#at this point my tears aren’t of sadness it’s pain but also numbness??? just hot tears whenever I get a moment to myself and my mind starts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

insiderengokushaori · 3 years

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Warnings: Non-Con, use of aphrodisiacs, violence, dead dove do not eat

18+ Minors DNI

His brow furrows when you’re blown back away from him, and he’s by your side in an instant, checking you over for injuries. He leans over you, his hair falling around you in a golden curtain.

“Good, it looks like you’re unharmed,” His expression softens once he’s helped you sit up. “Get control of your breathing.”

You try to do as he says, blinking the stars out of your eyes as you do. Your ears start to ring, so you can’t hear the next thing he says to you, but you nod anyways. He moves to stand, lurching forward before he can get up, his eyes wide.

You frown at him, struggling to stand when his skin goes pale.

“Rengoku, what’s wrong?” You put a hand on his shoulder, flinching away when he jerks you off. The demon behind you looks triumphant.

“I was hoping she could distract you long enough for me to inject you!” His voice grates on your ears. You step in front of your superior to guard him.

“What did you do to him?”

“I’d worry about yourself, now,” The demon beams at you, but his smile makes your skin crawl. You tighten your grip on your sword, assuming a stance. “The effects of the aphrodisiac should be kicking in any second!”

“The- what is that?”

In the blink of an eye, your superior’s swept your feet out from under you, and you’re staring up at him with wide eyes. His pupils are blown wide, and he leans over you looking horrified with his own actions.

“You see,” The demon continues, each word patronizing. “Us demons can’t reproduce. We have no need for intercourse. I can’t remember the last time I got hard myself.”

A sneering laugh causes you to shiver and try to squirm out from underneath Rengoku. He growls, grabbing your wrists and forcing them into the ground with such force that it feels like they’ll shatter.

“I’m so sorry!” He keeps his voice soft, and when he speaks, he sounds like he’s ready to cry. “I’m so sorry. You need to get away from me.” He tightens his grip on your wrists, causing you to cry out. “You need to run!”

“I can’t! You’re going to break my wrists Rengoku! Let go of me!”

“Breathe! Use your legs! Please, hurry!”

You take a deep, shuddering breath, worming your legs up underneath his torso to try to kick him off. His expression twists, and he lets go of one of your wrists, forcing your legs apart, slotting his body between them. Tears spark in your vision, and you push at his shoulder with your free hand, trying to force him off of you.

“You won’t be able to get him off of you,” The demon says gleefully. Rengoku turns his head, breathing heavily.

“Shut up! I won’t hurt h-” He growls, his pupils dilating even more when he’s injected again. “I’m so sorry.”

He sounds so heartbroken, his voice completely contrasting the roughness of his movements. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, ripping away your uniform pants with the other, his strength seemingly doubled. Your breath catches in your throat as tears fill your eyes, and when his hand cups your heat, bile rises in your throat.

“NO! Please, Please fight it! Fight it Kyojuro!”

His expression looks pained, and he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, the hand on your core twitching.

“I’m trying. I’m trying, dear one,” He murmurs softly. You sob, trying in vain to squirm away from him. “Remember how you were trained. The weak spot in a grip. I can’t let go. I can’t control my body anymore. Give it everything you’ve got. Get away from me.”

You bawl, using every ounce of strength in you to twist your arms out of his grasp.

“My, his resolve is quite strong,” The demon hums, then cackles. “Alright then! I’m sure this next one will do it!”

Rengoku is hit twice more with the thin needles that shoot from the demon’s hands, and he grips your wrists so hard they snap, and you scream out in pain. Apologies flood out of Rengoku’s mouth, but regardless, he leans down and slots his mouth against yours, muffling your cries of pain. The hand against your pussy pulls away, only to return as he slides his fingers up your folds and toys with your clit. The groan that leaves his throat makes you whimper and squeeze your eyes shut in horror. You can faintly hear the demon saying something, but you aren’t sure what it is in your rising hysteria.

He pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes also shut tight. One of his fingers pushes inside, and you tilt your hips downward, trying to get away to no avail. He keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he works you open, almost intimately if it weren’t for the situation itself.

“Kyojuro, I’m b-begging you,” Your voice catches, your face wet with tears. “Please, please stop,”

He doesn’t respond, pulling his fingers out of you with a slick sound. Your chest is heaving with sobs now, and you open your eyes to find him languidly lapping at his fingers. He meets your eyes and opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but a twinge of sadness crosses his features, and he presses his forehead against yours again, his eyes closed. You can feel him undo his belt and work his pants off, and whimper helplessly when you feel the hot head of his cock brush against your entrance.

He pushes in slowly, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. He hesitates for only a moment, dragging himself out and thrusting back in. The pace he sets is brutal, and you can do nothing but bawl and squirm as it happens. The only thing that leaves his mouth now are grunts that get louder the faster he goes and heavy breaths that fall hot against your face. He leans down and kisses you again, taking advantage of the noise of surprise you make to slot his tongue into your mouth. You gag, disgusted and horrified, trying to turn your face away. He allows you, trailing kisses along your cheek and up into your hair, his free hand coming up to clutch your hair and pull you closer.

He thrusts in at a particular angle, and an involuntary moan passes your lips. Immediately, you curse yourself. This isn’t enjoyable. This is horrible and sickening, and you would rather the demon just kill you instead of facing one more second of this humiliation. But Rengoku brushes against that spot again, and your legs spread wider to give him better access.

Your orgasm comes out of nowhere, and he rides through it, his stamina not depleting in the slightest. When he pulls back and looks at you, there are tears brimming in his blown out eyes, and his lower lip trembles.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, dear one.” He squeezes his eyes shut again. You let out a sob. His hand digs into your snapped wrists, the earth beneath you poking into your back and head. His free hand snakes into your hair, and he presses himself flush against you, his pace near bruising now. You cum again, crying out his name.

The sky is just starting to lighten when at last, his stamina depletes. He pushes himself all the way in, grunting out something that resembles your name, and cums hard, painting your walls with his seed. Horrified, you squirm, trying to pull away and get him out. Your core aches, your legs are numb, and your wrists are broken to the point of uselessness. Your dignity’s been stolen away, and all you can do is cry when you feel him soften in you. He collapses on top of you, the hand on your wrists finally releasing them. You huff out a sob, trying to nudge him off.

He pulls away, looking like himself again, and gets off of you as fast as possible, glaring over at the demon with newfound determination. He shrugs off his haori, placing it over your lap to cover you up, and stands, unsheathing his sword.

“Haa, you lasted quite a long time.” The demon grins, tilting his head. Rengoku takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. “I’m surprised she’s still conscious.

“Your biggest mistake was sticking around,” Rengoku kicks off the ground, turning in the air, and rockets towards the demon, slicing off his arms. In the next moment, the demon’s head is on the ground.

He kneels next to you, looking concerned as he sheaths his sword.

“Can I help you up?”

You cry a little harder, hesitating before nodding your head. The hand that slides behind your back is gentle this time, and he hikes an arm under yours, guiding you to sit and stand. The moment he lets go, your legs buckle, and he catches you.

“Can I carry you, or would you rather have someone else do it?”

“There’s no one else here,” You mumble, so he hoists you into his arms, allowing you to rest your head against his shoulder.

Mercifully, you fall asleep.

#rengoku kyoujurou #kimetsu kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #kyoujurou x reader #rengoku kyojuro #kny rengoku #kimetsu rengoku #kny x reader #hashira x reader #minors dni #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #rengoku x reader

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vibrant-leaf · 3 years

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Therapy is Manly

Part one.

🧡 ~KiriBaku Fic~ ❤️

Summary and Important Note⚠️: Bakugou is more self-aware and Kirishima is a bit more insecure. Part one is kinda painful, not gonna lie, but part two is happy and will make up for it! Link to part two will be at the bottom.

Word Count: 4090

Warnings: Cursing, angst

Additional note: I have been working on this for a stupid amount of time and have come to the point where I just need to trust myself and post it LMAO. They're going to be a little ooc but that's okay because this is my take on if Bakugou was more self-aware and if Kirishima was more insecure. Part two will have a song linked at the end of it. I hope you enjoy it!

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“Fucking useless!” As soon as it comes out of Bakugou’s mouth, he instantly regrets it. He wants to take it back. He wants to travel back in time to just five seconds ago so he can punch himself in the face before he’s able to say that again. But he said it. And the way Kirishima’s face falls makes his stomach drop down to his knees.

When Kirishima hears those words come out of his boyfriend’s mouth, it feels as if someone stabbed him in the chest. It’s crazy… how two words coming from the love of your life can hurt so much.

“Eijirou, no. No. I’m- I-“ Bakugou doesn’t say sorry. He just doesn’t. But the look on Kirishima’s face, the look of absolute pain and betrayal, rips it out of him because he knows he horrendously fucked up “I’m sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t mean it okay?” Bakugou knows about Kirishima’s previous struggles with his self-confidence, and he can’t help but feel like he just ripped the boy’s heart out of his chest and stomped on it with those two awful words.

Bakugou tries to grab his boyfriend’s hand, but Kirishima shakes his head and backs away before he can touch him. He’s gotten used to Bakugou’s anger, mostly. But sometimes, and more recently for some reason, his words have been hurting him. He’s tried his best to shake it off because he knows that Bakugou doesn’t really mean it and he loves him… right? But this. This gutted him. His self-deprecating thoughts are on the brink of exploding in his head. Useless. Kirishima is indeed useless, isn’t he?

“You’re not useless, Eijirou. Fuck. I don’t know why I said that. I’m fucking sorry, okay?” Bakugou is begging him. He’s not exactly begging for forgiveness because he knows he doesn’t deserve it, he’s begging for Kirishima to understand that those were empty words that he didn’t mean and that Kirishima is nowhere near useless. Alright, he might also be begging for a little forgiveness because he can’t help it, even though he truly understands he does not deserve an ounce of it.

Kirishima looks down at the floor, takes a shaky breath through his nose, turns around, and leaves Bakugou’s room.

