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digitalworldbound · 4 years ago

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one step forward

Pairing: Ken x Miyako

Summary: “I can’t talk to cute people, okay? I don’t know how to flirt!” (#30 on the prompt list) Requested by @digichijouji02

Author’s Note: I’ve never written a “song-fic”, but I love Olivia Rodrigo’s album AND Kenyako, so this?? was the result. (this is unedited and kind of abrupt)

Called you on the phone today

Just to ask you how you were

All I did was speak normally

Somehow I still struck a nerve

Daisuke had given her Ken’s number as a preemptive measure. “Even if he isn’t apart of our team right now, I’m sure the others will come around soon.”

His oppressive optimism was almost worse than Takeru’s. Iori had made his stance clear on the situation, and Miyako could feel the guilt bubble up in her stomach as she punched the digits into her house phone. Nerves settled into her hands, her fingers desperately rearranging her hair in an effort to feel in control.

Three short rings later, the line picked up. His breath ghosted over the receiver. Miyako’s carefully planned greeting died on her lips. “Ah, is this Ken?” It was a stupid question – how else would she have his number if she didn’t know who he was? She pushed the phone closer to her ear, straining to discover any sound through the cloud of white static. Nothing.

Her heart pounded in her chest. In all of the reactions she prepared herself for, Miyako hadn’t expected silence. She wanted him to be angry; he had every right to be. She wanted him to yell at her or cry or scream. Screaming would be more bearable than the static he was giving her now.

“How have you been? You know, since…everything?” The sharp intake of breath short-circuited her brain. Ken had just watched his partner dissolve in front of his eyes, and she had the audacity to ask how he was holding up? A flush of shame crawled up her neck. She prayed for the ground to open up and swallow her.

The receiver clicked. Miyako hated the way the dial tone mocked her.

You got me messed up in the head, boy Never doubted myself so much Like, am I pretty? Am I fun, boy? I hate that I give you power over that kind of stuff

Winter air nipped at her exposed cheeks. It had taken her a while to find his apartment; her toes felt like ice in her boots. He hadn’t really spoken to her since the phone call, only acknowledging her when the situation called for it. Nevertheless, he had invited them all over for a Christmas party, and who was Miyako to say no?

His mother opened the door, the smell of freshly baked gingersnaps escaping into the night. “Come in, dear. You must be Miyako! My Ken has told me a lot about you.” The woman ushered Miyako towards a bedroom door before her shock could register. What is there to tell? The only time I’ve talked to him was to slap him in the face.

Ken’s mother knocked lightly on the door, announcing Miyako’s arrival. For some reason, she could feel her cheeks burn when Ken gestured her further into his bedroom. “You look nice, Miyako.” His voice was barely a whisper, the boisterous arguing of Takeru and Daisuke nearly drowning him out.

Self-consciously, she caught her reflection in the glass of a clock on the wall. It had been a harsh winter, the snow getting the best of any potential customers to her family’s convenience store. Her sister’s skirt was too short for Miyako’s long legs, so she layered her old ballet tights underneath. They did little to fend off the cold, but it preserved what little dignity she had around her friends. The attempts at curling her hair were futile. Snowflakes clung to the curls, the strands now hanging limply around her face. She grumbled a bit under her breath, racking her brain for the reasoning behind Ken’s blatant lie.

A card game was in full swing by the time Miyako wedged herself between Iori and Takeru. They both smiled at her before turning back to the issue at hand: Daisuke was cheating.

“Just because I have natural talent doesn’t mean that you can be jealous, Takeru.”

“I don’t think it takes natural talent to look at Hikari’s cards.” The blond deadpanned. Iori sighed and exchanged a look with Ken. They, unlike Takeru and Daisuke, seemed to have formed a companiable silence in the midst of the chaos.

Daisuke’s bickering rattled her brain. With Ken’s unsolicited compliment and the constant arguing, Miyako was already at her wit’s end. “Can you both just shut up and stop trying to mark your territory like untrained puppies?”

Her voice echoed off of Ken’s bare walls. Their Digimon temporarily stopped their feast to look at her curiously. Poromon bounced into her lap, snuggling into her chest. Five pairs of wide yes regarded her with surprise, and Miyako could feel herself grow uncomfortably warm. A giggle burst from Ken’s lips, his cheeks rosy. She had never heard him laugh before.

Soon, they were all laughing. Cards were strewn about as they rolled on the floor, laughing harder when they realized they couldn’t stop.

As the party wrapped up, Miyako was the last to leave. Poromon and Minomon snuggled together underneath a blanket while Ken talked. Her cheeks warmed under the attention, but Ken either didn’t notice or was too kind to mention it. The hands on the clock ticked forwards until his mother startled them with a knock. “Miyako, it’s getting late. I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.” Her eyes were soft and full of kindness; Ken had inherited her smile.

“Of course! I apologize for staying so late. Thank you for allowing me to come over.” She stood and bowed clumsily. Her family valued no such formalities, but if anyone deserved them, it was Ken’s mother.

Ken walked her to his threshold, a hand nervously resting on her back. Despite being underdressed, he stepped out into the chilly night air behind her. A smile played on his lips, causing a swarm of butterflies to erupt in Miyako’s stomach.

