev: why did Eddie ask for the number of my divorce lawyer ?

Bev: nvm I saw your tweet

Am I projecting my own snot-induced gag reflex onto Eddie? Yes. Do I still believe my characterization was spot-on? Yes again.

#reddie #reddie fic #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it chapter 2 #canon fix-it #asks #prompt fic

119 notes · View notes

mystical-flute · 4 years

Text

Home Is Wherever I’m With You (Ch. 2)

AO3 || Ko-fi

“Okay Miss Swan, what brings you here today?”

“I… just don’t feel good,” Emma said, biting her lip nervously. “I’ve felt nauseous and been throwing up. I thought it was food poisoning from all the fried foods I ate last week but… it hasn’t stopped and my breasts are starting to ache and I’m just - tired! I’m supposed to be on vacation and - ”

The doctor held up her hand, smiling softly. “Okay, I see the picture. Emma, what was the date of your last period?”

Emma froze, feeling the color drain from her face.

Oh, no.

“Um. J - January.”

The doctor gave her a kind smile. “Right, Emma… I’m going to ask you to take a pregnancy test. It may be a virus, but I just want to cover all of my bases.”

Emma’s throat had gone dry, but she managed to nod, following a nurse to the bathroom and looking at the stick in her hand.

Pregnant. She might be pregnant.

She’d gotten sex ed in school. She knew she needed to be careful with sex. Neal had managed to find condoms (had one broken?), so protection had been a thing. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

But it had.

Emma felt numb when the doctor confirmed the pregnancy, handing her a sheet with her positive test result and doctors in the area, and warning signs to watch out for if things started going wrong. None of it felt real. Yes, she and Neal had come into the $20,000, but that was dwindling the more time they spent here - they still were living out of a hotel! They hadn’t made it to Tallahassee yet, found jobs, or anything! They couldn’t have a baby now - right?

What did she know about being a mother, anyway? All of the mothers she’d ever had in her life either gave her up or tried to kill her. She couldn’t be a mother. Not yet - maybe not ever… even if the little voice in her head was telling her maybe this could work out. Maybe this would be different. After all, they’d promised each other a new start when they’d fenced the watches. Was this a part of that new start?

Emma trudged up the one flight of stairs back to the hotel room (the elevator kept making her nauseous) and exhaled slowly, unlocking the door.

“Neal?”

“Emma! There you are! I have news -” he trailed off when he took in the look on her face. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I just have some news myself. But you go first.”

Neal was grinning as he spoke. “I looked at the case against me in Washington and realized the statute of limitations runs out in three days . After that, I can’t be legally charged with the crime anymore, even if I’m stopped. They waited too long to contact the cops!”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Wh - but - that’s amazing! You’re sure that’s real?”

“I triple checked and even called an attorney advertising free advice to double check again!” Neal said, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. “We’re in the clear babe!”

She squeaked, laughing as she gripped him tight. “Wow! I never thought… Neal this is the best news I’ve ever heard!”

“Really? What about your news?” he asked, setting her back down on the ground and frowning slightly. “You okay?”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them or think of anything sappy to say to ease him into the news.

Neal’s face paled. “You - what? You’re - ” he stared at her face, then down at her stomach, then back up at her face. “We’re gonna have a kid?”

“I don’t know, Neal… we don’t have a place to live, we have the $20k, but we don’t have jobs to keep building up our money, and neither of us had good role models for parents. Can we really have a kid now?” she asked, staring up into his eyes.

Neal took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. “I know. You never had a stable home and my stability ended when I was thirteen. But I also know that we’re turning over new leaves - no more stealing. No more sleeping in the Bug. No more digging around in dumpsters for food. If we can do all of that, we can stick it to our terrible role models and be the best parents a kid has ever seen.”

Emma giggled, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “You do make a compelling argument. And they do have books out there on parenting. And this time, we won’t just abandon our kid on the side of a highway, or make them feel like they have to run away. But… are you sure you want this?”

“What I really want is you. No matter how or when or where,” Neal replied, leaning in to give her a kiss.

Finally, they made it to Tallahassee. Emma found a job as a secretary, while Neal settled into a career as a landscaper. Their apartment was small - two bedrooms and filled comfortably with used furniture they’d found at a thrift store (minus the mattresses for their bed and the crib - they were happy to pay full price for those), but it was eclectic. Cozy. Completely and totally theirs.

For once in her life, the urge to run was gone, and Emma Swan truly felt like she was at home.

Eight months later, the sounds of a newborn’s cry filled the air. Neal was at her side, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“You did it, Emma…” he breathed against her skin, his cheeks wet from happy tears.

“Congratulations Miss Swan, Mr. Cassidy, it’s a boy!” the nurse announced, approaching with the wriggly blue bundle in her arms.

Emma reached up with still-shaking hands, carefully adjusting him at the nurse’s coaxing, and smiled. “Oh wow… hi baby… I’m your mom…” she shifted him slightly again so he was facing Neal, “and that’s your dad. And while we don’t exactly know what we’re doing, just know that you are so loved, and we’ll do everything we can to protect you and make you happy.”

The little boy blinked, yawned, and fell asleep in her arms, content. It took Emma all she had to not break down in tears. A son. Their son. Their tiny, perfect son with ten fingers, ten toes, and all the trust that they’d keep their promise to keep him safe.

“Sorry to interrupt… but have you decided on a name for him?” the nurse asked quietly, smiling at the little family.

“Henry,” Neal said. “Henry Axel Swan-Cass - ”

“Just Cassidy,” Emma said, looking up at him, then at the nurse. “Henry Axel Cassidy.”

Neal frowned when the nurse left the room after checking Emma’s vitals. “I thought you said you wanted him to have Swan in his name…”

Emma shifted, handing Henry to Neal and leaning back against the pillows. “I did too, until I looked at him and realized… I don’t want to build a future with that name. I chose it because it reminded me of my first foster family, that almost that could have been… and I didn’t want Henry to be stuck with an almost. I wanted him to have your name because of the promise you and I made together, and to him. That we’d always be there. That he’d always be safe…”

Neal smiled, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “I think it sounds perfect. Welcome to the world, Henry. We’re all going to be in for a hell of a ride…”

A ride it was, and before Emma knew it, Henry was two years old, and Neal had changed from landscaping to photography, having discovered a passion for it. He worked at a magazine trying to boost tourism to Tallahassee, while Emma found a new career as a bail bondsperson. The career changes meant they could afford new stuff, better stuff. Stuff Emma had never dreamed she would own.

“Hey, Neal? Have you seen Henry’s other shoe?!” Emma called. “We’re going to be late for our dinner reservation!”

“It’s in here, Emma! He insisted on trying to dress himself and didn’t realize there were two!” Neal replied from Henry’s bedroom.

Emma’s heels clicked as quietly as she could against the hardwood floors of the apartment, Henry’s shoe dangling from her finger, stopping in her tracks when she saw what Henry was wearing. It wasn’t the shirt - no, it was just a normal t-shirt, but the words on it had her heart beating fast against her chest.

Mommy, will you marry Daddy?

Behind Henry was Neal, on his knee with a ring.

Henry’s shoe dropped from her finger, her hand going to her mouth. “Yes…” she managed to whisper. “Of course I will.”

Neal grinned, sliding the ring onto her finger. “Great, now that’s settled, we can get Henry to Cleo’s and celebrate.”

Emma laughed, carefully tying Henry’s shoes and lifting him into her arms. “You did a very good job helping Daddy surprise me,” she told him, kissing his head. “But now you’re gonna go spend some time with Miss Cleo, okay?”

“Okay Mommy,” Henry said, hugging her. “Mommy, are you happy?”

“I’m very happy, baby. You and Daddy make me the happiest I’ve ever been,” she replied as Neal grabbed his bag and the family made their way down to the second floor of the building, where their trusty babysitter was waiting.

Cleo was the one that got her into the business of bail bonding. They’d been introduced by a woman at the clinic Emma had once worked for, and she’d offered to help her find information on her parents. Nothing had come up, but Cleo had taken her under her wing, and Emma found she was one of the only people she could trust. Plus, she adored Henry, and he adored her in return.

“So you finally did it, huh Neal?” Cleo greeted, taking in Henry’s shirt and the ring on Emma’s finger. Congratulations you two.”

“Thanks, Cleo… we might be a bit later than we originally thought, is that okay?” Emma asked with a small frown.

“Of course it is. You two lovebirds take all the time you need. Henry and I’ll be here.”

They married on New Year’s Eve, at a beach a couple of hours from Tallahassee, and rented out a room at a local bar for their few guests. Burgers and hot dogs, onion rings and fries and a cake made by the bar staff just for them. They watched the ball drop in New York on the bar’s television with Henry curled up, asleep between them.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Cassidy,” she whispered, carefully clicking her glass against his.

“Happy New Year, Mrs. Cassidy.”

Boston, 2011

“So today at art camp, Jason mixed up the nacho cheese sauce, a glob of pizza sauce and Tina’s leftover chocolate milk, and then drank it !” Henry explained over dinner on a chilly July night.

“Okay, well, I don’t think I’m hungry anymore. Ready to head back to the apartment now?” Neal asked with a playful grin, putting his napkin down on the table and making a motion to stand up.

“Dad, come on, you didn’t have to walk him to the nurse after lunch. I could tell you that story too!”

“I think I’m good, thanks buddy.”

The ensuing years had brought them to Boston, where Neal had gotten a job working for a national travel magazine, and Emma had moved on to private investigation rather than finding people who’d jumped bail. Henry was a thriving ten year old with a wild imagination, and wild friends that encouraged it.