Bakugou’s hands fly to his head. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!” What the fuck is wrong with him?! Why does he keep doing this to him?! He keeps snapping at him and Kirishima just takes it. That’s how it’s always been with them, even if it didn’t use to be this bad. Bakugou yells, throws insults and names, and gets away with it every single time. Sure, Kirishima will call him an idiot from time to time or ask for an apology when absolutely necessary, but he’s never said anything else about his rage. Maybe… maybe Bakugou has been taking advantage of that. Bakugou knows there won’t be any serious repercussions, so this lets him take his frustrations out on him. He doesn’t deserve that.

Kirishima gently closes his bedroom door behind him and stands still in the middle of his room. His chest still hurts, and tears quickly start to form in his eyes until his vision is completely distorted, which is fitting because his brain is also being distorted beyond belief. “Fucking useless… You’re not useless, Eijirou.” The words start to play on a loop in his head.

The tears finally cascade down his face as he mumbles to himself, “I’m not. It’s okay. I’m not useless. He said I’m not, so it’s okay. Just forgive him, he didn’t mean it.” After all the other times Bakugou has snapped at him, he’s learned to simply shake his head and force himself to not sweat it. However, he suddenly realizes… he’s been forcing himself to become numb to it. But it’s okay! He loves Bakugou, that’s just how he is, he usually doesn’t mean the insulting words that come out of his mouth, and Kirishima doesn’t want to lose him, so he needs to force himself to be okay.

Meanwhile, in the other room, Bakugou is trying to come to terms with the decision he knows he must make, for the sake of Kirishima’s wellbeing.

Later in the evening, when the class has gathered for dinner, they notice something off between Bakugou and Kirishima. They aren’t attached by the hip, they aren’t even making eye contact, Bakugou looks like he’s about to puke, and Kirishima just looks sad. Sero, Ashido, and Kaminari look at each other, all of them worried about their two beloved friends.

Ashido speaks up first. “You guys know what’s going on?” The boys shake their heads and Ashido’s shoulders, along with her spirits, fall. “I hope they’re alright…”

Kaminari suddenly remembers something. “Uh... did they sign the lease on that apartment they found like a couple of weeks ago?” Sure, they were only dating for almost a year now, after a long year of painful mutual pining, but they always looked so sure, so confident in each other and their relationship, that moving in together after graduation seemed like a no-brainer.

“I don’t know. They haven’t said anything else about it. But this is probably just a little fight. I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Sero tries reassuring his friends as well as himself.

It’s around one in the morning and neither of the boys can fall asleep. Kirishima just wants Bakugou to come into his room and hopefully apologize again, that way he can forgive him, and they can rest in each other’s arms and let everything be okay in the morning.

Bakugou is lying wide awake in his bed, and he’s scared. His heart is racing, and he still feels like he’s going to throw up the few bites of dinner that he managed to get down hours earlier. He’s so fucking scared, he doesn’t want to do this, but he knows he has to… Kirishima deserves better than how he’s been treating him- like a willing punching bag for his cruel, verbal outbursts. God, he is such an asshole. Has he really been like this the whole time they knew each other?

Kirishima finally hears the long-awaited knock on his door but doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t usually need to. “Hey… can we talk?” asks a deep, muffled voice behind his door. He’s a little confused by the fact his boyfriend doesn’t just walk in but whatever.

“Yeah?” Kirishima calls out.

Bakugou swiftly opens the door, walks in, and sees his best friend of almost three years now, sitting up in his bed looking at him wearingly. He can see it. He can see just how mentally drained Bakugou has made him, and it further proves his point that he’s doing this for that beautiful boy’s own good. That human incarnate of sunshine deserves to be happy. He deserves so much better than what Bakugou has given him. So, he swears to himself that he’ll get better. It’ll probably take some time but that doesn’t matter. Hopefully, they’ll be better off afterward… as long as Kirishima will graciously take him back in the future. He wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t though.

Bakugou walks over to the corner of Kirishima’s bed and sits. When he runs a sweaty hand through his hair, he notices that he’s shaking. God, he does not want to do this. Every fiber of his being wants to just curl up in Kirishima’s arms. But he can’t. “I…”

“I’m sorry,” are the words Kirishima expects to hear out of Bakugou’s mouth, but what is actually spoken renders him immobile.

“I think we need to break up.” Bakugou feels like he is definitely going to throw up. Not now, he’ll hold back for now, but later for sure.

The blood instantly drains from Kirishima’s body, and he is left feeling cold. “What?” His voice is only a broken whisper.

Bakugou bites the inside of his cheek to keep the tears that are forming in his eyes at bay. “We need to break up. I keep hurting you. And it needs to stop.” His voice is shaky, and he feels so fucking horrible. He knows he’s hurting the love of his fucking life yet again while saying this, but it has to be done.

“What? No! No. It’s okay, I forgive you, Katsuki. I know you didn’t mean it. I know I’m not useless, I promise. I forgive you, it’s okay. We’ll be okay.” Why does he feel so cold? He’s shaking now too. His eyes and throat are burning. Holy shit he feels so scared. No no no. He can’t lose him.

“But it’s not okay! This is not okay! The way I’m treating you is not okay! I keep hurting you and I need to stop! I need to figure out how to fucking calm down!” Bakugou feels like a sledgehammer is being struck against his damn ribs.

Kirishima speaks through a waterfall of tears, “Okay, you can do that! But we don’t have to break up! Please, Katsuki. I love you.” He grabs Bakugou’s hands and holds them. “We can get through this together, okay? I don’t want to lose you.” Bakugou only glances down at the alarmingly cold hands holding his hot and clammy ones. And at that, hearing Kirishima’s pleading words, feeling his hands hold his for probably the last time in what’s going to be a while, or possibly forever, he releases the barrier that’s been holding his tears back and lets them fall down his face. He shakes his head.

“No. I’m gonna keep fucking up. And you can’t keep taking it like it doesn’t affect you because I know it does. I can see it on your face, I know I’ve been exhausting you. You don’t deserve that. I need to be alone while I.. fix myself. I need to change something, I don’t know. I just-“ Bakugou takes a shaky deep breath. “I just need to be better. And… When I am better, then we can try again. I just can’t keep hurting you like how I have been.”

“You’re hurting me now.”

Bakugou knows this. God, he knows this, and he hates himself for it. “I’m sorry. We can try again in the future. Because I want to be with you, Eijirou. I love you so fucking much. But you deserve better, and I want to be better for you. It’s just… gonna take me some time.”

Something in Kirishima’s brain clicks and he doesn’t like some of what Bakugou has said. “It’s not fair of you to expect me to just wait around and be readily available for you whenever you decide you’re better.” But honestly, who is he kidding? Bakugou is the only one he wants, the only person he wants to love like this… but maybe this wasn’t exactly healthy after all- no. Fuck being logical right now. He’s in pain and he really doesn’t feel like thinking logically.

“I know that, idiot. I don’t expect you to wait around like some dumb loyal puppy. I mean, if you’re available and willing then we can try again. Or if you… if you do find someone else who treats you better, then whatever, that’s fucking fine. You deserve that. You deserve to always be happy.”

“You make me happy, asshole.”

“Eijirou…” Bakugou’s eyes are pleading now, begging for him to just understand and let him go for now.

Kirishima finally snatches his hands away from Bakugou’s. His throat is still burning, and his eyes won’t stop spilling more and more tears. “Get out,” he chokes out.

A moment of tense silence passes them. Bakugou wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what. He doesn’t know how to respond to Kirishima telling him to leave, it feels so foreign.

“I fucking hate you. Get out.”

Bakugou bites his tongue so hard it almost bleeds. Yeah… he deserved that. He deserves any anger that Kirishima has for him right now. But damn, that hurt… must’ve been how Kirishima felt when he called him useless. He really was such a fucking asshole to him.

When Bakugou gets up to leave, Kirishima lets himself be logical for a single moment. They’re heroes… and anything can happen. He would never forgive himself if those were the last words Bakugou heard from him before something bad happened. Bakugou grabs the door handle, but Kirishima’s voice stops him. “Wait!” Bakugou turns his head to look at pained, red eyes looking down at the bed. “I… I didn’t mean that. I don’t hate you… I just hate what’s happening…” Kirishima looks up at Bakugou one more time, and even though Kirishima feels like he’s drowning in heartache, he’s able to force out one last sentence. “I love you, Katsuki.”

Bakugou wants so badly to walk back over there and crash his lips onto Kirishima’s, and he almost does. He can feel this magnetic force pulling him to the love of his life. He doesn’t want to walk away… but he ruined what they had. Maybe, just maybe, in the future, he can rest in the arms that have comforted him so many times after he woke up from nightmares, arms that feel like home, and he’ll listen to the steady heartbeat that once coaxed him to sleep after suffering through a panic attack from one of the said nightmares. But for now, “I love you, Eijirou,” Bakugou pulls away and walks out of the bedroom.

Kirishima hugs his legs up against his chest and lets the sobs rip out of his body.

Bakugou’s head falls back against the other side of Kirishima’s door and he can hear him start to cry. He never wanted to make him cry...

Bakugou wants to slide down onto the floor to cry into his hands until the whole days’ worth of food threatens to make a reappearance, so he bolts for his bathroom.

Kirishima suddenly doesn’t want to be in his room anymore. Bakugou and him have hung out so many times in there that there’s a subtle hint of his scent, but that subtle hint is currently suffocating him. He looks up from where his face was buried in his knees and of course, the first thing his eyes set on is a picture of them from when they went mountain climbing during their first year. He can’t be here. He’ll literally suffocate and die if he stays in his room that has too many traces of his boyfrie-… ex-boyfriend. His ears are ringing as he starts to mumble frantically, “I need to leave, I need to leave, I need to leave.”

Kirishima pushes himself off his bed and quickly walks out of his room. His chest is in so much pain. He scans the hallway and tries to think if anybody else would be up right now. Ashido’s a night owl, so she should be awake. Hopefully. He just really needs a hug right now.