“I wasn’t joking, you know?” His eyes looked out onto the horizon. Miyako raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?” The cold had already wormed its way through her tights; she was ready to get home.

His dark blue eyes met hers. “You do look nice tonight.” For someone so shy, so quiet, Ken said it with a conviction that made Miyako’s cheeks color.

Her hands were sweaty, her heart was so loud. Maybe I’m getting sick.

Ken’s eyes were so earnest, so full, waiting her response. The ball was in her court, and she was fumbling. “Ah, um, Ken, I don’t know what to say.” His shoulders drooped, eyes tearing away from hers before fixating on some imaginary point in the distance.

“You don’t have to say anything. Goodnight, Miyako.”

He didn’t have a chance to turn the doorknob before the older girl began to panic. She grabbed his wrist, pulling his backwards.

“No! Ken, that’s not what I meant! I mean, at first I had no idea, and then Daisuke was being all, well, Daisuke. But then the cards were all a mess and this isn’t even my skirt, and I had no-“

Ken’s lips twitched upwards, his eyes empty. “Miyako, you don’t have to make me feel better.” He glances at his watch, “It’s getting late, you should be on your way home.”

“No.” Her hand tightened around his wrist. Ken looked so small and confused that Miyako’s heart gave a painful lurch. Ken couldn’t leave until she said her piece.

The air burned her throat; she was sure that he could feel her fingers tremble against his skin. “I’m trying to say thank you. It’s just that I can’t talk to cute people, okay? I’ve never been in this situation before, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

Silence, then “You think I’m cute?”

'Cause it's always one step forward and three steps back I'm the love of your life until I make you mad It's always one step forward and three steps back Do you love me, want me, hate me? Boy, I don't understand No, I don't understand

It must have been something in the eggnog, she thought. That’s the only explanation. It was the fourth of January. Her D-Terminal had remained silent since the defeat MaloMyotismon, Ken ignoring her messages with a practiced ease. It was hard to not take it personal. She knew that they all needed the space and time to grieve, but Ken hated to be alone. Miyako had been so sure that they were finally getting somewhere, finally becoming friends. Her inbox was empty.

The shrine was also uncharacteristically empty, her family making up the majority of the crowd. Her family had also remained silent. Ultimately, they were glad she was safe. Her siblings were miffed that their little sister had been trapezing between worlds while they focused on their math homework but were incredibly proud of the way she handled herself. Her parents hadn’t looked in her eyes since.

She had tried to message her friends about it, but not even Iori would respond. Lost in thought, her brother shoved her forward when it was her turn to pray. Muscle memory was the only reason she was capable of tossing in her coins and clapping.

Prayer seemed superficial in the face of the battle they had fought. Prayer hadn’t saved the children from their Dark Seeds or made the fight any easier to win. Still, her head bowed in thanks. At least her friends had been spared.

She prayed for strength, to face whatever came next. She prayed for the wellbeing of her family, and her partner. She prayed for her friends; she prayed for Ken.

Her D-Terminal beeped.

#kenyako #ken ichijouji #miyako inoue

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the-garris0n · 5 years ago

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nightcap - ada shelby

ada shelby x female reader

a/n: this was loosely inspired by @blinder-secrets lovely fic Keeping Company but i made it bi yearning bc who doesn’t fancy everyone in the show

word count: ~1000

It was late, much too late. You hated the unsteady sway of your body as you stumbled out of The Garrison much later, or perhaps earlier, than you’d planned. It was never worth it. The giddy elation that coursed through your veins for a few hours never made up for anything before you tipped yourself into a day of nausea and self-doubt, holding your head over countless glasses of water and sometimes the various powders always available in the Shelbys’ office.

The fresh air outside the pub, f you could call it that, did something to clear your head. The crowd inside the pub had spilled onto the cobbles outside and a few vaguely familiar voices called after you as you dragged yourself away from the noise and light towards the dark, tantalising whisper of your bed.

‘[Y/N]?’ For some reason only one voice made you turn back, looking around wildly for the source. ‘It’’s alright, it’s only me.’ Ada Shelby. She was leaning, a long, dark shadow, against the wall of The Garrison, wisps of smoke trailing from a cigarette between her fingers.

‘Ada,’ you murmured, stopping in your tracks.

‘Leaving so soon?’ You knew this was a jibe. You were known for your ability to drain the dregs of an evening, never leaving while there was more to drink, more people to meet, more opportunities to seize. You shook your head lightly.

‘Not my night, tonight.’ It had been a long day. You were more than tired. The darkness obscured the point where Ada’s shoes met the stone cobbles, and she may as well have been an apparition.

‘Sorry to hear it,’ she replied, holding out a fresh cigarette to you. You couldn’t resist, holding out a hand to meet it. Your fingers brushed in between, and again when you leaned forward to meet the silver lighter she offered.

‘Thanks,’ you said in reply to both her comment and the gifted cigarette. You dared to stand next to her, your back hitting the rough brick wall.

‘Bad day at the office?’ She enquired, after leaving you a few moments for the nicotine to drag you up from your gin-induced pit. It had been a quite few years since you’d been at school together, thick as thieves, and then a few more since you’d started working for her brothers on her recommendation, freeing you at last from the suffocating grip of your family. She’d even overlooked your girlish crush on her brother Tommy. You could see now, even in the darkness, the sharp similarity of their jawlines, the shrewd fix of their gaze, the soft downturn of their lips that came as standard. You lived for the days you could tease a smile out of those stony expressions.