It warmed Emma’s heart to see that his life was so much happier than her own had been prior to meeting Neal. He had two parents who loved him, friends who cared for him, good grades.

A small part of Emma wished her own wayward parents could see their grandson and how he was thriving, and how she’d risen from the ashes of their abandonment.

The rest of her didn’t give a damn about those people anymore and knew they were all better off without them.

“Stop! Thief!” a shout suddenly came from the kitchen. Emma was on her feet immediately, following the sound of the cry.

“What happened?”

“That damn teenage hooligan sneaked in here and stole a bunch of food again!” the chef cried, his face already beet red with anger.

Emma’s heart sank. It hadn’t been that long ago that she was the teenage hooligan stealing food from restaurants or grocery stores.

“How much money was it worth?” she asked, pulling out her credit card. “You know what, never mind. Put it on my bill. I’ll be right back.”

Swiftly, Emma made her way out the side entrance and down the alleyway, where she heard a dog barking and a girl laughing.

Bingo.

“Enjoying a full-course meal, are you?” she asked, leaning against the brick wall and raising a brow at the girl with the large pizza in her hand. The dog was chewing a carrot as if it were a bone.

“Who the hell are you?” the girl snapped, narrowing her eyes.

“Emma. Who are you?”

“I’m not telling you. You’ll go to the cops!”

“Technically I should, since you stole a bunch of food from the restaurant,” Emma said with a shrug. “But I know what it’s like to be in your shoes. Tired, hungry, desperate. Unsure of where or when you’ll eat next. Worried about what your friend here is going to eat next…”

Emma had never traveled with a dog before, but she’d been around enough people in her life to know that people loved them as much, or more than, themselves.

The teenager shuffled, looking down. “Right. But so what if you understand? If you aren’t going to call the cops, you’ll just call the social worker.”

“I should do that too, unless you give me a good enough reason as to why I shouldn’t.”

The girl looked panicked. “Because I can’t go back to that house!”

Emma’s eyes widened in alarm. “Okay then,” she forced herself to say calmly. “You can come stay with me for the time being.”

“What?”

Emma nodded. “Like I said, I was like you. I can’t leave you here on your own now that I know you’re here. You’ll be safer with a roof over your head.”

“You - you aren’t gonna kick me out because of Snoopy?”

Emma shook her head, sending a quick text to Neal to have he and Henry meet her outside with their leftovers. “I’ll cough up the $500 pet fee.”

The girl hesitated for another moment, before nodding, grabbing the food and a small bag she had and rising to her feet. “Come on, Snoopy…” she said softly.

“Emma! Where are you?!”

“Who was that?!”

“My husband. He’s a former street kid too. He’s probably got our son with him,” Emma explained, wrapping an arm around her and guiding her in the direction of Neal’s yell. Snoopy followed, the half-eaten carrot dangling from his mouth.

“Mom! Did you find the thief?” Henry asked with a wide grin, before frowning as he noticed the girl.

“Henry, Neal this is uh - ”

“Audrey,” the girl finally said, barely meeting Neal and Henry’s gazes. “And this is Snoopy.”

Henry was sold immediately at the sight of the dog, bending down to give Snoopy pets and scratches.

“I invited Audrey to stay with us for a while,” Emma said.

Neal’s look changed from confusion to understanding in a second. “Of course. C’mon kids, let’s get home.”

That night, after Audrey and Snoopy were settled into bed, both freshly bathed and Audrey in a borrowed pair of Emma’s pajamas, Emma knew what they had to do.

“I’m contacting the social worker tomorrow and getting her transferred to our care,” she said as she hung her leather jacket in the closet. “I don’t care what it’s going to take.”

“Agreed. She seems like a good kid. I can’t stand the thought of putting her back out on the streets,” Neal said solemnly. “Henry seems to like her too, with how long they played on the Playstation.”

Emma nodded, running her hands through her hair and sighing softly. “I just want to help her, like no one helped me.”

“I know. And we will. I think you’ve already given her something she’d been missing.”

“What’s that?”

“Hope.”

Hope. The word left a bitter taste in Emma’s mouth when it came to adoption. Every time a potential parent had come, hope would build in her chest, only for it to deflate when she was deemed too old, too plain, too mean to come home with that family.

She wouldn’t let it happen to Audrey too.

#swanfire #emma swan #neal cassidy #henry mills #ouat #once upon a time #fanfiction #home is wherever i'm with you

9 notes · View notes

zankivich · 5 years

Text

Teacher’s Pet: A College AU Chapter 15

a/n: Hi friends! I’m back and officially done with finals so I think we’re about to finish this one out. I imagine next chapter will probs be the last one. this series has been so fucking dope for me to write so I hope you enjoy tbh. Please let me know if ya like!

*masterlist in bio*

*Shawn’s pov*

It was nearing finals when Andrew helped him post the video. They wanted him to do another cover to garner interest, and maybe boost his numbers, before going straight into the studio to record an album. Andrew said it could be any song he wanted, but that it should be somewhere substantial in the Billboard 100. He does a cover of Perfect by Ed Sheeran, and maybe it was a little strategic. Ed was an inspiration and he wanted that sort of sound in his music, and so he knew if he got people to see it and like it, that it would be an accurate representation of the kind of artist he wanted to be. Also, his girlfriend liked it and so when she sat in the corner of Andrew’s house where they recorded it, every single take she would clap and hollar for him like his own little number one fan. It helped that Perfect had been one of the biggest songs of the year as well.

He woke up the next day to his phone buzzing like crazy. Well actually, he woke up to his girlfriend ready to throttle him with a pillow if he didn’t, “turn that thing the fuck off”. It was Andrew. Something had gone oddly right. He’d managed to rack up four million views in twenty-four hours. People higher than Andrew were asking, who was this kid with the guitar. They wanted him recording something….Now.

“What are you doing right now?” Andrew asked.

He peered down at his feet, body bare except for his boxer briefs. His arms were crossed and he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall in their bedroom that just showed how fucking shocked he was by the information he was sharing with him.

“I…I’m in my bedroom. My girlfriend’s still asleep.” He whispered. “Andrew, what the fuck do I now?”

“You get dressed. You brush your teeth. You grab your guitar and you get your ass to LA. that vision you were telling me about? That album you wanted to make? Now’s your shot, kid.”

Andrew had the ability to get him to launch into action. It was what had garnered trust for them so quickly, was this weird connection between the two of them. If Andrew said he needed to get his ass to LA, he needed to get his ass to LA.

He jumped straight into the shower, tugging on clothes over still damp body parts, and trying to locate his lucky guitar pick while trying to pull a shoe on. He senses her wake up before she even makes any noise, and he finally remembers that he’s leaving her. He crawled back into bed just as she was rolling over, allowing the length of his body to cover hers entirely.

She yawned and stretched, her adorable fucking cheeks just out there for him to kiss and nuzzle.

“Good morning.” She giggled kissing at his throat. “Why do you have clothes on right now?”

“Baby, the Ed cover got four million views last night. Andrew got the green light to have me come in and start recording. He wants me to come to LA, right now.”

“Are you fucking me?!” She squealed throwing her arms around him. “I’m so proud of you, babes.”

She nearly tackled him to the bed, pressing kissing to his face and smiling at him that way that just made him feel like fucking good inside. She was radiant and beautiful and she made everything feel like it was at another level.

“I love you, so much.”

He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to say it in that moment. He was just so fucking happy and that happiness was directly correlated to her. It wasn’t just the views and the ability to create music anymore, it was that he had so much he was feeling nowadays, so much going on inside of him, and that had so much to do with her. When he kissed her and her outlandish curls tickled his face, he just wanted to burrow deeper into her and never leave. But, he also wanted the world to know that he was in love, that his partner was this amazing, incredible being that he wasn’t worthy of. Or maybe he was, like she always said he was, and even that within itself was fucking cool.

“I love you too. Go live your dream. I’ll be here when you get back.”

She traced his jaw with her fingertips and looked at him like he was more than just a man. He felt it deep in his bones and it only made it harder to leave her. But, there was something about the fact that he was going to make music that felt like he wasn’t leaving her. It was if she existed in the notes and the melodies, in the strum of his guitar. She had melded with the most beautiful part of his life and elevated music for him. She existed in his head and in his heart and therefore he knew that he’d be spending the day with her. And that made it slightly easier to leave. If only slightly.

***

He’s looking at a group of writers for the first time, and it’s kind of the most terrifying thing in the world. Andrew had introduced them all a couple of times, but this is completely different. This is them asking for a piece of him, to look into his head and creating something out of it. The only thing that makes it possible to do it is that Teddy’s there. She was a kick ass producer and she was one of his closest friends, so it clicked for them in a way he wasn’t sure he could’ve done otherwise.

“I wanna talk about...I wanna talk about what it felt like when I fell for her.” He mumbled.

In his book that he kept ideas and lyrics in there was this line that he had written down that he’d never gone back to.

Every time I see you baby I get lost

If I'm dreaming, baby, please don't wake me up

Teddy takes the lyric and plays with it and everyone else is just asking him questions. And it’s personal, but it’s necessary. He tries to remind himself that he essentially wants the whole world to know how he feels, and so four other people has to be a good enough start. And he also knows that talking about her calms him in a way he loves, makes it feel like she is with him even when she isn’t.

“So what was it man? When did you know?” Scott asked.

He shrugged. “I guess...I guess we were lying in bed together. We hadn’t even slept together yet. We got drunk and it rained and I ended up in her bed, and when I woke up she was there. She was lying on my chest, and I could see the pout in her mouth while she slept, and I just remember wanting to kiss her so badly. I remember being terrified that she wouldn’t let me stay. I don’t think I knew it yet, but like...I think I loved her even then.”