Ashido is laying in bed, scrolling through Twitter, with her eyelids starting to droop when she hears a soft knock on her door. She’s confused but she slowly sits up to listen and figure out if someone's actually outside her door or if she's simply hearing things. But when she hears the faintest sound of sniffling, she throws the bedsheets off her and jumps out of bed. Then she walks over to her door and when she opens it… “Oh no.” Ashido’s stomach drops at the sight of her dear friend’s red, puffy-eyed, tear-stained, broken face. “Oh, honey, what happened?” She’s afraid to ask because she’s pretty sure she knows the answer.

Kirishima’s eyebrows pull together and his bottom lip trembles, “w-we... broke up.”

Ashido grabs his wrist and pulls him into her room. They sit down on her bed and Kirishima’s head falls onto her shoulder. She wraps her arms around him, and he hugs her back lightly. That’s when she notices the trembling. “Just let it out, Kiri. It’s okay,” she says as softly as possible as she rubs his back.

Kirishima clutches onto Ashido as hard as he can without hurting her and his eyes are shut tight as he starts to cry again. His body shakes as he lets all the pain he’s feeling rise to the surface and boil over onto his friend’s shoulder. He tries to talk but he keeps gasping in between words. “My chest- it- it hurts so fucking bad. Why- does it feel like this- it feels like someone’s- stabbing me. God- why?” One of his hands clutches his shirt over his heart.

Ashido’s petting his head now. “Shhh… I know it hurts. I’m so sorry, Kirishima. I wish I could take the pain away… Is there anything at all I can do?” She would love to beat up that blonde bastard for making him feel like this but she doesn’t know what exactly happened, so she keeps the violent thoughts at a minimum.

After another moment filled with hiccups and sniffles, Kirishima takes a deep breath. His voice is still really wobbly but at least he isn’t choking on his words now, “My room. I can’t be in there right now. Too much of him.”

Ashido nods her head. “Okay, you can sleep in here then. We can figure out your room tomorrow. But we should probably try to get some sleep since it’s so late. Okay?”

It’s Kirishima’s turn to nod. “I’ll try.” He feels exhausted but he doubts that he’ll be able to fall asleep anytime soon. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No. Absolutely not. I will sleep on the floor.”

“No.”

“Okayyy… well if you’re comfortable with it then we’ll both sleep in the bed.”

Kirishima sighs and looks up at her. “Only if you’re one hundred percent comfortable with it.”

“I am. I promise.”

Kirishima searches her eyes for any hint of unease, but he finds nothing. His eyes fall to his lap. “Alright.”

“Good.” She stands up and walks over to her mini fridge to grab a bottle of water, then offers it to him. “Recycle, or else.” He grabs the bottle from her hand.

“Yes, ma’am.” He starts chugging the cold water and it feels nice on his raw throat. Once he’s done, he twists the lid back onto the bottle, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then scoots over to the other side of the bed. They both settle under the covers and a twinge of awkwardness hangs in the air. A silent moment passes before Kirishima speaks again. “My chest still feels like it’s being crushed.”

Ashido sighs through her nose. “Come here.” She opens her arms to signal an invitation.

“You sure?”

“Yes. I know you’re a touchy person so hopefully, this’ll help a bit.”

Kirishima scoots closer to her and lays his head on her shoulder and her arms gently wrap around his neck. He lays a hesitant arm across her stomach. It’s nice. It’s not… Bakugou… but it’s still nice. His eyes start to burn, and his chest starts to heave for the millionth time in the past eight hours. He feels Ashido’s small hand begin to pet his head and her fingers run through his hair. The tears are pouring from his eyes yet again. “Please don’t do that,” he whispers.

Ashido stops immediately and rests her hand on his back instead. “My bad.”

“Sorry.”

“No no. Don’t you be sorry.”

Kirishima pauses. “He used to do that all the time.”

Ashido barely nods. “I’m sorry, hun. I didn’t think about that.”

“It’s okay...” Kirishima’s voice is weary audible as exhaustion settles into his bones. He closes his eyes to try to sleep but all he can see is blonde hair and red eyes. He sighs. “He said he needs to get better.”

Ashido’s eyebrows furrow together. “What does he mean by that?”

“His behavior, I think. He said he keeps hurting me.”

“Is he?”

“Hurting me?”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“Kiri.”

“…Maybe… Yeah.” It comes out quiet and almost shameful.

“Then yeah, he needs to fix that.”

Kirishima’s quick to defend Bakugou, however. “But I understand that’s just how he is. And he doesn’t mean what he says most of the time, so really, it’s fine. Sure, it hurts for a moment, but I can get over it. I don’t understand why he thinks we need to break up for now.”

“For now, huh? So, there’s hope for the future?”

“I mean he said he wants to try again someday if I want to. But I don’t know how long it’ll be.”

“Hmm… maybe this is a good opportunity for you to work on yourself too.”

“Myself? Why?”

“Honey, listen to what you’re saying. It sounds to me like you don’t even care that he’s treating you like this.”

“I do care, it’s just-“

“You don’t care enough for it to matter. You know what I mean?”

“They’re just words… If I let them get to me then it means I’m… weak. He shouldn’t have to date someone who’s weak like that.”

“Kirishima.” There’s a forceful tone behind Ashido’s voice. “You being hurt from his behavior does not make you weak. You are allowed to feel that way. Bakugou’s behavior and attitude are shitty. He can’t even chill out around his own boyfriend who he supposedly loves and that’s even more shitty. You said it yourself, he’s hurting you. And if someone realizes they’re hurting a person they love then they should try to change the way they act. You, on the other hand, need to realize you do, in fact, deserve better than being treated like his verbal doormat. You need to stand up for yourself more.”

Kirishima is quiet for a while after that, letting the words sink in and process in his brain. He realizes that Ashido’s right in saying that he doesn’t truly care when Bakugou lashes out against him. But why? Why doesn’t he care? He realizes that he should care now but why was he so willing to let Bakugou get away with his horrible attitude?

But then he finally realizes…

He’s insecure.

But he thought his insecurities only pertained to being a hero and he mostly got over that a while ago. He didn’t think he would be insecure about being in a relationship. Well, he wasn’t insecure about being with Bakugou, no way. He admires Bakugou, loves him with every fiber of his being, and he is- or was, so proud and so happy to call him his boyfriend. Bakugou is strong and he deserves to be with someone who is also strong.

Ah.

He was afraid too.

Kirishima felt like he needed to be strong around him all the time, didn’t he? Bakugou doesn’t like weakness and if Kirishima was hurt by something Bakugou said then maybe he would’ve seen Kirishima as too weak for him and leave. Bakugou already left him though. But…

“I want to be with you, Eijirou. I love you so fucking much. But you deserve better, and I want to be better for you.”

Ugh. Why is this all so confusing and frustrating? Kirishima’s head starts to throb.

“Kiri?” Ashido’s softer voice snaps him out of his train of thought.

“You’re right… I should figure out some things for myself too. I think I was scared of what he would think about me if I was always upset with him.” Kirishima releases a disheartened sigh. “So… should I talk to someone?”

“Like a therapist?”

“Yeah…”

“I think that’s a good idea. I honestly believe everyone should talk to a therapist at some point because everyone struggles with something, and it would be good to get some professional advice. So, hopefully, that’s what Bakugou will do too. Everyone knows he needs it.” She mumbles the last part and Kirishima chuckles at it.

“Have you gone to therapy?” Kirishima looks up at Ashido curiously and she nods.

“Another story for another time though. It’s late and I need to get some beauty sleep before having to wake up before you to get you some post-breakup essentials.”

“Ice cream?”

“Yes, ice cream.”

Kirishima gives her a forlorn smile. “Thanks, Ashido, for letting me stay here and for talking to me.”

“I know, I know. I’m pretty cool aren't I?” She grins proudly. “But you’re welcome. Now go to sleep.”

“Yes ma’am.” Kirishima feels better. Not great by any means, but better. His eyes finally start to feel heavy and before his consciousness slips away, he can’t help but imagine that it’s Bakugou holding him in that moment.

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

Link to part two!

#kiribaku #bakugou x kirishima #bakushima #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha #mha fanfiction #boku no academia #my hero academia #angst #angst with a happy ending #breakup #mina is a good friend

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kattwritesuwu · 3 years

Note

Can I request a Clingy!monsterTom x Depressed!Reader? Maybe with cutting and suicidal thoughts?

I sure can!!! I LOVE angst!!!!!

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

Fandom: Eddsworld

Character: Tom

Reader: Depressed

Fic type: Comfort/angst

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING: This WILL heavily mention suic/de, blood, and perhaps other triggering topics, read at your own risk!!

Notes: People, I'm not trying to make depression and similar illness romantic, this is simply for comfort.

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I hate everything.

Well, not everything, but the majority, y'know? Everything just...sucks. Life in general, it's all terrible.

People are terrible. Sure, I've found a few choice people that aren't the bane of my existence, but even they have their flaws.

Am I saying that I'm some heaven sent angel? Hell no I'm not. I'm just as terrible if not more! I hate everyone, including myself.

Am I lying? Yeah. Do I have a crush on someone? Yeah. Am I gonna do something about it? Nope.

Why should I? It's not like I'll be here longer anyways...

I'm planning to kill myself.

Am I scared? Kind of. But at this point I don't care. I'm always scared anyways. Always on my guard around people.

Most people don't know the fear and pain of constantly feeling...numb.

It's not like I never feel anything, it's just so rare. My most common emotion is pain. I just want to curl up in a ball and die. But all I can ever being myself to do is cry, and even that's a rare occurrence at this point.

I feel so alone.

Friends? Yeah I have a few.... they're all a bit odd in their own way. Can't complain though, they're like family to me.

My real family? Not many immediate ones, plus, I moved to England five years ago. They called me everyday for the first couple of months. Nowadays, I can barely get a text back... I get that they have their own lives in their respective country, but man, it just makes me so cold-feeling...

I guess where I was going with this, is that I'm scared. Not of my inevitable death, but everything else.

I'm scared of anything and everything now that I think about it. I don't exactly mean common fears they talk about in elementary school, I'm talking real world problems.

I'm scared of failure, not sure why. I've failed enough in my life....it shouldn't even faze me at this point.

Im especially scared of people.

My friends? Yeah them too. What if I make a fool of myself and they think I'm an idiot? What if I make the wrong move, and they hate me? They probably hate me enough as it is...