‘It could've been worse,’ you replied, at last remembering the question that had been posed. You hated sounding ungrateful after everything Ada had done for you. You'd never told her about the hard days, the death that echoed through the halls of those offices even if you were kept away from the darker corners of the business. It wasn't like she didn't already know, you reasoned, and you didn't want to complain.

‘Don’t let them push you around, alright? Or I’ll have words with Tommy.’ You just nodded. A sobering vein of regret was worming its way into the back of your brain. Pity was the last thing you wanted from the Shelby siblings. However hard you tried to prove yourself to them, this gritty, glittery pair who couldn't seem to set a foot out of place, you always seemed to fall short of what was expected.

‘Ada,’ you said, unsure of where the sentence was going but needing to say it anyway.

‘[Y/N],’ she replied with a dry smile. ‘I think you’ve had a few too many.’ You nodded again. She wasn't wrong. The lamplight from the window behind her lit a golden glow around her head, and you stared at the marvel. The light caught the cherry-sweet tones of her choppy hair. You thought back to your school days; the endless hours you’d spent together, the joy in the feeling that you would never be apart. In the years since, you’d proven yourself wrong. After the war the Shelbys had withdrawn, their circle squeezing shut like a fist, but by then you’d forced yourself away anyway. One all-consuming crush would've been enough, but two was unbearable. How to allow yourself a place in their lives when you always felt like you were stealing something?

‘How’s it going with Tommy?’ She asked, and somewhere distant you wondered if she could read your mind.

‘Slowly and steadily. You know how he is.’ Since she’d saved your life with the job offer six months ago, she’d also encouraged your old feelings for her brother. You’d pretended that it hadn't stung. You didn't want to tell her that nothing serious would ever come of that, though she must have known. What you and Tommy had bore no resemblance to a relationship, but it was easier to channel the deep reserves of sentiment you’d stored up towards a person who could at least pretend to look at you the way you looked at them.

You dropped your cigarette, burnt out long ago, onto the cobbles and looked up. There was a strange look in her eyes. God, you must look rough. You should've been home hours ago.

‘Sorry,’ you started, unsure what you were apologising for. ‘I should go.’

‘[Y/N],’ Ada said again, a look of something like exasperation on her face.

‘It was good to see you.’ She looked down, like she’d run out of momentum.

‘Yeah, you too.’

‘We should do this more often,’ she said, a small smile appearing on her lips in response to your raised eyebrow. ‘Talk, I mean. It’s always been too long.’ A flash in your mind. Another dark, drunken night. Soft lips on yours. The edges of the memory fraying until you couldn't be sure you hadn't imagined it. The guilt. Always the guilt. You nodded slightly.

‘Goodnight, Ada.’

#ada shelby #ada shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #mine #my writing

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gotboredwrote · 6 years ago

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Chapter 5: Tested

[[The American Publicist // JRD]]

Pairing: John Richard Deacon x Reader Word Count: 5.4K Style: Multi-Chapter Warnings: Mental health stuff (panic attack, clinical tests mentioned but not explained) Summary: Y/N was just hired to become a co-manager and publicist for the band Queen. The boys had never travelled abroad, so meeting an American was . . . intriguing, to say the least. Permanent Author’s Note: To clarify, I write because I get bored. Nothing is meant to be professional in any way, nor is meant to offend, cause anxiety, cause anger, cause sadness, or promote disagreement among readers in any sort of (semi)permanent way. A/N: Welcome back to the emotional roller-coaster! I hope you’re ready to ride again! Also, in an effort to get this out, there might be a few grammar errors I did not catch, sorry!

Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter // Masterpost

Neither of you did anything productive Sunday. Come on – who would have been able to? The events of the private concert were swimming through your heads. The words of the song. The tension in the air.

And in your bodies. You tended to reserve this word for other matters, but that was the most euphoric experience you had had in a long time. And you felt like you could say that, since it has been quite a while since the other event happened to you. John was in a similar position, except that he went home and took care of business. All while he was thinking about you. You were lying in bed Sunday night, still reeling from the events the day before. You were just trying to work on the paperwork you had neglected the day before, when you were startled by a phone call. It was 10:30pm, who could possibly be calling you?

“Hello?”

“Y/N? It-it’s me, love.”

You heart never starting beating so fast in your life.

“Hi Deaks, everything okay?”

“Um, yeah. I was just thinking about you-yesterday. What… happened yesterday.”

“Mhm?” You were getting shaky. You had no idea where he was going with this.

“I want to show the boys that song, and I wanted to ask you to do me a favor. Could you try and… react a certain way when you hear it again? I don’t really know how to put this, but can you maybe, try…acting like you have never heard it? The lads only know that I took you back to the studio to show you something, but they have no idea it was a song. Kind of want to surprise them.”

You could not really explain why, but you felt your heart crack a little bit. Were you hoping he would say something else? Something like “oh I feel the same way about you as you do me?” Again, this is real life, not fantasy. People do not magically fall for each other. Wishful thinking. You know for a fact he felt something when he wrote that song, you could see it in his body language when he performed it. And it was not just nerves getting the best of him. Something was going on in his mind when those words came to him, and you knew that it had nothing to do with you. You were not going to let yourself go down that road any more than you already had. It was a mistake to fall for him. You were just hoping it would go away eventually. You could not help but laugh at your own comment in your head.