They all sit on the floor in this fancy ass studio and it sort of turns into a huge therapy session. He ends up telling all of them she’s his TA, and he definitely leaves Roger out of the story, but there’s something about the mystery of it all that’s got them. His guitar is in his hands and he has a chord that he likes, and Teddy throws in a chord that compliments that one. And Scott has a line about not being able to see anything wrong with what they are to each other. And they just sort of jam out piece by piece until suddenly there’s a verse done. And that feeling is so fucking magical that they start plucking out harmonies together. It’s a feeling he only gets when he’s creating, when it all fits together, and the pieces connect. When it works it’s the best fucking feeling in the world. And for that, for the moment in time, it works.

***

Y/n’s pov.

The first time he leaves to perform isn’t easy. Mostly because you couldn’t go with. With the cover exploding in the manner that it did, Shawn was all music all the time--more so even than usual. It was beautiful to watch because it’s when he was at his happiest, and when everything made the most sense for him. But, the world didn’t stop moving for him to live his dream, which meant you were left to pick up the pieces.

“I won’t go. I--I can ask Andrew to reschedule.”

You were meeting with the conduct board to hear their decision on the matter, and Andrew had scheduled him to go perform at some radio show in LA the same day. There was no doubt in your mind that he was going.

“No, you’re not. You won’t miss much anyway. Either I get fired, or I don’t. Not much we can do ya know?” You shrugged.

Shawn thought you were being too nonchalant about it, and he hated it because he knew deep down you were absolutely petrified. If you had to guess that was probably part of his motivation to stay. He groaned grumpily at you reaching to take your face in those catcher mitts he called hands.

“This is not a simple thing. Don’t act like it is, and don’t shut me out.” He mumbled.

You rolled your eyes at your fluffy over dramatic Canadian.

“I’m not shutting you out. I just am asking you not to sacrifice everything that’s going right for you, for me.”

“You’re important to me. You matter just as much as this.”

“I believe you. You don’t have to prove anything to me. So, fucking go, or I’m gonna be pissed at you.”

He took in the raised eyebrow and the crinkle in your forehead that said you were serious. There was no fighting you when you’d made up your mind. So, he kisses you silly instead. He rubs circles into the small of your back, and he touches your face and sucks your lip into his mouth. Sometimes he would hold your face in his palm and keep you at a distance reaching in to punish your mouth with his own, only to pull back when you were needy and desperate. It was hot and dominate especially in comparison with the absolute look of tenderness upon his face.

“I love you.” He sighed. “Will you keep me on speaker phone through the whole thing? I don’t go on until two.”

“I love you too. And yes I will, but only if you kiss me some more and stop fighting with me.”

He slid his arms around your waist and tugged you into his body.

“I’m not fighting with you you’re just fucking stubborn as all hell. Now come here.”

It takes you twenty minutes to let him leave.

When you were a little girl, your mom and dad had gotten in a huge fight. Screaming, crying, hitting, the whole nine yards. And after your father had stormed out, your mom had to go to work. So, you sat on her bed and watched as she dressed herself up to go to her desk job. She had smoothed at her own hair and wiped her own tears away, and she stood tall and brave and made sure as such before she walked out into the world. And even then you knew that that’s what strength looked like. And you liked to think that that’s what you did that day. You slid on this sort of chic suit that was black with white accents, and you swiped your hair all the way back in a ponytail that rested against the base of your skull. And you prepared yourself to walk into that room with your fucking head held high because there were no other options. Maybe the slight silver lining was that your dad had been a piece of shit, and you weren’t in a toxic relationship at all.

“Baby that looks really pretty.” Shawn whined through the phone.

You sent him a picture of your outfit and he’d immediately jumped on the phone with you as you walked towards the office of the Dean.

“Shut up.” You snorted, cheeks warming.

“Andrew, did you know that I’ve got the prettiest fucking girlfriend in the whole world?!”

You rolled your eyes laughing when you heard Andrew tell him to conserve his voice and stop being a dumbass. That was usually your job.

“Are you really gonna stay on speaker the whole time?” You asked as you made your way into the academic building.

It immediately quieted down on his end, and you could tell he was moving to a more private space.

“Of course I am, honey. I would never leave you to do this on your own. I’m so sorry I can’t be there in person.”

You took a deep breath. “It’s okay. I want you to be there. I’m just...a little more nervous than I thought I was, I guess.”

“Yea? You want to spend some time breathing before you go in?”

You nodded softly completely forgetting that he couldn’t even fucking see you.

“Yes. Please.”

“Okay, just go to the bathroom, alright? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You found yourself in the middle of a bathroom stall working to match your breathing to the rate of your boyfriend’s. It was much easier said than done unfortunately. It was much harder to not think about worst case scenario, which was you getting kicked out of school. Shawn could be there for you, he could do everything right in the world, but it wasn’t gonna change their opinion on the matter. And you hated that lack of control.

“Did you take your purse with you, sweetheart?” He asked when you’d done all the breathing in the world and it hadn’t really helped at all.

“Yea.”

“I put something in the pocket where you keep your wallet. Could you grab that for me?”

You moved the phone between your ear and shoulder to free up your hands. Things tended to get lost in your purse so it took a lot of shuffling and a lot of looking around before your fingers touched silver. It was the necklace his grandmother had given him. You never once ever saw him without it, not even at the beach. And yet here it was with you and not with him, and that kind of blew your mind.

“Shawn,” You gasped eyes still on the necklace. “This is your grandmother’s necklace.”

He chuckled softly. “I know it is. I wanted you to have it for today.”

“But--But I’ve never seen you perform without it. You’re never without it.”

“I know but I thought it might be more important for you to have it right now. If I fuck up this performance, i’ll be okay. I just want you to be happy and to get to do what you love too, baby.”

A sniffle beaks through and you wish he was there just so you could slap him. The one day in the history of ever you put mascara on and your dumb boyfriend had to go and make you cry. Ugh.

“Sweetheart are you--are you crying?” He whispered.

“No!” You mumbled through a shaking lip and actual tears. “This is stupid. You’re stupid.”

You could practically hear him smiling on the other end.

“I love you, so much, beautiful.” He murmured. “You know that right?”

You reached desperately for toilet paper to stop your incessant tears.

“Yea.” You whined.

“Good. So, just put that necklace on and you’ll know that I’m there with you even when I can’t be physically. Especially when I can’t be physically.”

You slid the necklace on with shaky fingers, knowing that you would’ve preferred him to be the one putting it on you. But this would do. The sentiment, the meaning behind him leaving it with you. That was more than enough.

“I love you.” You mumbled when your eyes were less red and you felt comfortable enough to leave the bathroom. “Much more than I could ever explain.”

“I know. That’s the good part, is that I know exactly what you mean, because I feel the same.”

In the room, Dr. Edwards sits beside you. The room is brown all over; hardwood desks and walls, and table tops that somehow lack any semblance of warmth. It’s sterile and quiet reminding you of your gynecologist’s office but just with more men. The dean is there, and so are other people from student affairs and the conduct board. Shawn is on the phone sitting on the table in front of you and you keep your fingers on the necklace around your throat to offer any sort of guidance in the world. It is terrifying and horrible and Roger isn’t even there, which just makes you wonder if he’d ever have to experience the hell you’ve been through. Shawn is on speaker so he can’t talk to you and you alone, so it’s really time for you to just sit there and take it all head on. Whatever it may be.

“Miss y/l/n, thank you for joining us today. And you Mr. Mendes for calling in. This has been a...rather difficult thing for us as a board to work through. Mostly because we’ve never had this come up as a problem before, hence the lack of policy written about it.” The dean began.

You bit your lip at that feeling even more embarrassed for breaking a rule they’d never even thought to formally write down.

“Now while I understand you two may be in love and have a genuine relationship, it is very important that you both understand the irrelevance of that to this investigation. We are not here to determine whether or not you are in love, we are here to determine whether or not you have broken university policy. Do you understand?”

Your fingers tightened around the necklace dangling from your throat. Holy shit this was terrifying.

“Yes, sir, we understand. Right y/n?” Shawn spoke up prompting you to answer.

“Y--Yes. I understand.”

“Good. With that being said...The board has closely examined the policy, which states the prohibition of any sexual relationship between a faculty member or staff member with a student. A staff member is defined as someone who works no less than thirty hours a week and is actively insured under the university health insurance.”

Your heartbeat picked up and you felt like you could choke on your tongue at any moment. You wanted to call out to Shawn but you couldn’t, you had to be quiet and wait it all out.

“Now, Ms. y/l/n while you are actively an TA, it does fulfill a credit hour that you are taking as a part of the requirements for your graduate program. And despite some of our better judgement, the policy does not currently define that position as a staff member. You are technically completely under the umbrella of being a student.”

“Holy shit, babe!” Shawn crackled over the line.

Bless his fucking heart.

“Mr. Mendes, please.” The dean hissed stunning your boyfriend into silence.

You tried to smile apologetically, but you got the feeling you were not well liked in that room at all.

“As it appears you may have guessed,” He sighed turning his attention back to you. “We have been unable to locate any violation of the policy as it currently stands. Your relationship, though unethical, does not violate university law.”

You nodded hands literally shaking around the necklace you were wearing just waiting for the floor to fall out from underneath you. It felt like it was too good to be true.

“Now, this doesn’t mean that what you’ve done is okay. We are extremely disappointed in you Miss y/l/, and will be placing you on academic probation for the duration of next semester. Despite your ability to return to class, you will be under watchful eye of this university.”