That why I won't confess to Tom. He'll hate me afterwards. There's just no point in ruining something for nothing in return.

These were the thoughts that ran through my head as my arms and legs were sliced up by a blade driven by my own hands. It's wasn't like it hurt. All it really did was sting, I'm just that used to being hurt, I suppose.

As I was wrapping up my little 'session' I heard a knock on my door,

"(Y/N)! You in there? It's dinner time! I made breakfast for dinner!" A British accent leaked through my door.

I didn't scramble around at the thought of him walking in, my door was locked after all. It's not like I'm that stupid.

" I'll be there in a few minutes, Edd." I spoke back in a raspy voice, not bothering to yell. Edd has good ears, he can somehow hear a whisper from across the house.

It takes me a minute or two to get up and walk into the bathroom that connects to my room. I stumble a bit with the loss of blood.

Once I get in there I take a quick shower, just barely long enough to stop the bleeding and make it appear as if you just took an actual shower.

Once I get out of the shower, I slip on my (favorite color) hoodie.

That was an easy part of hiding my self abuse. Everyone in the house wore a hoodie of their own designated color.

I also slipped on a longer article of clothing to go onto my legs. Couldn't let them see my thighs either.

Once I finished the rest of my cleaning up, I headed out of my little bathroom, and in front of my door. I took a deep breath, put on a smile, and walked out.

I got about halfway down the stairs before a screech startled me, causing me to trip a bit,

" (Y/N) IS HERE! YAY!" The high pitch British scream could only belong to the narcissistic ginger known as Matt.

Once I got my balance back into my feet, I continued down the stairs and greeted Matt with a wave.

" Yeah she lives here, idiot. She's not going anywhere." A deeper voice had spoken, I turned around and Tom was there as expected. I smile shrunk a bit at his last comment.

" Sup (y/n)." You snapped out of your thoughts and responded with a casual 'yo.'

The three of us then heard a thick accent cursing in the kitchen, no doubt it was Tord,

" For jævla skyld! Just let me have the last piece!!"

Sure enough, when we walked into the kitchen, Edd and Tord were fighting over the last piece of bacon. I let out a sigh, and the two boys finally acknowledged our existence. That alone didn't stop their argument though.

I didn't even bother attempting to break up the fight, I never could anyways. Their little fuss always ends one of two ways. Edd steals the bacon from under Tord's nose, or vise versa.

I just grabbed a small portion of food, and sat down.

I knew I would be gone by the end of tonight...but I wanted to taste Edd's cooking one last time.

Something interesting happened, instead of one of the two boys getting the bacon, they halved it and sat down. Of all my four years living in this house with these people, they've never shared their bacon.

Strange.

Dinner wasn't as talkative as it usually was when we all ate at the table. Usually we'd all have a big group discussion about our day, or week. Tonight was quiet, giving me an opportunity,

" Hey, guys?" Each one of their heads turned to me, and Edd signalled me to continue,

" I just wanted to say, thank you." Their brows furrowed but I held out a hand to tell them to let me finish,

" You four have helped me with so much over the past few years. From when you let me live here when I couldn't find proper housing situations, to letting me borrow the car. I just wanted to formally tell you all how grateful I really am. You are truly the kindest people I've ever met." As I went on talking, I realized how bad of an idea this actually was.

I mean, will they get suspicious? I'm just showing gratitude right? It shouldn't sound like a cry for help or anything...

As I snapped out of thought for the fiftieth time today, I notice that all of the boys have some type of smile on their face, even Tom!

Edd was smiling like a proud mother,

Matt was smiling giddily,

Tord had a smug, 'cool guy' smile,

And Tom had the smallest smile that made my heart melt.

I awkwardly continued my fake smile, and sat down.

Conversation continued on as would on a normal night, with the topic being past pleasant memories.

I volunteered to wash the dishes, it was the least I could do. There was only one problem. For some ungodly reason, Tom had insisted on helping me.

I couldn't figure out why at first, untill it dawned on me that he probably needed something from me.

So as I scrubbed the forgetten food off of the ceramic plate, he rinsed and dried them. We did this in silence, aside from the running water. Tom's the first one to break the tension filled silence,

" So, how have you been?" It was such a simple question, I could have simply faked a toothy grin, and said that I was great. I could have thanked him for asking. I could have asked him back.

But I only did one of those things.

" I've been doing just as good as I always do." I reply with a small sad smile. I tear my eyes away from the dish water," How about you? You've been awfully quiet tonight."

He chuckles lowly," Just had a lot on my mind, trying to face some of my problems, that's all." I stop what I'm doing and look over at him,

" Do you want to talk about it? I think the others are asleep already."

Normally when Tom is having any type of problem, he comes to me for advice, or even just for someone to listen to him rant when he's drunk. I even gave him a spare key to my room if he ever needs me while I'm asleep. He's offered the same for me, but I told him that I have a counselor. I try not to lie to my housemates all the time, only when necessary.

He simply shakes his head in response," Nah, this is one I have to deal with on my own," I sigh,

" Alright then, but keep my offer in mind. Just try to remember to see me before I go to bed, I'm...going to bed early tonight. I have something to do tommorow." He nods in understanding.

After we finish the dishes, we say our goodnights,

" I'll see you in the morning, (y/n)." I give one last fake smile,

" Same to you, Tom. Sleep well." I see him nod and walk down the hall as I close my door and lock it for the final time.

I walk into my bathroom and look into the mirror. All I see is a monstrosity of a person glaring back at me.

The bags under my eyes had only gotten worse after the sleepless nights I spent writing my suicide note.

I decided to skip reading over it one last time, I want nothing that could alter my decision at hand here. If I read my dying love letter that's written to Tom, I might stop myself in some kind of silly hope that everything could be okay again. It was too late for all that now.

So, I grabbed my blade that had served me well over the years, and stepped into the bathtub. I didn't cry, I didn't shake in fear of what I was about to do. I sadly smiled instead. As I took my hoodie off, revealing a tank top that no one knew I owned. I set my hoodie softly onto the floor, and turned on the hot water.

I took a deep breath in, and sigh, grabbing my blade and getting to work on my first artery. It took me a couple tries to find it.

But once I did, it started the red tint in the once clear bath water. I took in a shaky breath, adjusting to the dizziness of loosing so much blood so quickly.

At this point I couldn't even hear the bathwater running, everything was muffled.

I reached to turn it off, and a hand was placed onto mine. It takes me a good second to register that there was someone next to the tub, yelling my name right next to my face.

I try my best to focus on who could have caught me. Yet it's so difficult to take in my surroundings at this point.

So as I stare at the person beside my bathtub with fading eyes. I feel pressure on my wound, and see something being wrapped around it.

I start panicking, trying to say no, to let me die.

But I just can't. I just watch as my life is saved against my will.

Suddenly I can see that I'm moving, I can't figure out how until I notice the arms carrying me bridal style to a soft surface. That's when I lost consciousness for the next hour.

I didn't exactly 'wake up' more like fazed into existence. It's like I just gradually became aware of what was around me.

I became aware of the sobs coming from my bedside, and of the pressure squeezing my hand.

I forced my eyes open and tried to sit up. Yet I instantly regretted my decision, pain shot throughout my body. I glance over to my hand and up the....purple arm....

Who is this? Or perhaps I should say, what is this?

It's some kind of...monster? Hybrid? It looked kind of human... I could only see the torso and up. Even then, the arms grew bigger the farther down the arms stretched, and turned a deeper and deeper shade of purple. Horns poked out of the head laying slightly onto my shin, poking me a bit.

" Am-" I hold my throat. That hurt. I clear my throat of the mucus and start again as the unknown monster wakes up,

" Am I dead?"

The monsters head shoots up, and I can't help but recognize the 'eyes' that I've grown to love.

" T-Tom..."

He tries to smile for me, but it twists into a sad frown as his black orbs start to water,

" (Y/n)....(y/n) you're...y-you're okay! You're okay..." He said this over and over again as he cupped my cheeks with his transformed hands.

I grab onto his forearm to steady his shaking. This was starting to scare me.

I had never seen this man shed a tear in front of me, yet alone bawl into my shoulder like he was doing now,

" Tom, it's okay, I'm right here." I whispered this, and many other reassurances into his ear. Confirming to him that it was going to be okay and that, to my displeasure, I wasn't going anywhere.

He seemed to get angry after a few minutes, he ripped himself away from me and took hold of my shoulders,

" WHAT IF YOU WEREN'T RIGHT HERE? WHAT IF I HADN'T OF WALKED IN!! WHAT THEN HUH? YOU WOULDN'T BE RIGHT HERE!!! YOU'D BE GONE!! I would have...lost you..." He slid down the side of my bed as he finished his outburst. He sat crying into his knees.

I didn't know what to do. Is he mad at me? But despite the questions, I acted without thinking.

I began to run my fingers through his hair, almost brushing it. He seemed surprised at first, before he leaned into my touch.

" I'm sorry Tom. I didn't think it would effect you like this..." All was silent for a few moments. Until,

" Why..?" He sniffled a few times before I could respond.

" Why? Why what?" He looked up to me,

" Why would you try to leave me?" I couldn't even bring myself to say anything after that. Tom seemed to sense the frog in my throat, and continued,

" You don't realize, (y/n). You don't realize how special you are. To your family, your friends. I mean bloody hell (y/n)! What about us?! Edd would be heartbroken! And how are we supposed to explain something like that to Matt?" I avoided the possible eye contact and twidled my thumbs in my lap,

" What about me (y/n)? How am I supposed to go on living with myself if you, the love of my life, killed herself?" My mind went blank. He took my hand in between both of his,

" I know this isn't the greatest time for this, but if it'll boost your self esteem even a little bit, I don't care about embarrassing myself. (Y/n) (L/n), I am deeply in love with you, and have been since you moved in. I've loved you since you helped me to bed when I came in drunk all those years ago. I've loved you since you beat my Pac-Man score at the arcade, I acted so mad, but you were just so cute so excited like that... (Y/n)... Please let me help you love yourself by loving you..."