“Yeah, John. I can do that. Anything for you.”

“Thank you, love.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“8:30am love, looking forward to it. Goodnight.”

“Night, John.”

You had just made a promise you could not keep. How were you supposed to act like you had never heard the song before? After what it did to you? And to John? You were afraid he would not be able to keep the same promise he made you make.

The sound of your alarm going off at 6:00am was worse than normal. You loved going to see the boys, but dragging yourself out of bed was no easy task in the first place. You got up like you would any other morning, showered, and picked up some breakfast on the way to studio. You always tended to get there early, but today you were arrived a little late because there was an accident on the road you took. It must had just happened because the radio did not tell you about it before you left. Since you arrived late, you knew everyone would already be there. You just hoped that they did not wait for you to start doing anything. You waltzed through the door of the main building around 8:55am, and did your best to make it to the Queen section of the building by 9:00am, that way you would not hear a word from Miami. You opened the door to the control room, and everyone was in their rightful places. Miami was at the control table, and all the boys were warming up their instruments mindlessly. You looked through the pane to see if you could make eye contact with John, but he was not facing the window. You were taken out of your trance by the beckoning of your name.

“Y/N. So glad you could join us.”

“Please save it, Miami. I had a long night and there was an accident on my way here, you’re lucky I’m here now.”

“Sorry… I didn’t mean for that to come across that rudely.”

“It-it wasn’t. I was actually ruder than you were. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Well, good morning, darling! We missed your pretty face!”

You threw your head in the direction of the glass and were greeted by four smiling faces. Freddie was grinning ear to ear, Brian and Roger were just smiling sweetly at you, and John had on his… signature smile. He was already off to a much better start than you were.

“John just informed us,” Roger began, “that he brought a song for us to play! But he wanted us to wait until you were here like we did that first Monday. Are you okay with us getting started while you get situated?”

You nodded in his direction, and proceeded to prove to John that two could play at his game. You smiled widely at him, and even added a wave, to which he nodded in recognition. You turned around to place all your new paperwork where it needed to go, not realizing that a crucial portion of it was not in its rightful place. But you had more pressing things to pay attention to. The boys had seemed ready to play the second you walked in, so you were no longer going to keep them waiting. You sat down on the couch, looking eager, with a notepad and pencil in your lap. You gave the thumbs up and off they went. The only part you could pay attention to was the bassline. It was familiar, obviously, since you had heard it before. But it had seemingly wormed its way into a part of your heart that was not going to be ignored. You tried your best to hide it, because John was doing a seemingly flawless job at it, but your chest ached. It ached to be back in that spot on the floor. With John and John alone. Hearing his voice and not Freddie’s booming, operatic one. Sure, his voice was gorgeous, but it was nothing compared to the raw emotion that came out in John’s when he sang this song. His song. His dream girl’s song. You were furiously taking notes so you did not have to look into the booth, you could not risk taking the chance of revealing something. The song was coming to a close and you had written down as much as your hand could handle. You pried your eyes away from your paper and looked up into the booth and your worst nightmare came true. You were met with the eyes of the one person who could screw up your cover. John’s. You immediately swallowed the breath you did not realize you had been holding in and gave him a sweet smile. Except you thought he was looking at your smile. When in reality he was looking at your neck. The necklace. You were still wearing the necklace. In fact, you had not taken it off. It brought you an intense amount of comfort after that evening, thinking about what John went through and what he did for you that night. It was your most cherished possession. You managed to keep yourself collected throughout the song, but as soon as John saw the glint of your necklace… He faltered. He knew the bassline at heart. He knew it Saturday night, so there was no reason he should not know it now. He messed up to the point where he messed up the rest of the band. Roger let out a groan, while Brian and Freddie just looked at him confusedly.

“You alright, mate?”

“Ye-yeah, just got a little bit fuzzy in the head for a second. I skipped breakfast, so… I’ll be alright.”

Roger looked at John with a secretive look, and John refused to look at him. Roger took that as his cue that those words were about a certain American acquaintance they had all come to know and adore. Their one-sided exchange was cut short when you piped up about your notes.

“That was an incredible song, John! I told you that you wouldn’t be in a band if you couldn’t write songs.” You looked at him endearingly, keeping up your end of the bargain much better than he was, considering he was starting to get red in the face. “Now I’m sure none of you noticed this and probably felt like I haven’t been doing my job, but I assure you I have! All the notes I took during the song, and all the other things I’ve written down during these sessions have all regarded where my brain went for the best way of promoting these songs. This isn’t an exhaustive list, but I have preferential choices for what order to release singles, what outfits to wear in photoshoots, the whole nine yards! As I was taking my notes, I realized that I left my big binder of notes in my car, and I’m sure Miami has some words for you boys,” you shot Miami a playful look, to which he chuckled in response, “so I will run out there super-fast and start coming up with some new ideas! Be back in a minute!”