“Of course. Absolutely, I agree.” You murmured.

“As for you Mr. Mendes, it was a little more difficult to find a punishment as you also did not technically break the policy. We left it up to Dr. Edwards and she has decided that the missed classes in wake of your final paper has been punishment enough. You are free to return to class on Monday.”

“T--Thank you, sir.” Shawn spoke over the phone. “But, what about Roger?”

You let your head dip lower, a part of you glad that he brought it up so that you didn’t have to. His name still made you feel sick to your stomach, and somehow you knew that it wasn’t gonna pan out the way that either of you wanted.

“We are not able to discuss the more personal details of Roger’s case. The only thing you need to know y/n is that we do have policy centered around harassment and utilizing technology to provoke students. The board has made the decision that he will not receive credit for the class, and will not sit in on the remaining class periods. “

You couldn’t help but look over at Kate, and even she could only stare at you with remorse. Everyone in that room knew that the punishment didn’t fit the crime. But, his father was on the board of trustees, and that meant power that none of you had.

Shawn snorted rudley. “With all due respect sir, that’s bullshit. Since when did sexual harassment of your students not matter to you all?”

“Shawn. Shawn, it’s fine. Okay?” You assured him. “This is the best we’re gonna get.”

The Dean for the first time seemed to look at you with an ounce of pity in his eyes, something that told you he at least understood what had been done, but knew that he wasn’t at liberty to do anything about it.

“The most I can offer you is a no contact order.”

In the end it really doesn’t feel like much. You get to keep your job, but also under the guise that men and money and patriarchy continued to dominate higher education just as they did the rest of the world. You leave knowing that there’s a lot more work to do, but also so extremely validated in the importance of it. No it’s not the kind of win you wanted, but it is a win nonetheless. Shawn gets to go back to class. You keep your job. The world keeps spinning and you keep fighting for the right for people who don’t look like Roger to exist. A part of you always knew that’s how it might turn out.

You get the no contact order to give you, and Shawn, some piece of mind, before running to get to your boyfriend. LA traffic was a bitch, and you knew you’d probably just arrive in time for him to finish but it would be worth it. Shawn had supported you in a way that you never could have even thought to ask for, and you wanted to give that back to him too. You wanted to give him everything too.

When you get there you have to text him because your boyfriend was important now and went to places where you had to be on a list to get in. He ran out to you immediately grabbing you up in his arms and it was the most incredible feeling after what felt like the longest day of your life.

“What are you doing here?” He mumbled squeezing you tightly.

You hummed. “I just wanted to support you...and I wanted to give you this.”

You pulled back from him to slide his grandmother’s necklace back off of your neck.

He scrunched his face up and grabbed your hands in his stopping you from moving closer

“No. I didn’t want it back, babe. I wanted you to wear it.”

“But Shawn, you always wear it. I don’t wanna mess you up.” You whined.

He simply grinned at you and pressed kisses to your face until you were the giggling mess that only he could turn you into. Ugh men.

“I can’t think of anymore good luck in this world, then to look over and see it on your neck. I’ll be fine. You’re here with me, how could I mess up?”

“I don’t know. That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Nah. you’re just kind of perfect for me.” He assured you.

Inside the radio studio you watch the way that Shawn composes himself. He shook hands and introduced himself to every person he came in contact with. When they asked him to do an interview for the youtube channel he immediately said yes, and was so nice to the person micing him up that he nearly missed his cue. It was exactly the man you knew and the man that you loved. Shawn was the guy who could walk into a room and immediately be your best friend just from twenty seconds of conversation. He was kind and gentle and smart and talented as all hell.

While they were interviewing him, Andrew came to sit next to you. You and Andrew didn’t really have the best relationship, or a relationship at all for that matter. All you knew was that he meant a lot of Shawn and Shawn felt that he was leading him in the right direction, so you trusted that judgement before all else. But best friends, you were not.

“How did it go today?” He asked pulling your attention from how cute Shawn looked in his shirt.

Your eyes widened slightly. “I uh--I get to stay in my department. They put me on probation technically, but it looks like they’re trying to make sure I don’t cause havoc and bring attention to the fact that Roger basically stalked and harassed me. Wouldn’t be a great look for the university.”

“That’s good.”

“Yea. Shawn’s not in trouble either if that’s what you were curious about. We didn’t break any university policy.”

Andrew smirked at that. “Why do you think that I’d only want to know if Shawn was affected?”

“Just seems like your priority is all. It’s kind of your job isn’t it?”

He nodded softly peering over at where you were watching Shawn do his thing. Eventually Andrew’s gaze turned to you and you could feel him looking at you in a way that made you nervous. Andrew usually ignored you and you’d been okay with that.

“His entire life is about to change.” He murmured softly.

You turned to look at him and his face was unreadable.

“What do you mean?”

“All eyes are starting to turn to him. I’ve got people in high places who are financially investing themselves in him doing well. The second his semester ends he’s going to have to work harder than he ever has in his life. And that’s going to take all of his time.”

You clenched at the necklace around your throat thinking that maybe it was choking you but in reality you noticed it was just you, just your heart starting to clench in your chest. Maybe it was Andrew instead.

“W--Why are you telling me this?”

“It’s not because I want to hurt you, y/n.” He attempted to reassure you. “I’m telling you because I want you both to prepare yourselves. He’s about to enter the craziest time of his life. It’s not gonna be college staying up until three a.m together to write papers. It’s gonna be him in a different city every day of the week. It’s gonna be weeks of not seeing each other in person. And I know that you’re in a master’s program, and you got your own shit going on. You shouldn’t have to throw it all away.”

You could feel your body getting hot. It was telltale sign that you weren’t gonna be able to hold your tongue. Usually Shawn would be there to pull you back, but he was nowhere to be found and that was bad for Andrew.

“Who the hell said I would throw it away? What would make you think that I’m not capable of being in a relationship and doing my fucking job at the same time?”

“That’s not how I meant it.”

“So how did you mean it? It sounds like you’re trying to convince me break to up with him for your sake, so he can work freely in the industry.”

“No I’m just trying to get you to think a little bit about the life you’re about to sign up for.”

You snorted. “Fuck off with your false genuine bullshit. You’re not advocating for me and you’re not advocating for Shawn, you’re advocating for your investment. I’m not under contract with you and I don’t owe you anything.”

You noticed that he reached for your arm to try to get you to be quiet. Suddenly people were staring and that only made you angrier because you didn’t want to feel like you were crazy. You didn’t have the capacity to not be angry, and you knew in your heart that you deserved to be angry. You could feel tears building up behind your eyes. The sort of embarrassing, child like tantrum tears that showed up when you just felt defeated, like no one was listening to you.

It isn’t until his arms wrap around you from behind that you feel like you can breathe again. And you know that it’s him the way that your body knows to release the minute he’s touching you. Because it’s him and you automatically feel better when you’re together.

“Hey, hey, hey what’s going on?” He hushed softly in your ear.

You were still staring at Andrew with all of the rage he’d created inside of you clear in your eyes. But, with Shawn’s arms wrapped around you it no longer felt like a battle worth fighting. It would only make things harder, would probably only prove whatever idiotic statement he’d been trying to make. And you didn’t want it to be about that, not on this day that meant so much to him.

So, you smiled softly and turned in his arms to press a kiss to his jaw.

“Nothing’s going on. It’s fine.”

He frowned at you and immediately ran his thumb along your cheekbone, something that you often found incredibly soothing and right now was no different.

“No it’s not. What’s going on? Andrew?”

Andrew shrugged. “We were just chatting.”

Shawn took one look at you, could see the tears that you were just barely holding back with every fiber of your being and decided whatever answer he’d been given was not enough. He took you by the hand and led you away from the lights, the crew, and Andrew. There was a room in the back of the studio that looked like a general purpose room for the talent to wait between interviews. When the door was closed, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and squeezed you warmly against his chest. With your face tucked into his shirt which smelled of cologne and the soap he used at home it was difficult not to find comfort, and with comfort it was difficult not to let the tears out that you’d been holding back.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on? Why were you fighting with Andrew?”

You sniffled. “I don’t wanna get you in trouble.”

“What do you mean get me in trouble? What happened? You can tell me.”

“I’m not good enough for you.”

And with that you fell apart in true dramatic fashion. Honestly, it probably had more to do with the stress of the entire day then the actual argument with Andrew. It just felt like every step of the way you had to fight to validate your relationship. And the first sign that you might not have to fight anymore, a new enemy just approached you from a different angle. You were tired of fighting to feel like you deserved to be with Shawn. It was kind of exhausting.

“That’s absolute nonsense. Of course you’re good enough for me.” He muttered.

He pulled you to the couch tucking you into his lap against the arm of the couch so that you felt as comforted as possible. His hands came up to grasp firmly at your cheeks, wiping away the tears that had only continued to drop as you huffed out exaggerated breaths.

“Who told you you’re not good enough for me? Andrew?”

You shook your head softly. “He didn’t say it out right but… he kept talking about your career and how all of these things are gonna change for you, and that I probably won’t be able to deal with in like I think I can. He just...He made it sound like I might be a burden on your happiness. Like I might not be able to give you what you need because, what you need isn’t me.”

“That is...That could not be further from the truth y/n.” He sighed moving your hair out of the way to see your eyes. “I need you so badly right now I can hardly breathe. When you showed up this afternoon? I couldn’t even contain myself. You don’t understand how fast I ran to get to you. I’m . . . baby I’m so fucking nervous. I’m terrified and I, I need you to get through this. I don’t care what anyone else says. I need you, okay? Please, tell me that you know that.