By the time he was done with his speech, I was in tears, a small frown on my face. He seemed to get the wrong idea as he instantly dropped my hand and got up,

" I got the message, I'll just uhm... I'll just g-" I grabbed his hoodie strings and pulled him in for a kiss.

We could both tell that there would be many more to come.

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I'm sorry if it's extremely long, I just love to write angst haha...

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peakyxtommy · 3 years

Text

Wonder - T.S.

Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Summary: Based around song Wonder by Shawn Mendes. Tommy wonders about his love for the reader and has to make a decision to confess or deny it.

Word Count: 2.7K

Warning: Angst, Sadness, Fluff

A/N: Enjoyed writing this. Ya Girl Snapped LOL Listen to Wonder b/c that song snaps.

Gif Credit: @myimaginesworld

I wonder if I'm being real

Do I speak my truth or do I filter how I feel?

I wonder, wouldn't it be nice

To live inside a world that isn't black and white?

His heart ached again in this lifetime. His heart has not ached this way in the longest of time, since he lost his first true love. It was a losing battle because the only thing that painted his mind was the scene of you crying last night in his office. He did what he did best which was push people away. It was a trait he had gotten good at from a young age. Thinking he was protecting himself but was really doing the opposite. Avoiding being vulnerable, the risk that comes with letting another person in. Letting them see the deepest roots of your soul. The actions of the past that caused trauma on the present. Wishing it all could be wiped away in the future.

He remembers the crack in your voice as the scene replays in his head. You came to his office, to be taken out to dinner as he had forgotten earlier in the week. When you show up to his office ready to be dined, you're met with the same old excuse again. That’s when your voices started out in a yelling match to now be in hushed whispers of the rarest parts of your mind, on display for the other.

“Do you even love me?” Your finger points accusingly at him as he stands tall with a small space between your two bodies, but the tension felt made that space feel like you were across the room. It was a question that broke his heart even more than the first time the words left your soft lips. The way your brow furrowed and the curvature of your lips frowned with deep sadness, he knew this wasn’t a game anymore.

“Why would you even ask that?” He questions in defense, not daring to meet your eyes, finding his reflection in his black shoes more interesting.

“Lately, I can feel the distance growing between us, like a ship lost at sea, that’s getting harder to reach. I know I told you how I felt, a few weeks back. I didn't need to hear you say it back but, since then, it’s like you’ve been avoiding me like the plague. It hurts.”

You whisper the last part so soft, he almost misses it. He hears it but the thought scares him. Makes him want to run even further away than when you first said it to him. He stares as you hold back the tears in your eyes, silently pleading for him to say something, to be brave enough to let you in. He remains silent.

“I love you Tommy, but I can’t keep doing this. It’s like lighting fires with matches, but it’s not catching with you. I keep leading myself into the flames, to keep on burning. It’s not enough to lose myself when you get to walk away fine, not broken hearted.”

“Then maybe you should go. Find someone that is good enough for you!” He screams, throwing the glass in his hand against the wall, watching as it shatters into small pieces. This was the last straw for you. You just shake your head in disappointment, as he tries to get the last word in.

As he watched you leave his office with the door slamming loudly, shaking the walls. He knew it was a mistake that he didn’t go after you or say the truth he felt in the deepest part of his being. So instead he sat in his office staring out the window nursing a bottle of whiskey and a pack of smokes, hoping it would take some of the pain away. It doesn’t but it at least numbs the thought of you in his heart and mind, at least for a little while.

Right before I close my eyes

The only thing that's on my mind

Been dreamin' that you feel it too

I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

He felt it felt deep inside his bones from the moment he met you. He couldn’t explain why when you talked to him it made everything feel different, feel new. He wondered about you. His mind couldn't stop traveling to the future. He let himself dream freely of loving you. He wanted to tell you the truth but he was afraid. You made him happy. You covered the deepest scars and wounds with your words. Words that spoke truth, spoke volume. You were sweet and kind, the almost exact opposite of him. You spoke with a smile on your face every time you graced him with your presence.

It had been three days since he last saw and heard from you. He didn’t blame you at all, he blamed himself. He knew the look on Polly’s face the second day meant she knew something was up and today she ripped him a new one as usual, but he couldn’t be bothered to listen to her reasoning, already knowing the truth. He wished the truth didn’t hurt, that denial could be easier but it wasn’t.

He spent his days forcing himself into work to not let his mind get too caught in silence because he couldn’t stop thinking about you and what you were doing in the small moments of your days away from him. It was only at night right before he closed his eyes he thought of you and him, the moments you shared together.

“Tommy what are you doing, put me down!” You laugh as he spins you around in his arms.

“I have good news, you’re the first I'm sharing with!” He says with a wide grin, as he places you back on the ground.

“What’s the good news Tommy?” You cheer, just as excited as him.

“I got the betting license needed and I'll be able to expand to own a club in London. My plan is working out great so far.”

“That’s excellent news Tom. I’m proud of you and know your family will be glad as well.”

“To celebrate, I got you something.” He pulls out a small black rectangle box placing it into your open palms. You open the box, to reveal a three stone diamond pendant necklace. It was the first of many moments where he would leave you speechless in a good way and gift you in a sweet way.

“Thank you so much Tommy. You didn’t have to do this. I should be the one surprising you with a gift. I love it so much, I'm never going to take this off. “ You kiss him sweetly and allow him to put it around your neck.

“You’re my girl, you’re a gift enough to me daily (Y/N).”

I wonder why I'm so afraid

Of saying something wrong, I never said I was a saint

“I love you Tommy.” You spoke the next morning naked limbs entangled in another as your forehead rested against his collar bones, fingers tracing circles into his milky skin. Those words had been on your mind a lot the past few weeks. You were afraid to say them, to leave yourself open to being hurt.

The closer you grew to him as staying the night more at his house and even slowly leaving a few of your things there. You knew it was him that made your heartbeat skip just a little faster and even when he made it angry or spark with fear due to his dangerous risk taking, he also calmed it like no other. Even though he wasn’t the best with words, when he spoke to you he tried his best and would say the words that seemed to soothe you back to peace. His actions of holding you closer at night or early in the morning or surprise gifts, made you believe it was all worth the risk of saying those three words. Three words that spoke volume, that could grow or crush you in the small fraction of a second. He was worth the risk.

When he heard you say those words, it’s like a knife pierced his heart. A heart that already knew death and heartache. A heart that was on the mend, but still wounded. The words you spoke stroked fear inside of him. A man able to strategize, control men, and kill his enemies was afraid to love. He didn’t want to mess this up or say something wrong, even in this moment.

Those words were real, the emotions were real, and that what was happening between the two of you was real. It wasn’t a game or dream, but a connection. A connection he didn’t want to end or break. He knew he wasn’t a saint and surely he was going to Hell, but with you in his arms, he felt whole, felt holy.

He did what he did best and shoved his emotions down. He didn’t say anything because he knew you weren’t expecting him too. The best he could do was offer a small smile and a peck on the lips as he held you closer to his chest, afraid that time and his feelings would catch up with him.

I wonder, when I cry into my hands

I'm conditioned to feel like it makes me less of a man

He wasn’t one for deep emotions, because it made him feel less than a man but with you he could be vulnerable. He could fully be himself and you drew that out of him slowly at first.

You tell he was angry by the slam of the front door, soon followed by the slam of his office door. Both shaking the house into silence and then the chatter continued like it was a normal occurrence. You knew not to bother him right now, deciding to let him cool down for a bit before going to see what was wrong.

You waited an hour before knocking, making your entrance known with a hot cup of tea and a plate of dinner on a tray. The scene in front of your eyes almost shocks you, but you handle it by addressing it head on.

“Tommy what’s wrong?” You speak in a soft whisper setting the tray on his desk, as he furiously wipes his wet eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine. It’s all fucking fine!” He huffs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to will the tears away. You take a sit across from him in the empty chair allowing him to have his space, never seeing him this upset before.

“Everything’s not fine. You’re angry and upset, upset enough that you’re crying. If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t force you. I’ll be here to listen.” You speak biting your lip out of nervousness of wondering if you pushed him too far.

“Men aren’t supposed to cry, crying is weak! It serves no purpose.” He swallows the last bit of the glass of whiskey he’s been nursing next to the half filled bottle. His eyes still don’t meet yours.

You finally come around to his chair to sit in his lap, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“That’s a lie because everyone cries. Crying isn’t weak, it’s a normal human emotion. It actually does you some good. I sometimes feel better after I cry and sometimes when I’m crying with the right person, it makes me feel even better than when I’m crying alone. I promise, I won’t think less of you if you cry. You don’t have to be strong all the time and hold all your emotions in. It’s okay to let it all out.”

You press a kiss to his forehead, knowing this man wouldn’t let you easily but you would open your arms wide enough to let him know you were a safe place, that you could be his safe place, his safe haven from all of the things going on in his world and mind. That much he appreciated and would hold on too, even if he couldn’t fully express himself emotionally yet.

And I wonder if someday you'll be by my side

And tell me that the world will end up alright

You were sitting in your living room reading when you heard a knock at the door. You move swiftly to see who it could be at this late hour, having a feeling but pushing it to the back of your mind. It was only a week since you last heard and saw of him. You brace yourself for when you open the door, to come in contact with his tall and pale figure, standing in your doorway. His blue eyes had bags underneath them and his face was stone cold.

“Can I please talk with you?” He asks.

“Now you have words to say, a week later. You seemed okay, not saying anything when we had words in your office!” You huff with anger, crossing your arms as you both stood in the doorway, cold air, nipping at you both, almost colder than the air between you two.

“It will only take two minutes. If you want me to go after that then I’ll leave. I promise.”

“Go on.”

“I’m sorry for being daft and hurting your feelings. It was wrong of me. I’ve only been avoiding you because I love you. I was afraid of letting you get close because I know I’m not good enough for you and that you can do better. I’m selfish because I want you to choose me even if I'm not the best option for you.

I’m plagued by darkness, but you’re the light that shines through. Even from the day we first met, I knew there was something special about you. I’m not ready to lose that, lose you, by letting fear control my heart. I will never be perfect, as good, and will always be in the head of danger, but I do promise to try my best to be the best I can be, if you will still have me? I really do love you (Y/N), even if it’s taken me this long to realize it.”