What Y/N did not realize is that she had left her binder on the baby grand piano Saturday night during her private concert and was so mesmerized after the fact that she left it and did not realize it was not in her possession until just now. She had left the room before any of the boys noticed it sitting there, and her enthusiasm for what she had written peaked Brian, Roger, and Freddie’s interests. The only reason John was not paying attention to the binder at this point is because he was still trying to calm his breathing after seeing you wear the necklace. He was just pacing back and forth in a distance of about five feet, quietly plucking at the strings on his bass.

“I don’t know about you, blokes, but my interest was piqued when she mentioned outfits.”

The boys started to rummage through your papers, not realizing that there was an order to the way you had it set up. They also had no idea what was coming when you walked back into the room.

“I must seriously be having an off day. I must’ve left my binder at home because it isn’t in my car and I know-”

The three men crowded around the top of the baby grand stopped dead in their tracks, let the papers they were holding float back down to the piano, and watched you with intensity. Your eyes were as wide as saucers and some of the color had drained from your face. It was like you had just witnessed murder.

“Wha… why… why are my papers all-all over the place? Why did you go through them without asking me? Who gave you the right?” You breathing was beginning to get erratic, and you were thoroughly scaring all five men who were in the studio with you. “Why… why WHY?” And with that you started hyperventilating, nothing stopping the small streams of tears from cascading down your face. Your chest hurt. Different than the aching you had for John when they were playing. This was painful. You started feeling like you could not breathe, hence the hyperventilating. You felt faint and weak at the knees. What was happening to you? Why of all things did your papers being scattered do… whatever this was? Miami and the three at the piano simply stood completely still, completely unsure of what was happening or what to do. John had never moved faster. He quickly grabbed the sides of both of your shoulders, squeezed them, gently gets you to sit on the floor, and does everything he can to get your breathing back to normal, because even he knew there was no sense in trying to calm you down before you could breathe normally. He continually rubbed your shoulders, telling you “you’re okay, you’re perfect.” Anything that came to mind that he thought would bring your breathing back to normal. He considered it progress when your breathing calmed down enough to allow your body to be wracked with sobs, uncontrollable ones. At least now he felt like he could hold you close to him without your breathing stopping entirely. He held you, one arm snaked around your lower abdomen, hand wide and lightly gripping your side, the other clutching the back of your head to bring it down into the crook of his neck. He wanted you to feel protected. Protected from the evil feelings that were consuming your body at the moment. Eventually your sobs became sniffles, and you felt as though you could muster up the strength to talk to them. They were all looking at you expectantly, and still a little bit fearful.

“You all look, sniff, so scared right now. I’m so so-sorry. I don’t know what this even is but it has taken over my life. My brain and body don’t allow me to do anything with a sense of leisure or, or pleasure anymore. Sniff, everything has to be done in a particular way and if someone screws it up I… I can’t see straight, my hearing starts to go, my heart starts to beat so fast that it hurts, I feel like I’m gonna puke… I don’t know what to do.”

When John was at university, he had a couple of friends who were in the developing field of psychology, and from the few conversations he had overheard while they would study for their exams, he knew something was going on with your brain. And in that moment, right after you rambled on your apology to the boys, his emotions overflowed and he knew he was the only one who could take care of you.

“Lads, I think she needs a break for the day. C’mon love, you’re coming with me. I’m going to get you better, love.”

“Um, Deaky? Where exactly are we?” You asked him this because you and your favorite bassist were currently standing in front of a building that was completely unlike any building you had seen in the states or England.

“You’ll see, love. And when we get in there, if you start to freak out, I promise we can leave right away. I do think this will really help you, though.”

John could sense that you were still slightly on edge from the episode you had earlier, and there was a new wave hitting you now that you were in a new, scary environment. He pushed aside any feelings that threatened to resurface from the two “Misfire” performances that were still swirling through his body to take care of you. He reached for your hand to hold and squeeze it until you were separated from him, which he knew was coming, but you did not. You took his hand out of desperation for some grip onto familiarity, because you did not want to slip up again. He walks you over to a desk where a pleasant looking lady is seated, and she begins speaking to you in a sweet, quiet tone.

“Hello, you two. Welcome to the Mind Center of Central England. Did you have an appointment, or are you here for emergency or on-the-spot care?”

“On-the-spot, ma’am. My best friend just had an episode that involved a combination of tears, chest pain, and hyperventilating triggered by the sight of a well-organized binder of hers being scattered across a surface. I had a friend in college talk about places like these where you can administer some tests to see if there was a reason for her reaction, can you do that here?”

“Yes sir, we absolutely can. Let me go get all the paperwork and information you two need, and I will let a specialist know that there is someone here for testing. And sweetheart, I can see that you are tensing up every time I mention tests or doctors. Try to relax, nothing here is meant to hurt or scare you. We are only going to help, I promise, honey.”