You hadn’t. Shawn had been so focused on supporting you and then supporting himself that you hadn’t quite noticed that the scales had tipped unevenly. You wanted him to always lean on you when he needed it, because you knew in your heart that he’d allow you to do the same. And it felt good to be needed. But it also hurt to know how badly he’d been struggling.

You pressed your forehead softly against his, smiling when his fingers traced your jaw.

“I know. I know; I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. Just know that your support means everything to me alright?”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll talk to Andrew. He’s not gonna bother you anymore.”

You winced. “No, Shawn. You don’t have to--”

“I’m talking to Andrew. You’re the most important thing. And he has to get on board with that. It isn’t an option.”

Well that was just….hot as all hell.

“Okay.” You mumbled failing to contain the smile of a woman with a man who would happily give her the world.

The rest of the afternoon is spent watching Shawn do interviews. He goes and plays for another radio show and he talks to people and he blows every conversation out of the water. Andrew has a look on his face that tells you things are going well. And they have Shawn play the cover at every radio station they attend. You record about a dozen videos of him throughout the day only to spend forever deciding which one is good enough to post.

When it’s all set and done you figured he’d want to go home. It had been exhausting just watching him go, go, go all day long. But instead he asked you to come to the studio with him. There was something that he wanted you to hear, and it had to be heard through the studio speakers or it wouldn’t be good enough.

You let him tag you along, loving the excited look on his face at the very thought of doing what he loved. You adore that about him, how passionate he was always. You loved even more when that passion was directed towards you, because duh.

“Okay. You ready?” He asked turning a nervous smile in your direction.

You nodded. “Lay it on me, babes.”

“Okay. It’s not perfect yet. Teddy is still gonna do some more production on it, but she had finals to work on. And there’s still this thing about the chorus that I can’t put my finger on.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at him.

“Shawn, play it.”

“Okay, okay.”

He pressed whatever magical button in the sea of magical buttons was the playback before sitting beside you in the big comfy chairs. When his voice comes out the speakers you almost squeal a little bit, because that’s your baby and he’s singing and he’s perfect, but then you hear the words and something different entirely happens inside of you.

Sunrise with you on my chest

No blinds in the place where I live

Daybreak open your eyes

'Cause this was only ever meant to be for one night

Still, we're changing our minds here

You peer over at him and he’s watching you so closely that it makes your heart stutter. Of course it was for you, but who could have ever expected it to be that beautiful.

You are bringing out a different kind of me

There's no safety net that's underneath, I'm free

Falling all in

You fell for men who weren't how they appeared, yeah

Trapped up on a tightrope now we're here, we're free

Falling all in you

You cover your mouth with your hands despite the fact that there’s no sound coming out of you once so ever. He’s still staring at you and you know that you’re gonna cry, but you’re just trying to hold on with everything that you have and it isn’t fucking working.

Every time I see you baby I get lost

If I'm dreaming, baby, please don't wake me up

Every night I'm with you I fall more in love

Now I'm laying by your side

By the time the song ends there’s not a chance in hell. Tears are streaming down your cheeks and Shawn has to find you a tissue because snot is an issue, and you don’t want this beautiful moment to be remember as the moment you had snot running down your nose. He goes to say something but you put your hand on top of his to lull him into silence.

“C--Can you play it again?”

He smiled softly. “‘Course I can.”

The second time isn’t any better, because now your body knows what to expect. It’s like you’re feeling all of it even more than you did the first time. He reaches your hand and tugs you gently into his lap as the song is slowly coming to a close. You wipe away another tear and he tucks your head under his chin with his arms wrapped around you. It’s the warmest you’ve ever felt in your life you think.

“I wanted to talk about what it felt like to fall in love with you.” He murmured. “I wanted to talk about how it feels to be loved by you, because it’s the greatest feeling I’ve ever felt in my life. Did I...did I do good?”

You reach for his face to hide the fact that your fingers had been trembling. You rubbed softly at his chin and jaw and cheeks, wondering if he knew how beautiful he was to you. It was the first time you’d ever been jealous of Shawn, because he could formulate his love with ease, but yours was simply trapped within you.

“You did so good, baby. No one has ever loved me like you have. I’ve never felt so full.” You whispered.

He squeezed gently at your thigh. “You deserve it. You deserve every bit of it. I wanna love you like that always.”

You kiss him because it's’ the only tangible thing your body has to even try to show him what he means to you. You scratch at his scalp and you tug lovingly at his curls. You map out the shape of his lips with your tongue and you try to convey it all through touch. You think maybe that he gets it if the way that he holds you in silence for twenty minutes straight is any indication. When you go home that night it’s with the understanding that no one is really capable of hurting what you have. Your love is this thing that has you bound to one another, and no matter how hard it was gonna be you’d see it through without fail. Because...love.

#Shawn mendes #Shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes one shot #Shawn mendes x reader #Shawn mendes x you #Shawn mendes x y/n #Shawn mendes x female reader #Shawn mendes college au

195 notes · View notes

fantasticworksandwheretofindthem · 6 years

Text

New Rules - “One”

Summary: In which [Name] finds out from her best friend that Tom is famous.

Warnings: angst, swearing (mainly from Tom), drinking heavily, drunk Tom

Notes: I’m currently obsessed with “New Rules” by Dua Lipa, so that’s where the inspiration for this came from. (There will be three parts to this.)

[ two ] | [ three ]

“Hey, I have a surprise for you,” Harrison told Alaysia, leading her into the living room. “But first, you have to pick out a movie.” He gestured to the movie cabinet, and she plopped down in front of it, opening up the left side door.

Alaysia scanned the movies, a little unimpressed with his lack of Disney until her eyes rested upon the new Spider-Man movie. “You have Spider-Man: Homecoming!” she exclaimed, pulling it from the stack.

“Yeah,” Harrison said, a smile creeping onto his face. She looked so cute when she was excited. “You like Marvel?”

“I love Marvel!” It wasn’t until she had began reading the back of the case that Harrison suddenly realized that Tom hadn’t yet told [Name] the full extent of who he was and what he did for a living.

“Wait, babe, I know a great --”

“Your best friend is Spider-Man!” Alaysia looked up at Harrison, all bug-eyed. He tried to deny it, asked what she was talking about, so she read aloud the description: “A young Peter Parker/Spider-Man (Tom Holland), who made his sensational debut in Captain America: Civil War --” She stopped her reading to squeal. “How have you kept this from me?” She bounced up from her spot, the case still in hand. Suddenly, she gasped. “How has [Name] not told me?”

Harrison cringed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “She doesn’t know,” he admitted quietly. Before he could ask her not to say anything, she was pulling her phone out and dialing [Name]’s number.

You stepped out of the bathroom, your speaker blasting “Something That We’re Not” by Demi Lovato. The song was suddenly replaced by Cher Lloyd’s “Oath”, your best friend’s ringtone. You turned the speaker off and answered the phone, putting it to your ear and setting the speaker next to your lamp on your bedside table.

Before you could even get out a ‘hello’, Alaysia screamed, “Tom plays Peter Parker in the new Spider-Man!”

As if on cue, a knock on your door was heard, followed by the door opening and closing. You knew Tom said some sort of greeting, but you weren’t sure as to which exact word it was because you were too focused on your best friend’s explanation.

“I’ll call you back, ‘Laya,” you said quietly and hung up the phone. You heard Tom call for you and ask where you were.

When he saw you emerge from your room, his smile widened, and his eyes sparkled. He moved to wrap his arms around you in a hug, but you pushed him away. “What’s wrong, Cinderella?”

You felt a pang in your heart as he called you the endearing term. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” He cocked his head to the side, genuine confusion written across his face. What he didn’t know was that his phone, stowed away in his pocket, was silently displaying two missed calls from Harrison, who was trying to warn him.

“That you’re..” You cleared your throat, having to look away from his adorable, puppy-like face. “That you’re Spider-Man.”

Tom seemed to be at a loss for words. More than once, he would open his mouth, but just as quickly, he would close it once more. Finally, he said, “I didn’t.. I’ve already messed up once, and you finally forgave me for that. I didn’t want to risk ruining us again.”

“But that’s such a big part of your life, Tom!” you exclaimed, turning to face him again. He looked sincerely sorry that he hadn’t told you sooner. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-I didn’t want you to..” Tom trailed off, letting his words hang unfinished in the air, almost as if he knew better than to say what he originally thought.

“You didn’t want me to what?” There was a minute of silence from both of you and confusion on your part. Suddenly, it was as if every cliche about a celebrity and a normal person dating you’d ever read came swimming to the surface and took center stage. “You didn’t trust me enough to not judge you, did you? Or that I would take advantage of your fame. Is that what you thought?”

Tom said nothing. He made no attempt to defend himself. He shoulders sagged and his head drooped. If guilty were a person, it would be Tom now.

“Unbelievable,” you whispered. Even if Tom didn’t have a clear view of the tears in your eyes, he would definitely be able to hear them in your voice. “I thought you knew me better than that.” You shook your head and turned around, walking back to your room and slamming your door. You walked over to your window, refusing to let yourself shed a single tear until you saw his car pull away.

After he was gone, you curled up on your bed, wondering why you hadn’t realized it sooner. Tom being famous explained so many things: why he’d been so offended about your love for DC rather than Marvel; why his name sounded familiar when he’d called you that night at the bar; the look of recognition on Trysdale’s face when he met Tom at Marvel Movie Night; why he’d said he was used to girls throwing themselves at him; how he’d been able to offer you and Trysdale a trip to Six Flags, then Disneyland, then Disneyland in Paris; and why those girls at the Ed Sheeran concert had asked for his autograph, but he’d brushed it off as them mistaking him for someone else.