You can see the redness of his cheeks and the wetness pooling in his eyes as he makes his declaration to you. You can still feel that familiar sting of heartache from the week earlier, but you also feel the warmth of the love you have shared for him inside the depth of your inner being. There will never be love without heartache and making those hard decisions of staying or walking away.

“Tommy you’re enough for me. I see the darkness and the danger, but I see the good in you. You need to start seeing it as well. If I had to choose you over anyone else, I would choose you time and time again because I love you Thomas Shelby, and only you. You have my heart and you can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m still hurt by your words and actions, and if it happens I will leave. So don’t mess up. We’re a team and we both have things we can work on together because no one’s perfect.” You speak with seriousness in your tone but also warmth and love.

“Thank you.” Is all he speaks as his cold fingers find your cheeks and your ice lips touch soon becoming warm in his embrace. You let him into your home to warm up and have a cup of tea. Spending the remainder of the evening reading a poetry book you both enjoy, taking turns reading pages to each other, enjoying being in the embrace of another again.

I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

He no longer had to wonder about your love, finally allowing himself to fall into you. To trust you fully and to let the walls surrounding him and his heart come down, knowing you were going to be worth it.

Taglist:

@captivatedbycillianmurphy

#Peaky Blinders #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders preference #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #wonder #lyric imagine #peakyxtommy

175 notes · View notes

thatdoctorharvey · 3 years

Note

Flowers?

All I have to say is; I’m sorry.

Kudos to @soft-bois-make-me-simp for assisting with the idea. Don’t worry man, we can collab on another story!

Please listen to this while you read this!

There were only three times that Harvey would remember enjoying flowers. He usually wasn’t one for them, not because he was allergic or anything, he just didn’t find the reason to desire them.

Roses are red

The day he first knew he had feelings for you. He always said it was the best day of his life. He will never forget that day; the day you brought him wine on his birthday. You two had occasionally spoken from time to time, but it was really nothing super deep. You had opened up to him about a few things that you hadn’t told anyone else but not super personal. Mostly just little quirks you hated about yourself. He remembered blushing every time as everything you named seemed to be things he liked.

“So, how about a birthday dinner tonight Harv? I’m sure you can’t remember the last time you had a real meal.” You offered.

He was reluctant to answer at first, not wanting to be a bother, but he did hate his current diet and knew he needed to change it up a bit, even if his stomach might not agree with the sudden change from pre-packaged meals to home cooking.

“That...Sounds nice. Thank you.”

And boy was it nice. It was quite obvious you knew that he needed real food because you made more than enough for him just to make sure he had leftovers. He almost felt bad but you had insisted he needed it. You both knew it would be gone tomorrow. You secretly knew, he -- as a man -- had quite the appetite and had held back eating as much as he could with you around.

You left late that night, but left behind some flowers you had grown on the farm. They sat in a vase on the table, right next to his radio equipment.

“Feel free to get a hold of me if you need anything Harvey. Doctors deserve to be taken care of as well.”

Those words never left him. “Doctor’s deserve to be taken care of as well.” You cared about him and actually wanted to make sure he was doing okay. As suspected, you two grew closer after that. He started to become a lot more anxious but never made a move.

What if you only wanted to be friends? That would be super awkward…

Violets are blue

The day you gave him the bouquet, he cried. Never had he felt so relieved and excited at the same time. You like him. No, you loved him. You. The precious farmer.

“A-are you sure? I’m so much older a-and there’s so many oth-”

“Harvey. I’ve made my choice.” You kissed his cheek. “I don’t want anyone else. They just aren’t my type.”

Fifty shades of red his face was. There was no denying that for sure. He was a tomato and a strawberry at the same time.

He’s never hugged you so tight either. Even when you brought the pendant to him (he was more gentle then). He just wished the flowers in the bouquet didn’t wilt. Joys of having live flowers though.

That and every month, you brought him a new bouquet. Not the exact same one, but you had started growing flowers specifically to make bouquets on your monthly anniversaries.

My heart is dead

The bouquets continued, even after marriage. Now, you just added an extra day and made sure the bouquets on your wedding anniversary were extra colorful. It was how you showed him how much you loved him.

He adored this. A lot. It always made his day, even if the day was actual garbage. Coming home to you was always enough to make him happy, but coming home to a bouquet on the table, dinner being cooked, and the sound of you humming...Oh it just made his heart melt. Even after almost five years of it.

They always reminded him of the wedding -- the last time he recalled loving flowers. You had made sure your bouquet was the brightest thing in existence, jokingly saying you wanted the attention to be on that instead of your face. He still scolds you for that. Playfully of course.

I'm such a fool

He couldn’t recall when things started to go downhill. Things had been okay for so long that he didn’t see it at first. He knew you were busy so he never thought much of it when you would come home late.

Until you started coming home drunk.

There were times he would wonder where you were or why you were drinking...But for a while, he didn’t think to ask who you were drinking with. When he found out you and Shane had been growing closer, he got jealous. He knew you wouldn’t leave him, but the anxiety started to build. You were starting to pass out drunk on the way home or you and Shane would fall asleep at the bar.

Of course, he had to confront you about it. Not in a mean way, at least he thought he didn’t.

“It’s not okay for you to be doing that? Do you know how bad that is for you and how bad of an influence he is?”

Wrong answer.

“You don’t even know him. You just cared about making ends meet and didn’t really listen to him.”

Why did I fall for you?

He was grateful you had started to listen to him after that. You came home at night sober, but you began to distance yourself. In fact, you had begun to hang out with everyone but him. You stopped making the bouquets. You stopped giving him gifts. It soon came to a point where he felt like you wanted nothing to do with him. He felt empty and felt he had to make it up to you.

He messed up right? He could fix this...He had to.

I gave it all for you

Dinner every night was a pain, but he did it. He always made sure yours was hot, even when you came home at 1 am. He would be there, taking it out of the microwave. Dishes were always done. The house was always clean and very tidy. Farm was always taken care of. He really worked his ass off to make sure you were happy.

But it wasn’t enough.

You kept pushing yourself further and further from him. It eventually got to the point where you slept on the couch just to avoid him.

It was when he found the letter on your nightstand that he knew there was no fixing this.

So, knowing he wasn’t welcome, he packed his stuff and went back to his apartment above the clinic. Maru, who Harvey had been talking to about everything when things started to go south, helped him get settled back into his old home. She was the one who held him when he cried that night and she was the one who made sure he ate something before bed. She even told him to let her know if she needed to work more at the clinic, not wanting him to be pushed too much.

He was appreciative, but knew his work would be the only thing that would take his mind off of you.

Love around my neck starting to feel like the noose

The words lingered in his head for days. Every sentence filled him with hurt. What had he done wrong? Was he really that boring and unattractive? Should he have just given up at the beginning? Did you ever really love him?

Why did this happen to him?

He lost weight from his loss of appetite. He knew it was unhealthy, especially when people began to notice, but he always said he had started to work a bit harder to get physically fit and the results were starting to show. He didn’t want anyone to know how hurt he really was. Maru knew, and if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t have eaten.

He numbed himself to relationships of any kind. He once was very close with his patients, now he just saw them as his next visit. Even with Maru. He only saw her as an employee.

All of the lies starting to feel like the truth

He began to drink. He knew it would hurt him more, but his heart hurt all the time. He had no one to turn to when he really needed to talk, as everyone was asleep by then...But not you. You were always awake. He would hear you stumble out of the bar, laughing with at least one other person. You were drunk too, but you got to enjoy your time. He didn’t.

“Why me?”

At the end of the day, bitch, I'm not feeling you

After so long, he began to get used to the sound of you going home drunk. In fact, it worried him when you didn’t.

It started as just one night, no big deal. But then two...three...seven...twelve…

People began to look worried. No one had seen or heard from the town’s dear farmer in nearly two weeks.

The search parties started. Being himself, Harvey made sure to go. Yes, you hurt him, but by God what he would give for you to just run back into his arms and say how much you love him.

You playing with my heart, you made me look like a fool

He hated that he had been the one to find you. There was no doubt in his mind that you were gone; your skin a gray/blue color and flies around you. What killed you, he didn’t know. Only an autopsy would tell him.

At least until he further examined you.

A rather large wound on your abdomen. It was much too big to be treated on your own, but by the looks of it, you had tried to stitch it closed.

...You died because you refused to go to him for help and bled out...

This, a tragedy, it may end up on the news

The funeral was a sad one. It rained that day. Hard. Everyone in town was there too. Everyone. You had grown so close to everyone in your time away from Harvey. They all cared so much about you and our death hit hard.

It was also at the funeral where he realized how bad he had messed up. You hadn’t just been getting closer to Shane, you were getting closer to everyone. They all said a little bit of the stuff you did for them, mostly just helping out with tasks and small favors. You had started staying with Shane at the bar because he talked more when he was drunk and you had started getting drunk with him because it helped him open up. You were just trying to help him.

And Sam. You were helping him learn how to play cooler songs on the guitar and even showed him a couple cool tricks on the skateboard.

Abigail and Pierre had finally begun to form a bit of a stronger bond because you had been helping them talk through their differences.

You had been doing so much and he basically said you were cheating on him.

So, there he stood, watching the casket be lowered into the hole, and then buried. Many tears were shed. Many. Everyone knew the town wouldn’t be the same without you there. Especially Harvey.

At the end of the day, I don't wanna be with you

It rained today too.

“You still looked beautiful that day.” Harvey said softly, arranging the bouquet in his hand. All the flowers were brightly colored. Not as bright as you would have wished, but he was trying his best. “The flowers just enhanced your beauty.”

He stood in front of the tombstone, a large frown on his face. It had been even years since you had passed now, and he wasn’t doing any better. He still cried a lot, but now, it was more just a feeling. He couldn’t bring himself to get over you.

He slowly set the bouquet down against the silver tombstone, making sure you would be able to see it from the heavens.

“Happy Anniversary (y/n). I’m sorry I wasn’t a better husband to you and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to save you.” He slipped his glasses off his face and fell to his knees, letting the tears fall. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t believe you! I’m sorry I let my feelings take over! I’m sorry I couldn’t trust you! I love you so much!”