“O-okay. Thanks.” She hit the nail on the head about how you were feeling. You had no idea what it was John was trying to accomplish here, and if you were not in a space where you felt like you needed to be respectful, you would probably be giving him an earful right about now. Not five minutes later, the lady from the desk returned with a short stack of papers that you assumed was a combination of information and papers asking you to sign your life away. You knew you were being dramatic, but John had not told you anything about what was about to happen, and frankly, it was kind of bothering you. Not that you were mad at him, but you were just kind of overwhelmed with the whole situation. You did not even know what happened before, and now you were in a place that you had never seen and did not know what was about to happen to you. And just as these thoughts were swimming through your mind you got to the part of the paperwork that stated no one but the patient was allowed in the back with you. John would have to leave your side. This was his idea, why did he have to leave? You and John are going over the paperwork and you’re signing what needs to be signed and initialing what needs to be initialed. The lady was explaining to you what would go down, but you could not focus on her words. You were still daunted by the fact that they were going to force John to some random place in this hospital and you would not know where he was or when you would get to see him again. You cut the lady off mid-explanation of the tests you would be taking to ask her about the question that would not leave your mind.

“Where are you going to take him?”

She gawked at you before returning to her original composure. “I’m… I’m sorry?”

“John. Where will he be while I’m doing this?”

“We have a room for the patient’s guests who decide to stay for the duration of the test, but we don’t typically see that happen. The tests usually take a while, so we encourage the guests to go do something or go home if they aren’t too far from the location.”

Your entire figure slumped at her response. So you would not get to know where John was and he would not get to know where you were? This hardly seemed fair to the patient. The people that are here are clearly here because they have some mental health issue that they want to figure out and get help for. Why tear away the one thing that they know is a safe zone? John could see your demeanor change. He was just as worried about you as you were about leaving him and taking these tests, which you still are not really sure what to expect. He formulated a plan in his mind that he felt would ease your mind a little bit.

“Y/N, love, you and I both know they aren’t going to let me in the room where your tests are done, and I doubt I can stay here. But,” turning to the staff member giving them the instructions, “I think a good plan would be that someone who works here can come tell me when you are about to take your last exam, and they can escort me right to the door that you will be walking out of, so I will be the first and last person you see. Is that okay?” The question was directed at both you and the staff member, who nodded her head in confirmation. The first smile in the last hour crept onto your face.

“Alright, I think that is all of the paperwork. Basically, the last thing you need to do is sign this sheet, which essentially says that you acknowledge everything I have told you about this procedure, including what tests are done and how they are administered, and you recognize that the treatments we provide at the end of the session, which will be typed out for you, are only recommendations. We are available to provide any assistance we can on whichever path you choose to take, okay? Do you have any questions for me before I take you back and show John where he needs to go?”

All you did was shake your head and swallow quietly. The staff member told you that she would go make a copy of all the paperwork, one for their records, and one for you to take home, and that it would be ready by the time you were finished, and she was willing to pass it onto John if it gets done before you do. In the meanwhile, she was going to go get the doctor who would be administering your tests. You were told that this process takes a minimum of an hour, but usually for this particular set of tests, it does not take longer than two. John was to be provided with a couple options for what to do with his time, including a movie, television, a book, magazines, the basic waiting-room drill. He would be in a space that was only about four rooms down the hall from where your exam would be taking place, so he really was not too far away, which made you feel a little bit more at ease. Both of your attentions were directed toward the front of the main office where you heard the automatic double doors to the hospital wing open and you saw a man in a very stereotypical white lab coat, followed by what you could only assume was a physicians assistant. That made you nervous. It made John nervous, too, considering the grip he had on your leg tightened. This had stayed a habit between the two of you, despite what happened that one Saturday with the producers. His touch was different, and you never minded the little massage he always gave with his thumb, almost like a nervous tic. The doctor casually walked over to the two of you while looking at the file he was given, probably just what he needed to administer the proper tests.

“Y/N Y/L/N?”

You simply stood and offered the best half-smile you could. John did the same.

“Hello there! My name is Dr. Patrick Bradford. It is nice to meet you! As you may have guessed, I will be helping you through the next approximately two hours of your life, is that alright with you?”

You simply nodded.

“Great! Ms. Y/N, if you could follow my lead, I will escort you back to the area where you and I will spend our time, and Patty here will take John to his lounge room. If I understand correctly, John is to be brought to the space right in front of our test room doors so you can go to him right when this is all done, right?”

You nodded again.

“Perfect. Whatever makes you the most comfortable, dear. Now if you will, the tests will begin shortly, so please follow me. You too, John.”

The four of you walked in a semi-comfortable silence. John had proceeded to hold your hand when you stood up and did not let go until you were in front of the test room. When you were there, he could feel the clamminess that had just formed on your hand and how it was slightly starting to tremble. It broke his heart a little bit to know that he was the reason you were going to go through this, but he knew that in the long run, knowing exactly what caused your episode and figuring out where to go from there was the best plan. John had since turned to you to offer you one last ray of confidence before you walked in. He was going to hug you, that was the original plan, but the doctors told him that there was something with heart rate that needed to stay as consistent as possible for the test. He was not exactly sure why he could not hug you, but he could do what he chose to do anyway. He let go of your hand, which spiked your heart rate anyway, and he used said hand to ruffle your hair a little bit alongside his signature smile.

“You’re going to ace these tests, love.”

“Now, I am not up on my psycho-blah-blah, but what in the Queen’s name do you think happened to her?” Freddie spoke loudly through the sandwich Miami had brought back for him.

“Honestly, Fred, I have no idea. She quite freaked me out when she started to hyperventilate.” Brian was the most educated of the bunch, and the fact that he had no idea what to think was slightly concerning for the rest of the boys. “I mean, she has never acted that way in front of us before, and she hasn’t told us about a previous experience like that.”