Before you knew it, the sun had set and your pillow was soaked with your tears. Your phone buzzed, and you saw that Tom had blown up your phone, apologizing and trying to get you to talk to him. You had a notification from every social media: iMessage, Snapchat, Instagram, Twitter, and even Facebook. You sighed and opened them, only to get rid of the notifications. When you hit the back button on Instagram, it took you back to your profile. You stared at the date with the lock and key and heart emojis. Your heart breaking even more, you hit ‘Edit Profile’ and, with a heavy heart, deleted the date.

Where was the sense in having a date with a heart emoji next to it on your profile when you were single?

Harrison had been scrolling through Instagram when he saw [Name]’s post of a tub of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and sad, sappy movies spread out of her bed. Under the picture was the caption: Ice cream and sad movies - the perfect breakup remedy.

He furrowed his eyebrows. Since when did she need a breakup remedy? Harrison knew that she hadn’t taken the news of Tom being famous too well because of Alaysia having to rush over to comfort her, but surely that hadn’t resulted in a breakup. Harrison went to her profile, and at first he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but then he realized that Tom’s and her anniversary date was no longer there. He took a screenshot of her profile and sent it to Tom.

Are you and [Name] going through a rough patch or something?

She found out about me being an actor, and she got upset. Can’t really blame her though.

Have you seen her Instagram?

No, I just got back from the gym, why?

Take a look at the screenshot

Okay, what about it?

Look closer, there’s something missing

Oh, shit.. I really messed up, didn’t I?

Looks like it

Shit

One: Don’t pick up the phone, you know he’s only calling ‘cause he’s drunk and alone.

Ever since you and Tom had broken up, he’d been using a lot of his free time away from set to call you to try and apologize. Most times you would pick up and foolishly listen to his apologies until Alaysia would literally take the phone from your hand, say some form of “Goodbye, Tom”, and hang up. She would remind you of the rules she’d told you time and time again, saying that if you ever wanted to get over him, you would have to follow them. He’d only called you in a drunken stupor once, but once was enough for your best friend to hold against him forever.

It had been a night Harrison had taken him to a moderately popular night club. They’d been rehearsing all day for the upcoming scene that they were shooting that Monday, but Tom had been so hung up on you that he was giving a less-than-half-assed performance. Harrison figured the best way to cheer him up, or at least get him out of such a funk, would be to take him to a bar so he’d forget about you for at least a couple hours.

The plan hadn’t gone so swell because Tom seemed to have no self-control that night. It got to the point where Harrison had to drag Tom out of the building so Tom could get some fresh air and Harrison could call an Uber.

“Tom, what are you doing?” Harrison exasperated after he’d gotten off the phone.

“I’m callin’ [Name],” he slurred. “I haf’ta ‘pologize and tell ‘er I miss ‘er.”

“That’s not a good idea, and you know it,” Harrison advised, but Tom didn’t listen, which wasn’t much of an abnormality when it came to [Name] now.

You had been washing the dishes when your phone started ringing. Instead of the Spider-Man theme that had once been set for Tom, your phone played the default tone. You’d taken the customized ring off when Alaysia got better at ‘answering’ the phone than you did. You leaned over to see who was calling, and you weren’t surprised to see the name Heartbreaker flash the screen. Quickly drying your hands, you answered the phone. “Tom, you’ve got to stop calling me.”

“[Name], I miss you.”

With Tom’s slurring and the loud remixed music playing in the background, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. “Tom, you’re drunk.”

“And you’re gone.” He sounded like he was crying.

Here he was, breaking your heart again. You wanted to tell him that you forgive him, that everything would be okay. Instead, you hung up the phone and resumed washing the dishes as you cried.

The more Tom called, the more you drilled the first rule into your head. Finally, you didn’t need Alaysia to hang up or decline the calls. You blocked his number once and unfollowed him on all social medias once and for all.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #reader insert #tom holland imagine #angst #spiderman: homecoming #sm: hoco #sm: hc #song fic #dua lipa #new rules

63 notes · View notes

hockeytrashgoblin · 6 years

Text

Poor little film student (AustonxAshley)

A/N: I’M SORRY BUT I CAN’T WITH THEIR FUCKING MIC PLACEMENT I WAS LAUGHING SO HARD IT WAS SO WRONG.

“Hey Ash, I’m home!”

“Hi baby!” I call from the couch with a mouth full of ice cream that I was eating out of the carton.

“Wow what a gorgeous lady.” he said coming in and looking at my current position. “What have you done to the livingroom?”

“Well you see. I saw on tumblr the other day this girl made an ultimate cozy nest by pushing her couch and loveseat together. So I made an ultimate cozy nest.” I had 3 king size comforters in the nest as well as pillows all the way around. I had a little snack table behind me and a phone/laptop charging station on the other side. I was borrito-ed up pretty good, still wearing my pajamas and had my hair in a messy ponytail from sleeping on it and laying on it all day.

“You little cutie. Is there room for one more in there?”

“Yeah but you have to be in pajamas. Or at least sweatpants. This is a comfy only zone.”

“Okay let me go get changed from interviews and I’ll be back.” he started leaving the room.

“Oh shit wait will you put my ice cream back?” he walked up to the couch and put his hands on the back of it looking at me with a serious face. “Please?” still serious. “Pretty please?” serious man. “For me?” I ask with the cutest possible smile which broke him causing him to smile.

“Oh my god fine.” he gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and took my ice cream.

“Thank yoooou.”

I sit there for a few minutes playing around on my phone before Auston came back looking hot as ever in sweatpants. He decided on no shirt and I personally was all about that decision.

“How do I get into this little nest baby?”

“I donno just flop in.” as soon as I said that I regretted it because he rolled over the edge right on top of me with no warning. “Oof not what I meant you giant.”

“You should have been more clear.”

“Yeah well whatever. Get in here.” I said holding up a side of the blanket for him to settle into. He was still completely laying on top of me but I liked it and he knew that.

“Have you been in your pajamas all day?”

“Yes..” I said quietly. I always got a little bit self conscious when he would call me out on that kind of thing, it made me feel lazy.

“Hey don’t get sad on me cutiepie.”

“I’m sorry I’m lazy.” I say hugging him to me tighter and hiding my face.

“Ashley you’re not lazy. This is your off day. You can do whatever you want. I’ve seen you go non-stop for days with no sleep, living off of pure determination. I could never think you’re lazy.”

“You go go go all day doing sporty stuff even on your off days and I can’t even get out of pajamas on mine.”

“That is A-okay baby. You’re cute in your little jammies. I love you.”

“I love you too.” we cuddled in silence for a while. I was drawing patterns on his back with my nails to help him relax after a day of media interviews. He hated them and always needed help relaxing when he got home.

“Hey I have an interview with Sharp Magazine that came out today, do you wanna watch it?” he asked after a while.

“Yeah sure!” he moved from on top of me to my side while I got my laptop and searched up what he told me to. “Aww look at you!”

“Noo just watch the interview.” he said blushing.

“You look so cuuute!” he hides his face in my neck as I giggle at him. 30 seconds into the interview though I am not pleased. “What the fuck is up with your lav?”

“What?” he asked confused.

“Your lav.” I said pointing to his microphone. “What the hell is that?”

“What do you mean?”

“It shouldn’t be like that!”

“Ash calm down.”

“No they did it completely wrong! Look at where they put it! If you move at all their audio is useless! You don’t ever put it on a sweater string like that what were they thinking? Uugh just thinking about listening to that original audio hurts my soul.” I pushed play again and watched it huffing everytime they showed the two of them. “Wait a second.”

“Oh god what now?” he asked smiling at me rolling his eyes as I put the video back a little bit.

“WHAT IS THAT?!” I scream laughing pointing to Riemsdyk.

“What’s wrong with that one?”

“What isn’t wrong with it?” I ask still laughing really hard trying to catch my breath. “The wire is twisted and hanging backwards off of him! That mic is gonna last them less than a year the way that they’re using it.”

“Come on it can’t be that bad, these are professionals.”

“Pfffffffft this is horrendous. Absolute garbage!” I yell throwing my head back laughing again.

“Babe-”

“Gar-bage.”

“Okay bu-”

“Garbage.”

“Ashley-”

“Worst lav placement I’ve ever seen.”

“Poor little film student. Are you gonna be okay?” he asked smirking at me.

“I’m gonna leave a comment.” that made him burst out into laughter.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am. ‘The lav placement is hurting my soul. Who did that? Don’t do that.’ Send. Fuck you sharp magazine.”

“Ashley oh my god.” Auston is crying of laughter at this point. “You’re fucking ridiculous you know that?”

“Yes.”

“Cutiepie.” he gave me a kiss. I broke it to go on my phone and started typing out a message. “Who ya texting?”

“Film friends. This shit is fucking ridiculous. They need to see it immediately. I’m gonna ruin everyone’s day with this.”

“Film students are fucked.”

“Well if those sound guys did their job this wouldn’t be ruining days.” I say laughing.

“That’s a little dramatic don’t you think?”

“Nope. It’s garbage.” I say giving him a little kiss.

#auston matthews #hockey #imagine #hockey imagines #maple leafs #leafs #nobody asked for this

19 notes · View notes

stupid-richie · 7 years

Text

Kept Promises

Sequel to Broken Promises // Angst, alcohol mention, fear of abuse // They are 17 ish

WC: 1955

Summary: Why is Richie such an asshole?

Read on AO3

It feels like it’s been three hours since Eddie checked his watch, but when he looks, it hasn’t even been a full minute.