Loud sobs left his mouth, his tears blending with the rain as they fell to the ground. His heart, for the millionth time, shattered before him.

“Harvey?” A soft voice asked.

The doctor wiped his eyes and turned his head slightly. At this point, everyone had seen him like this. He didn’t care anymore.

It was none other than Abigail behind him, an umbrella above her head and a spare one at her side.

“Hey, it’s okay. We all miss her.” She said and handed him her spare umbrella. “We’re all worried about you too. You aren’t the same.” She sat beside him. “We all arranged something to help you. Come to the saloon so we can tell you, please.”

Harvey looked to Abigail, and then back to the bouquet. You wouldn't want him to be sad. You hated seeing him cry. Maybe this was a sign from you.

“...O-okay...Thank you...Just, give me another moment. I-I’ll be there.” He mumbled, trying to hold back sobs.

Abigail nodded and stood, letting him have a moment while she told everyone what was going on. Harvey sat there a moment longer, wiping his eyes to rid them of the tears. He sniffed once more before saying the same thing he did every year. The poem you had written for him. Part of it at least. It was a reminder to the both of you that he knew he messed up.

“Roses are red...Violets are blue...My heart is...is dead...I...I’m such a fool…”

The tears came back.

“I’m such a fool.”

#stardew valley harvey #harvey #harvey x reader #sdvharvey #stardew valley #harvey story #stv #angst

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fierypen37 · 3 years

Text

The Oasis: Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Woken the dragon. Vis had always said that growing up, whenever she annoyed him—which was often. Now, staring down the barrel of his silver revolver, Daenerys felt another dragon wake inside her. A wild thing of rage and betrayal, ready to burn all who stood in her way. For herself. For Jon.

Viserys’s features were a narrower, masculine echo of her own. The expression he wore was one she recognized, composed but triumphant. Daenerys didn’t dare break eye contact, but she felt Ramsay looming behind her. On the edges of her periphery, she saw the car lurch and one, two, three bodyguards emerge. Ramsay jabbed the back of her head with the gun.

“Kneel,” he said. Daenerys did so. The bumpy asphalt dug into her knees. Five armed men twice her size and all she had was a two-bit nail.

“Why?” she said, the word trembling in the air. Viserys’ face creased into a moue of displeasure.

“I didn’t want all this, Dany. But you refused to cooperate.”

“Cooperate? What in the seven hells are you talking about?”

“I thought you understood. The goal was to get it back, get everything back, no matter the cost!” Daenerys’ lips felt numb. She licked them, striving for patience, for calm. The tone she found was an old one, from when he would rage and throw things, railing at the unfairness of the world. A soothing medley.

“To get our home back. I know, Vis. There’s been government red tape around Dragonstone. You’ve been to the meetings. We’re working on it.”

Dragonstone was their home, that was the thing that unified the two of them—the last Targaryens against the world.

“But the Dragon is mine! My birthright! A throne not meant for a sniveling girl who couldn’t keep her legs closed.” Gods, he was beyond his usual self-absorbed bullshit. This was some god-level projection coupled with delusions of grandeur. Daenerys went cold. Just like Dad. Still, the fire in her belly pushed words out before she could stopper them.

“Dragon is mine, Vis. I built it. With my sweat and blood, I built it from the ground up. Breaking Chains as well.”

“Everything that is yours is also mine. I made you,” he hissed and prodded her forehead with the barrel of the gun, “If only you’d cooperated. Daario would--”

“What does Daario have to do with--” she began. Viserys slapped her so hard her cheek tingled and her ear rang.

With sudden blinding clarity, she understood. Viserys had taken loans from Stormcrow and had—she clenched her eyes shut at the fresh wave of betrayal. Two hot tears eked out. Daario had taken her as payment. Why else would Daario look so confused when she broke it off? Why else would Viserys demand she return to him, no matter the circumstances?

“You sold me.” Vis was unmoved.

“It worked out fine for you, didn’t it? You were even going to marry him. It was Daario who gave me the idea. He kept whining about the increased expense of your security detail after the death threats from the Harpies. They’re nothing but Ghiscari scum, they had no real power to make good on those threats.” Viserys’s lilac eyes took on a glazed, feverish shine.

“But then—ah ha!—think of the news coverage. The philanthropist CEO, Daenerys Targaryen, dedicated to bettering the downtrodden, slain by very villains she fought. So tragic. So cinematic. Dragon’s stock would go through the roof! Televise the funeral, rake in donations, weep a little for the cameras, and then . . . Dragon is mine and only mine. As it should be.” The tinny taste of blood leaked from the opened cut in her lip.

“You’re insane,” she whispered. Viserys’s eye twitched and he gestured. Ramsay hauled her up by her bound hands. Pain shrieked through her shoulders and she bit back a cry. Ramsay drew a long, wicked knife and set it at the base of her throat.

“Oh yes, sweetling. We’ll get to play,” he whispered in her ear. Viserys stalked closer, patting Daenerys’ cheek with deceptive gentleness.

“You made it very difficult for me. You and this Jon Snow. It was a stroke of luck Ramsay extracted the name out of that Lorathi woman before she died. Such a little slut, aren’t you? How long had you been fucking the masseuse? He trotted after his bitch like you were in heat. I staged it to echo Dad’s death. Dirty and pathetic in an alley. My origin story, right? After my sister, my only family, dies tragically, I take up the reins of the company. Then you thwarted me. I admit, the machine guns on Loom Street were a bit much, but I was just so angry. Selmy was a good man, I trusted him. I do regret that.”

“You shot him in the street like a godsdamned dog! He--” Ramsay grazed her throat suggestively with the knife and Daenerys swallowed her choler.

Viserys plunged on as if he hadn’t heard her. Perhaps he didn’t.

“And then poof--” he snapped his fingers, “you dropped off the face of the earth! It wasn’t until I found the footage. You and Snow were still together. You sunk your hooks in deep, you wicked girl. Still, it’s a big world, and Snow had connections to Stark wealth, nearly as prodigious and ancient as the Targaryen’s. Lucky for me, Ramsay is a northman too. Loathes the Starks.”

“Self-righteous cunts,” Ramsay agreed.

“He thought to look for something smaller, more remote. And there it is, plain as day on public record microfiche, a deed for a house billed to Eddard Stark—Jon Snow’s father.” Jon. Dead. Burned to ash. A fresh wave of grief buffeted her.

“Viserys, please,” she croaked, “I’ll step down. I’ll cede Dragon to you, I swear it. Just don’t do this.” He had the gall to look sad about it. He bent and kissed her forehead.

“I’m sorry, sweet sister. It has to be this way.”

Daenerys glared him down. She tucked the nail between her fingers. There was only one chance to use it. She dragged in a deep breath, her heartbeat thudding loud in her ears. Wait. Wait for the right moment. Viserys snapped his fingers, gesturing for one of the burly guards. Too much of a coward to pull the trigger himself. The shadow of a snake.

“You are no dragon,” she said, mutinous.

Bam!

Bam bam!

Daenerys blinked dumbly as one of the bodyguards crumpled, bleeding from behind the ear. Viserys was cursing and shouting, ducking behind the remaining two, who shot blindly into the thick woods surrounding the tarmac. The noise and smoke filled her senses. Shots went wild, cutting holes in the sedan like cheese. Shattered glass tinkled on the ground. Ramsay cursed. He dropped his knife to draw his gun, yanking her tight against him.

“You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?” he hissed in her ear. I wish. Even if there was a park ranger or police officer who happened by, they would have announced themselves. Her security team was hundreds of kilometers away. And Jon was—Daenerys bit her lip.

The gunfire ceased. Her ears rang from the noise. Daenerys craned her head to look for Viserys. She saw his expensive leather shoes beneath the shattered door of the car, cowering. Where were the guards?

“Got him, Boss!” a rough voice said. Him? Her mystery defender? Her knees gave out when the burly men emerged from the brush.

“Jon?”

Fuck. He was a fucking idiot. The calvary was on its way, all he had to do was stall. He could have picked off another one of the thick-necked fuckers, scared that chickenshit Viserys into spooking. On the other hand, seeing a gun pointed at his heart-and-fucking-soul made him a little twitchy. Jon had pushed the Old Bear’s beat-up truck to its limits to reach the airstrip, praying his hunch would pay off. And now all it did was get him a front-row seat to watching Dany die.

The hunting rifle jammed, but he’d broken one of the goon’s jaw for his trouble. The utility knife was rolled in his sock, not that it did him much good at the moment. Goons One and Two had his arms in a lock behind his back, dragging him down the shallow hill to the tarmac. Dany’s sobs tore already pulverized heart into tinier shreds.

“Jon, Jon, I thought you were dead!” she said, her voice thick with tears. Jon flicked his gaze over her from her braid to her ziptied wrists to her bare feet. A bit battered, but whole, still—thank the gods. He turned his baleful gaze on the source of their misery. Viserys—the skinny little fuck—sneered at Jon. What kind of sick fuck wanted to assassinate his own sister?

“The unkillable Jon Snow.” Starks are hard to kill, Dad always said.

“The chickenshit Viserys Targaryen,” Jon shot back. Viserys made a curt shooing gesture.

“Gods. Let’s get this over with before anything else goes wrong. It’s going to cost me a fortune to clean all this up.”

“Boss, can’t I just shave off a--” The bug-eyed fuck who held Dany brandished the knife, nicking the curve of her jaw. Dany gasped, and Jon saw red watching the blood seep from the cut.

“Come try and shave off a bit of me, you little shit!” Jon shouted, lunging. He made a show of thrashing around until Goon Two backhanded him hard. He tasted blood, his ear rang. Jon sagged in their grip, snagging the knife with his fingertips.

“Shut the fuck up!” Viserys bellowed, shocking them all into silence. He jabbed a finger at the bug-eyed fucker.

“Ramsay, we’ve been over this. If you’d pulled off the job like you were supposed to, my sweet sister would be yours to play with as long as you like. As it is, I need her dead. Now. We have a schedule to keep.”

“What about the boyfriend?” Goon One said. Viserys scowled.