Roger added in “she did say that this had been happening recently, so maybe her move over here triggered something or another?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, anyone would love moving over here, especially when they get to spend time with us, darling.”

Brian rolled his eyes, “Not the time for jokes, Fred. She could have a serious issue.”

“Look, I think we all clearly care about her well-being. She is a part of this family for the rest of our time as a band, even if she is called back to America to work with one of the bands that she previously worked with.” Miami was trying his hardest to fight back tears thinking about the pain Y/N has endured since being in England, and all the boys noticed. No one said a word. “She has done so much for this band already, and she is going to be a crucial point from this point forward. She took the leap of faith to move across the pond to work with us, that is how much faith she has in your band, that is how much she loves each and every one of us. And who would we be to say that if she comes back and tells us there is something wrong that she is a freak? That is not going to happen, and if it does, I swear to you all-”

“Relax, Beach, that isn’t going to happen.”

“You said it yourself – she’s family.”

John had been sitting alone in the lounge room for only about twenty minutes, but it felt like twenty years. The television in the background was playing reruns of some BBC soap that John had seen bits and pieces of through the years, but did not really understand or follow. He told them that he would just flick through the channels and find something on there, but in reality, he told them that because he knew it did not matter which media form he chose. He would not have been paying attention to any of them. His mind was preoccupied, to say the least. He had heard the tests that you would be taking in a small amount of detail, but none of them really made sense. He kept racking his brain trying to remember certain disorders that his psychology friends would talk about, but the only ones coming to mind were the commonly referred to ones, like anxiety and depression. He could not remember specific names for disorders, let alone if he could, what constituted them. He, nor yourself, knew what you were being tested for, and somehow that made it worse. They were, by no means, treating you like a wild, rabid animal who’s only goal in life was to murder everything in your path. They were actually treating you very politely and made sure you were comfortable with every single thing they said and did before moving on. John appreciated that, because he knows how meticulous you are and having details makes your heart swell – you know exactly what you were dealing with, and that allowed you to plan to your hearts content. You loved lists and organization, so the way they were treating you honed directly in to your personality. Twenty-five minutes now. Maybe trying to pay attention to the television will make this go faster. He was so impatient and missed you desperately. He wanted this to be over.

John heard the door to the lounge creak open, and he shot out of his chair as fast as a lightning bolt streaking across the sky. He looked at the nurse, Patty, with big, hopeful eyes that she had come in there to tell him exactly what he needed to hear; Y/N was taking her final test and should be out in about five minutes. And that was exactly what she did. John eagerly followed her out of the lounge and she dropped him off against the wall directly across from the test room doors. Just like they had promised to do. He felt like these five minutes were either going to fly by or drag terribly slowly. The prior was true, because it had only felt like about thirty seconds had passed and he saw the double doors open with Y/N and the doctor standing right behind it. He searched for the emotion behind your eyes and face. You simply looked tired. You were not happy, angry, sad, confused, sickened… just a contented, tired expression. He was happy to see that, because it could have been so much worse. When John and Y/N made eye contact, he smiled weakly at you while you started to plod toward him, expression not changing a bit. In a matter of seconds, you had made your way over to him and crashed into his torso. You latched you arms around his back and squeezed so tightly that John almost had trouble breathing. A signature Freddie Mercury bone-crushing hug – she had learned well, he thought. He did not care one bit. In fact, he grabbed you back across the upper back and neck just as tightly to show you that he was there and real. He was there just like he promised he would be, a way of showing you that he was always be there for you without exception. John’s hand that had found a spot on the back of your neck made your way into your hair and he began to lightly rub your scalp like he would your knee, and his chin had settled onto the top of your head. He lightly kisses the top of your head, no fear about the feelings that were manifested inside of him anymore. He had come to accept and embrace them, and held onto hope that one day something could happen. You lightly moved your head as a warning to John that you wanted to move it more so you could look at him.

“John, I want to talk to all of you about this when we get back, in case if jeopardizes my job with you guys.”

“Anything for you, love. Whatever you need or want.” That is what escaped his mouth. In his head though, what he really wanted to tell you was “I’m not letting anything, no matter what, take you away from me… because I’m in love with you.”

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motiveandthemeans · 8 years ago

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Jughead watched as Betty Cooper expertly removed the bandage from Alex’s side. Her bedside manner was easy and kind, never forceful or pressured to make unnecessary conversation and he knew the teenager was grateful for her help. She knew what to say and just when to say it, something Jughead Jones had never learned to do.

After she had come to the Whyte Worm that first time, he’d been skeptical. How could someone as young and innocent as this Northsider possibly be qualified enough? Once she had bandaged Alex up and administered his antibiotic and pain medication, she’d informed Jughead (she definitely wasn’t asking permission, which he found to be fairly refreshing considering how people cowered in his presence as rule) she’d be back each night to change his dressing until she was satisfied Alex wasn’t at risk for infection or evisceration.