He’s sifted through a million scenarios in his head. Maybe Henry Bowers saw Richie walking to the diner and dragged him off to beat him. Maybe Richie got hit by a car. Maybe one of the other losers is hurt and Eddie doesn’t know. Maybe Richie’s parents took it a step too far and hurt him worse than they ever have.

It’s nine o’ clock.

Richie is two hours late and Eddie can’t just sit there anymore, he has to find out if he’s okay. A small part of him wonders if Richie didn’t show up on purpose, but he pushes it down. No matter what, Richie has never missed a date. Even if he’s bleeding or looks ready to collapse, he always comes. Something has to be wrong.

After paying the cheap bill for the milkshake he’s been drinking, Eddie walks outside. He’ll go to Richie’s house first, see if he’s there or maybe his parents know where he is. Eddie takes a deep breath as he quickly crosses the sidewalk at an intersection. Panicking will do him no good.

Then he sees Richie and Bev walking together.

“Richard fucking Tozier!” He yells, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction at how afraid Richie looks to see him there. Richie deserves to be scared of getting caught.

When he comes closer, Eddie sees the cigarette in Richie’s hand, smells the alcohol on him. It’s like a punch in the stomach. Richie promised to stop smoking and drinking. Now, here he is with Bev after missing dinner, and doing both things.

“I thought maybe you got hurt, or something, because you weren’t answering your phone! I was worried sick about you! I didn’t think you were so low you’d ditch me!”

Richie has the decency to appear sorry, something that only fuels the emotions that are taking Eddie over.

“Eds, I-“

He has no right, no fucking right to call him Eds right now.

“Don’t ‘Eds’ me! You’ve been drinking, Richie. And now you’re smoking again. You promised me you quit!”

Eddie is hurt, and he’s mad, and it feels like all the air is gone from his lungs. He can barely see straight. Behind Richie, Bev is staring at them in shock. She didn’t know Richie was supposed to be with Eddie, that much is clear.

He shoves Richie. Hard.

Hard enough to make Richie- six foot two, built-like-a-rock Richie- stumble.

“Did you seriously just fucking push me?”

An apology comes to the tip of Eddie’s tongue. He feels disgusted with himself because he just shoved his boyfriend. He just shoved his best friend. Instead of saying he’s sorry, Eddie just yells again.

“I waited for you for two hours!”

The second the words leave his mouth, Richie straightens his back. The tendons in his jaw stand out as he clenches his teeth. Richie’s fists, which Eddie has seen break noses, are tightly curled at his sides. His cheeks are red and there’s a fire in his eyes that makes him unrecognizable.

“Rich? Babe?”

Richie doesn’t seem to hear him. He takes a step forward and Eddie automatically reacts the way he always does to a threat. He backs up. Covers his face. Prays.

Beverly starts yelling Richie’s name and telling him to calm down. Eddie would too, he usually does, but Richie’s never been this angry with him. He’s never been this angry, period. The only thing Eddie can think is that this is how he’s going to die. He’s going to die on the sidewalk because he shoved his boyfriend and said boyfriend is going to kill him.

Then Richie meets Eddie’s eyes, and seems to come to his senses. He turns to Beverly. All the color drains from his face, and his rage fades. Once again, Richie has regret in his eyes, but there’s tiredness beneath it.

“Do you seriously think I would ever lay a hand on you, Eds?”

“I don’t know what to think! You’re always off getting drunk off your ass or smoking and you always promise me you’re gonna quit and then you’re off doing that instead of coming to our Anniversary Dinner!”

Then Richie gives his reason why.

For a second, Eddie swears his heart stops. This can’t be real, this can’t be right. He starts crying before his brain can process that Richie isn’t joking.

“What?”

“You fucking heard me, babe. I want to break up. I don’t want to see you anymore. I’ll drop off your shit tomorrow.”

Something’s really wrong because Richie sounds so cold, almost defeated. He’s not smiling. The cigarette dangling from his fingers, forgotten until that moment, curls plumes of smoke around his wrist that Richie seems fascinated by.

“I don’t want it back,” Eddie says as loudly as he can manage, which is barely louder than a breath. “I don’t want anything you’ve touched. Don’t ever fucking talk to me again. I mean it.”

Eddie doesn’t mean it.

One of Beverly’s arms falls around his shoulders as she leads him away. They’re going back to her house, where Richie just spent the evening he was supposed spend with Eddie. He can’t walk into that apartment. Thinking about it makes him want to cry.

“I’m just gonna go home, I can’t tonight,” he chokes out, shrugging out from under Beverly’s arm.

She calls after him, but he just runs. Somewhere along the way, he’ll figure out where he’s going. He can’t go to Richie’s like he normally does. He can’t go home or to Bev’s and look at the things that Richie has held or touched or made. Ben and Mike are at the library together. Bill’s at Stan’s house. There’s nowhere to go. Eddie has no one to turn to.

So he eventually winds up at the quarry. It’s too quiet without the other losers at his side, but it’s nice to be alone while he sorts through his thoughts.

Richie missed dinner because he was drinking with Bev. Then Eddie shoved him. For a moment, he genuinely thought Richie would hurt him. And now, they aren’t together.

Those are the facts, solid and indisputable. Eddie just doesn’t understand why. They were so happy, and they had plans for the future and earlier that same day Richie told Eddie how much he loves him. What happened that caused this? Why would he suddenly just throw away everything they’ve worked so hard to build together? It just doesn’t make sense.

Even though Richie never makes much sense, he has a pattern. Everything he does is predictable when you know him well enough. There’s order in the chaos, one of the things that Eddie’s always loved about him. But this breakup out of the blue- it isn’t like Richie and Eddie wants to believe that there’s some outside factor that made Richie do it. Someone was pressuring or threatening him.

That’s what he wants to believe, yet he knows it isn’t true. Nothing and no one scares Richie. Coming to terms with that realization makes the tears he finally managed to chase away come back full force. Richie did this because he wanted to break up, simple as that.

Eddie gets to his feet, brushes the dirt off of his pants, and walks home.

Three weeks later, it still hurts more than Eddie thinks it should. He needs to move on, but it’s just too hard. Every day at school, he sees Richie, laughing with a new group of friends, one arm around a short brunette with fishnets and hair cropped close to her head. Of course Richie left him for a girl. He always knew, deep down, that Richie liked girls more, or at least too. Still, to see Richie moving on so quickly, and with some girl who’s all over him is painful.

The other losers aren’t happy either; Richie abandoned all of them, not just Eddie. They’re worried too, because he looks worse every time they see him. His eyes get dark bags beneath them, his clothes become too loose, and he comes to school hung over or still drunk more often than not. Serves him right to be a mess, but they still don’t want him to fall apart.

Eddie, in the middle of the fourth week after their break up, catches Richie after school before his new girlfriend can. “We need to talk.”

“About what? We’re not together anymore, Eddie. I’m not your friend,” Richie growls, but doesn’t resist being dragged back into the school.

Pretending he isn’t hurt, Eddie takes Richie to the fourth floor janitor closet, where no one ever bothered them when they snuck out of class to talk or when they were avoiding Henry. At one point, Eddie had cleaned it up and made it into a comfy nook. The blankets and stolen pillows have a thin layer of dust on them.

“What do you want? I’m my girlfriend’s ride home, so I can’t stick around here, Eds.”

Girlfriend. Eds. Both words make Eddie’s stomach do somersaults.

“You owe everyone an explanation. You owe me an explanation. Seriously, Richie, what the fuck happened? You abandoned all of us!”

Richie won’t even look at him.

“Just tell me. Even if it was something stupid, just tell me what I did that made you hate me,” Eddie whispers.

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you, Eds. Ever.”

“Then what happened?”

Richie’s eyes are still on the ground, and if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d say that Richie’s going to cry. His eyes are glassy and his bottom lip is quivering, but Richie doesn’t cry. No one’s ever seen him do it.

“It’s not you I hate. I hate me, I hate that I’m not good enough for you or any of our friends. I hate that I keep breaking my promises to you. I hate that you deserve better. I hate that I hurt you. I hate that everytime I see you, I just want to kiss you and say I’m sorry.”

Then he starts crying. No, not crying. Sobbing. Richie covers his face with his hands and shakes and makes these pathetic, heart wrenching sounds. Eddie can’t remember ever seeing Richie like this before. He doesn’t know what to do.

“Rich? How do I help?”

Richie shakes his head, and drops his hands to open the closet door. He can’t hide the splotches on his cheeks or the teardrops still clinging to his long lashes. In baggy clothes, with unwashed hair, lips chapped, eyes dark with bags, and face tearstained, he looks awful.

“You look like you just got dragged through hell.”

“I have been,” Richie says solemnly. It’s not a joke, it has no punchline. “That’s where I’ve been for a month.”

He starts fast-walking down the now empty hallway, trying to go somewhere he can hide his emotions. That’s something he’s always been good at- hiding how he feels.

“Rich, stop. Please.”

Miraculously, he does. He stops dead. Richie doesn’t turn around or say anything, but he waits for Eddie to catch up. In the empty hallways, his heavy, shaky breathing is louder than it should be. He’s poised to run.

But Eddy won’t let him run away again. He’s not going to lose Richie twice.

He runs to Richie and wraps his arms around him, pulling him in for a tight hug. Richie cries harder against Eddie’s shoulder, hands tightly clinging to Eddie’s soft shirt. The two of them stay there for a long time, holding onto each other while Richie sobs apologies and Eddie comforts him.

“You’re more than good enough, Rich. I promise.”