So here they were, day four of Nurse Betty’s rotation in the Snake Pit. Jughead had one of his connections at the Riverdale Police Department pull her records and he had to admit, Elizabeth Jane Cooper was an impressive young woman. By the age of 21 she had graduated from Pennsylvania State University with a 4.0 and double Bachelors in Nursing and Biochemistry, moving straight into the ED of a prestigious hospital after passing her boards with full marks. She quickly proved herself to be the cream of the crop and rose fast, becoming the youngest Charge Nurse in the hospital’s history. At 25 years old she graduated from George Washington University as a Doctor of Nursing Practice and began her career as a travel nurse.

Not mention she was fit as fuck, Jughead was fairly confident he could bounce a quarter off her ass. Despite all the superficial fluff, he knew that it wasn’t necessarily her looks or her brains that he was drawn to (although both were major bonuses).

It was the respect she’d shown Jughead and his fellow Serpents, all of whom had been initially mistrustful of the green eyed beauty, but soon were just as enamored as he was. Betty didn’t treat them like Southside trash and she’d more than proven her worth when she held to her word and came back day after day to look after Alex.

It was the selflessness of her actions, putting her career on the line to ensure that Alex didn’t get picked up by CPS and placed into foster care or worse, taken back home to his abusive father. When Alex had opened up to Betty about his home life, she had merely nodding in understanding and promised she wouldn’t say anything so long as he stayed in school and didn’t get stabbed again. Jughead would hold Alex to his promise to Betty.

It was the easy way she laughed at the crude Serpent jokes that could be heard from the bar below the small apartment of the Whyte Wyrm.

“Alright, you’re all set my friend.” Betty smiled at Alex as she cleaned up the gauze and other supplies she’d brought with her. “Feeling okay? Any pain?”

“No, but you should probably do something about your cold hands, Mrs. Betty! You’re killing me!” Alex laughed.

Jughead smirked at Betty’s guffaw.

“Number one, it’s Miss not Missus and Number two, if you ever call me anything but Betty I will make sure to use really sticky tape at the next dressing change!” She countered with a playful smile. “Cold hands are a part of the job, unfortunately.”

“Alright, Alright!” Alex relented, grinning at Jughead and Betty. “You know Boss, you should think about keeping her on retainer, wouldn’t hurt to have a nurse around, right? Not to mention she’s the only girl outside of the Serpents I’ve ever seen you willingly spend time with!”

The Serpent King didn’t miss the playful look Betty threw him, raising her brow. “Is that so? Here I was thinking your silent brooding and observing was motivated by a fundamental distrust of me.”

Jughead threw her a smirk. “Don’t let it go to your head there, Betts. C’mon, it’s late. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Once she had said her goodbyes to Alex and gave a friendly wave to some of the Serpents that were at the bar, the pair stepped out into the cold night air and walked to her car three blocks away as they had every night the past four days.

They spoke little on these walks, only a few words here and there, a question or two about Alex’s progress, nothing remotely personal. In fact, Jughead could now see why Betty thought him distrustful of her presence. It’s not as if he’d been purposefully keeping her at arms length, it was merely a natural reflex for him. At 32 years old, Jughead Jones has never taken a girl on a date, never felt the need to develop a relationship outside of sexual one’s.

And then Betty Cooper came into his life, the very personification of everything that was good and green in this world. Of everything he’d never have, everything he could never dream to be worthy of.

But damn it all he wanted her anyway.

And that was exactly the problem.

“So, does this make us friends?” The blonde asked zipping up her dark pinky fleece jacket over her black scrubs.

“I don’t know, not sure you’re my type.” He replied, smirking at the look of playful indignation that crossed her pretty face.

“I beg your pardon? I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent friend. Some even say the best.” She responded with a proud smile. “Okay, to be honest I’ve got like, five friends and one of them is my older sister, so really it’s only four. But they can all attest to my capital comradeship.”

“Comradeship? Did you fall out of Henry V or something?” Jughead teased, leading them down the street towards the second block. “I’m a good judge of character, Betty. So believe me when I tell you it’s best if you and I aren’t friends.”

A flash of hurt crossed her jade green eyes. “Why not? Do you not…do you really believe I’d do something to hurt you or the Serpents, Jughead?”

“No.” He responded honestly, his hands fisting in agitation. “I don’t have friends, Betty. Not really. I know you’re not familiar with the kind of person I am, the things I’ve done, but trust me when I say it’s better we remain acquaintances, at best.”

They were rounding the corner of the third block before the blonde haired angel responded.

“Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.”

Jughead looked down at her, shocked. “You’ve actually read Henry V?”

“Never took you for a Shakespeare man, I thought you’d be more of a Salinger or London fan.” She replied with a knowing smile. “My parents are journalist, for their many faults, having a well stocked library wasn’t one of them.”

“You don’t get along with your parents?”

“Do you?”

Jughead frowned at her persistence, though it was something he found attractive in her, Betty was barking up the wrong tree.

Thankfully, they’d reached her white Camry. Betty clicked her key fob and opened her trunk, throwing her medical bag in before turning back to look at Jughead.

“Thanks for walking me to my car.” She said, her voice hiding a tinge of disappointment. “I’ll be by tomorrow around midnight.”

He nodded, an unfamiliar twist ached in his chest. Once she was in her car, Jughead lit a cigarette inhaling its toxins with welcomed abandon.

He exhaled, watching through the gray wisps of smoke as she drove off into the night.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.”

#bughead #riverdale #jughead jones #betty cooper #jug is serpent leader #southside #AU

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