#reddie #it #it movie 2017 #richie tozier #Eddie kaspbrak #fic #mine

59 notes · View notes

hader-hoe · 4 years

Text

199+1 Chapter 3. Leave me alone

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21568267/chapters/51479839

This chapter contains Homophobic Language and Internalized Homophobia. This chapter does end happily, but contains homophobic slurs. Please read at your own risk, thank you.

“Eddie?” Richie whispered into the darkness of their shared bedroom, knowing that he might not respond- after all, it was well past midnight and Eddie Kaspbrak, although well into adulthood, still abided by the bedtime that his mother set for him when he was still living in Derry. Every evening at 9:30 pm, Eddie would begin his careful nighttime regimen of rigorous toothbrushing, flossing, gargling, and an overwhelming amount of pills. Various vitamins and prescriptions that nestled in their case that is organized by day of the week and time in the day. Wednesday, Evening. That’s what Eddie had swallowed down earlier that night; one pill for blood pressure, one for anxiety, one B-3, one magnesium, one vitamin K, the second dose of calcium ( he had taken the first that morning with breakfast ), two melatonin, one cetirizine, two puffs from his aspirator, and three ibuprofen ( just in case he had aches in his sleep ). He would spend the next By 10:00 pm, on the dot, Eddie was in between his sheets and already asleep. Richie was worried, to say the least, Eddie had always been so cognizant of his health and well-being, but after exposing his mother and her placebos Richie hoped that the overcautious Eddie was gone. Richie still loved to tease him incessantly about his “gazebos”. He loved him, he knew that he would always love him. His crazed, hypochondriac of a husband- he loved him, but where there wasn’t love there was a sort of fear. It was crazy really, but part of Richie knew that fear worked in crazy ways. It was a fear that one day Eddie would wake up and realize that he couldn’t handle the mess, the dirt, the disgusting person that was his husband; it was irrational, Richie knew that, but sometimes he thought he saw a glint of aversion in Eddie’s eyes and that was enough to plant the seed.

"Eds? Babe?" He reached out and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and pushed lightly, urging him awake. It was selfish to wake him up, he knew that, but the thought of Eddie leaving him had wormed its way into his dreams and he needed reassurance. Another light shove elicited a groan- Richie felt bad for bothering him but he was near panic at this point. Consumed by the nightmare that woke him in the first place.

Muffled by his pillow, Eddie grumbled into the blanket cocoon he slept in near every night, “Rich, leave me alone . Go back to sleep.”

It shouldn’t have stung, it was late, nearing three a.m., but the words mirrored too closely to the screaming match that took place in his dreams.

“I fucking hate you!” Eddie had turned a sickly, purple color, it wasn’t natural, but neither were the words coming from his mouth. The vein in his forehead stood out prominently as he continued his rampage. “You’re fucking disgusting, you disgust me. I want you to leave, don’t even fucking think about coming back here. I’m done. We’re done. Get the fuck away from me!” He beat his fists against the kitchen counter that separated the two of them in time with his words. The hammering matching that in Richie’s chest. He didn’t want to cry right now but the tears prickled behind his glasses, betraying him. He wasn’t above begging, pleading with Eddie to just talk with him, to let him stay, to not push him away like this. “You’re fucking useless, Richie. A nobody, not even good enough to write your own fucking material. You’re a goddamn mess and I want you out of my home.” Richie had never felt so little, so meek. He managed to squeak out a small, “Eddie, this is our home. This is our life. You’re my life,” before the mug that was clenched in Eddie’s hand flew through the air, crashing somewhere near his head.

“I didn’t ask you for that, you asshole! You’re nothing but a dirty faggot- so just fucking go! Leave me alone !”

There wasn’t more to be said, there were no words to remedy this. Eddie hated him, Eddie thought he was dirty, Eddie didn’t love him in the same way. He may never have. The tears flowed freely and Richie lost the will to fight.

The words Dream Eddie screamed at him resounded through his head. Spots of light came in and out of focus, his head was throbbing. Richie managed to throw himself out of bed and into the en-suite before he threw up. He felt that evening’s dinner traveling back up and watched it disappear down the his-and-his sinks that Eddie convinced him they needed when they moved in four months ago. Between each hurl, Richie could feel heavy sobs wracking through his body. He couldn’t so much hear them over the rushing of blood that shrieked in his ears, pulsating around his crowded mind. His chest constricted and each gasp of air that squeezed into his lungs wasn’t enough. Richie’s head pounded, he could hear it pounding. Frantic and unrelenting. Willing the pain to subside, he knocked against his head, yanking at the long hair there. He was being weak, he was making a mess, he was everything that Eddie hated and he knew it .

Eddie was out from beneath the sheets as soon as the first wave of vomit hit the sink, his fist meeting the solid wood of the bathroom door. “Richie? Richie what’s wrong? Let me in.” He could hear the sobs from behind the heavy door, punctuated by more vomiting; Eddie winced at the sound, he needed to get to Richie. Nothing good ever happens in bathrooms , he thought, refusing to stop his ministrations. “Richie, open the fucking door,” the thumping of his fist almost rhythmic. He stepped back and braced himself as his shoulder hit the door- he would get in one way or another. As his weight met the door for a second time, the key that Richie nestled atop the door frame came loose, falling at Eddie’s feet. It took him two tries to fit the key into its slot, his hands trembled, fearing what would be on the other side of the door.

The sight of Richie curled on the cool tile, faced ruddied and wet with tears broke Eddie’s heart. He didn’t stir at Eddie bursting through the door, but the frantic gasps, let Eddie know that at least he wasn’t gone. His knees hit the ground near Richie’s head, pulling him into his lap as best he could. He took the glasses off of Richie’s face, noting the deep indents they had left on the bridge of his nose, promising to kiss them better later. He bunched up his sleep shirt and dabbed away at the tears and snot that dampened his face, whispering sweet nothings all the while. When Richie’s face was sufficiently cleaned, Eddie busied himself by smoothing the erratic curls that stuck out in odd places from sleep and Richie’s tugging. He made a mental note to brush out the curls that Richie had grown out in the year after returning to Derry; he always liked Eddie’s hands in his hair and Eddie was desperate to do anything that would bring a semblance of the man he knew back to him.

The sun filtered through the blinds by the time Richie had calmed down enough to speak. If the bags under Eddie’s eyes were telling, it had been a long night. The sniffles had subsided and the silence was nearing uncomfortable by the time Eddie found his voice again, “Rich, baby, talk to me.”

There was no good way to say it, the only option was to just put it out there and Richie knew that- but it didn’t make it any easier. He buried his head into his husband’s lap, refusing to meet his eyes just yet, “Eddie, you hate me.” He could feel Eddie stiffen beneath him and braced himself for the response.

Eddie didn’t know how to process what Richie had thrown at him- he expected something about the murderous clown or his death. Nightmares that Richie had had time and time again in the last year, but this? This was completely unexpected and he didn’t know how to tell Richie just how wrong he was. Eddie knew that Richie needed the reassurance, but he couldn’t stop wondering what he had done to make him feel this way. Had he not shown him enough? Told him enough? Richie had been through so much, had hid for so long, and now that Eddie finally had him all to himself he thought he had done a pretty good job at showing Richie just how much he meant to him.

“Rich-“ he started but couldn’t seem to find the words that would convey all of the wonderful truth that could encapsulate his love.

Richie clutched at his shirt, begging, “Please don’t make me leave. Don’t push me away. I love you.” The words hit like a punch to the gut. Leave? How could he ever leave?

“Richie, slow down baby,” Eddie rubbed long circles into the tensed muscles of his back, “I could never ask you to leave, I don’t know how to do life without you.” Eddie poured as much love as he could into every touch and every word. “When you left Derry, when you forgot, I didn’t know how to move on without you in my life. Even after I left, after I- after I forgot you, part of me never did. I’m not the same man without you in my life, you make me better, you make me happy. The happiest fucking person in the world. You make me laugh, everyday, even when I say you didn’t, you did . Because you’re good. You’re the most selfless person I have ever met, you love me so well and I’m so sorry that you think that I don’t love you enough. But I will spend the rest of our long life together proving to you that you’re it. You’re it for me, you big dummy. You’re the love of my fucking life .” He held his breath, waiting for some sort of response. Anything that would signal that Richie understood him, believed him.

Richie stirred in his lap, sitting up for the first time in a few hours; Eddie sympathized, they were getting too old to sleep on the ground and he knew that Richie’s back must be killing him. He kept a firm grip on the back of his neck and pulled Richie into him, foreheads pressed together and relishing in the warmth. It was a long time before Richie spoke again.

“I’m just scared Eds. I’m scared that you’re going to realize who you married and you’re going to push me out. I’m scared that you’re going to wake up one morning and see that this was all a mistake. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“Richard Tozier-Kaspbrak,” all of the softness left Eddie’s voice, he was serious now, “I want you in every way possible, every day for the rest of my life. The good days and the bad days. I want you there for every mistake and every spill. I want you there for every laugh and every milestone. I want you by my side every morning and I want to fall asleep with you every night. I want pancakes on a Tuesday morning just because, I want every bump in the road, I want to raise children with you. I want you - in all of the ways you’re perfect and all of the ways that you’re not. Don’t leave me alone . It’s you and me, Rich. Always has been.”

In time, they would move off of the floor, complaining about aching bones and aging bodies. They would make pancakes, just because. They would raise a family together, one that was so perfectly whole. But for now, they would sit in their love and share gentle touches because they wanted to, because they could. Because after forgetting; after the clown; after all of the fear subsided, all that was left were two hearts that would never beat alone again.

0 notes