“He’s a complication. If he’s here in one piece and armed, he’s called the authorities.” Jon allowed a grim smile. If they made it out of here, Viserys would spend the rest of his pathetic life staring at the walls of Iron Island Penitentiary.

“We better move fast,” Ramsay said gleefully. Viserys kicked aside the body of one of his guards, fishing a pistol from a pool of blood with a moue of distaste.

“Yes, exactly. Any last words, Daenerys?” he said. Daenerys looked at Jon and in her violet eyes, he saw everything he ever wanted. Home. Gods, she was so beautiful.

“I should have told you before. I love you,” she said.

And the world exploded.

“I love you.”

Daenerys slammed the nail up and back with all of her strength. It stuck and Ramsay’s shriek rang in her ear.

“You fucking bitch!”

Daenerys ducked down, scrambling away from a staggering Ramsay. Gods. She’d been lucky. Through the sieve of his clutching fingers, she saw the head of the nail stuck in Ramsay’s left eye. Blood and snot poured down his cheeks from his blinded eyes. A flurry of movement. Jon, struggling with the remaining bodyguards. Viserys advanced on her.

“Gods, you’re such a troublesome little cunt! I’ll be glad to be rid of you!” Spittle clung to his lips, his face an inhuman rictus of rage. Daenerys crawled back on her hands and bare feet, feeling the hot bite of the shattered glass.

“Vis, please!” Daenerys screwed her eyes shut.

The loud rapport of the gun.

Bam! Bam! Two shots. A heavy weight landing hard on her. Daenerys snapped her eyes open.

Jon.

Jon: between her and Viserys.

Jon: sticking a knife in Viserys. A struggle. Jon was stronger, skilled. He wrenched the gun away from Viserys. Snaked an arm around his neck, squeezing. Vis fell facefirst. She heard a crunch.

“Dany,” Jon wheezed.

Jon: bleeding.

“Gods, Jon. Jon, you’re shot,” she whispered, pressing at the sticky red spot growing on his chest, awkward with her hands still bound. His breath was wet, rasping.

“Dany.”

Daenerys cast a wild glance around. It looked like a battlefield with destroyed car, dead bodyguards, Ramsay writhing and cursing, Viserys in an awkward heap. And Jon, her hero, her love, bleeding in her arms. Blood made his shirt sticky, another wound in his thigh. No, no, no. She had nothing, nothing but her empty hands to help him.

“It’s ok, Jon. You’re going to be ok. You’re going to be fine,” she said, frantic. She’d seen the world without him. A bleak, lonely stretch of empty road. She couldn’t go back to that. Panic kept inching up her throat, strangling her. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks.

Daenerys looped her arms around his shoulders and heaved him up to rest on her knees. Jon grunted in pain, though his breathing was better. His beautiful eyes were dark with pain.

“Dany. Dany . . .” His brows puckered in a familiar intent scowl. She bent and rained kisses on his face, wishing there was more to do to help.

“Shh, don’t talk. Just focus on—”

“Dany, I love you. I was a . . . a coward before. I love you. Marry me.” There was barely enough breath to push the words out. A weak sob escaped her. Faintly, she heard the peal of a siren.

“Hold on, Jon. Help is coming! I love you, Jon. I love you. Hold on!”

He closed his eyes and Dany clutched him close.

#jonerys fanfiction #fp37fic #The Oasis #CEO!Dany #masseur!jon #tw violence

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shintorikhazumi · 3 years

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I Have Two Sisters?! Chapter 1: Three Sisters and The Bastard Father (An LWAxRWBYxStarira Crossover)

A/N: What’s crazier than me writing a crossover I can’t get out of my head at 2am while still having multiple wips?

Writing a three-way crossover until 3am!!! (Ended at nearly 5am tho)

GAHHHHH.

Btw, this is a non-magic au. So Diana has no magic, and Weiss has no… semblance. Yes. Because the world of RWBY always goes “???!! OHMG, magic?!” Quite ironically. They become impressed at people turning into birds, but never flinch at Ruby who can separate herself on a molecular level. Sure.

I’ll be updating this sporadically, tbh. The updates will be as random as the coming of this idea. I do like it a lot, so I look forward to working on it. Just have to prioritize the wips.

[DO CHECK OUT THE END NOTES FOR SOME OF THE AU DETAILS AND BACKGROUND]

Still, I couldn’t let the concept pass me by so…

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

I Have Two Sisters?! Chapter 1: Three Sisters and The Bastard Father

The wind blew strong outside, rain water cold against her bleeding cheek. The numbness was her only relief from pain nowadays. She’d lost count of how many bruises she’d gotten this week. If only her mother hadn’t passed… If only she hadn’t had a bastard of a father.

Then maybe Diana’s life would have been much better than the shell that it now was.

He left her and her mother just as she turned three, the only support she got in the form of random gifts and her financial needs. Her father was nothing of a father. The man that… helped make her was never there. He never showed he cared. Everything he gave her felt obligatory. She hated it. Heck, she didn’t even know his last name, much less remember what he looked like. She did try looking it up at some point, but it seemed as if he was some kind of bigshot she couldn’t name.

Neither her mom nor her aunt had divulged his identity, so she had long since drew a blank to the man’s identity. All she knew was that his name was ‘Jack’ or something of the sort. She had long since adopted her mother’s as it didn’t feel right to take the name of a man she never knew.

All she knew was that he was the cause of all her sorrows. That wretched man had left her and her mother to fend for themselves. Even though her mom was of a strong, well-known medical lineage here in Britain, the fact that she had gotten pregnant out of wedlock labelled her as a shame to the Cavendish name, and she had been cast out to a vacation home in the outskirts of the foreign country, Japan.

After her death, however, the women who Diana now saw as practically witches with how cruel and evil they were decided that because their blood ran through her, took over their small land that she and her mother had cried blood and tears to call their own, and exploited the underage girl, believing she might be of some use as a pawn at the very least, for the sake of the Cavendish name.

And she was. For some time, until she had injured her arm, and was no longer capable of becoming the kind of doctor they wanted her to be, her hand slowly losing its immaculate dexterity, becoming constantly shaky, rendering her as only half the worth she originally was, and thus completely useless besides being their punching bag. Quite literally.

Diana Cavendish found herself spending the better part of her life being abused, and hiding in tool sheds, and escaping her dreaded household at every waking moment, just as she was doing right now.

She hardly believed in any religion, but she found herself always praying to get away from this hellish nightmare. She’d hope that even if she only had a jerk of a father, he’d soon realize that she was his flesh and blood that needed saving.

A hard knock came on the wood of her shed’s door. She flinched, no sound escaping. Had they found her?!

“Miss Cavendish? Miss Diana Cavendish? Are you in here?” An unfamiliar voice called for her, bold and confident sounding, but with kindness and worry interlaced. She felt like it was someone she should respond to. The situation felt like it was some kind of divine calling she should answer.

With legs shaking, she stood up, unlatching the bar that held the door closed and stepping out into the now late night that reeked of hot pavement, rain having stopped while she was lost in thought.

A police officer, clad in uniform and raincoat smiled at her in pity. She was both grateful for- and hated- that gaze. She wished it had come sooner, but at the same time, she disliked being thought of as sad and pathetic.

“Your aunt and her family have been arrested, Miss.” Her ears perked up at the voice and the message they conveyed. Looking up from the ground, she stared into the truthful eyes of the cop. “You’re safe now.”

And she truly hoped she was.

//-//-//-//-//

“Weiss.”

At the mention of her name from that familiar voice, she rolled her eyes internally, holding in the urge to snap at the man she called ‘father’.

“What.”

Maybe her control wasn’t as good as she thought.

“Don’t give me that tone. I know you hate me, but I am still the one that raised you!”

“You mean, you’re the one that paid for me.” The ex-heiress pointed out. Her father gritted his teeth, frown deepening as he stepped forward in an attempt to exert his dominance.

Weiss only raised a brow in challenge.

“Anyway.” Jacques continued. Weiss would have smirked as he neither acknowledged nor denied her statement, but she felt it wasn’t the best time. “You are yet to turn twenty, and as you aren’t considered an adult yet-“

“But I’m nineteen, father.” Weiss stated, confused, her raised brow now raised in question. “I’m of legal age, to drink even.”

“Not in Japan you aren’t.” He replied with a smirk so evil, Weiss would have loved to slap it right off if her mind wasn’t thrown in a state of emergency, dreading whatever plans her father had. Even if she wanted to do as she pleased, she couldn’t completely go against him as she was at the moment. Their family name was too widespread and known in the business world, and she feared the consequences of running away from her father who currently had her safety- and practically her life- in the palm of his hand.

“What are you planning.” She narrowed her eyes at him, fearing for the worst, but expertly masking that fear.

“I’ll be sending you away, just as you’ve always wanted. I’ve prepared you an apartment close to a school of my choice to pursue the arts as you so strongly desired,” He spoke in a mocking tone. “And I’ll let you have your way there.” He ended with a smile that sent chills down Weiss’ spine. It sounded too good to be true, her dream being accepted like this. It was like a carrot on a stick being waved in front of her, only to always be out of reach.

“What’s the catch?”

“Catch? My, Weiss, my child, are you questioning your father’s benevolent heart?”

“What’s there to question?” Weiss shot back. “You don’t have one, now do you?”

She grinned at her little victory as she watched him gnashing his teeth, clearly seething in anger. Her smile dropped however as he gave her his own.

“I mentioned Japan’s legal age before.”

And Weiss already knew what he meant.

//-//-//-//-//

Life in Seishou had been the dream. Her first two years of high school were the peak of her life, she’d proudly say. She had wonderful friends and comrades who battled side-by-side, pushing one another to greater heights, and… she had someone she adored just a little more than friendship allowed. She had never admitted it, though. Then, a school back in Paris, the place where her mother had blossomed as an actress in the past, offered her a scholarship as an exchange student there.

And like she always did, Claudine excelled. So much so that multiple colleges offered her full rides to attend their institutions. Even highly prestigious universities. Her opportunities were broad, her future looking bright-

-And then news came. Her mother had fallen terminally ill.

She had to go back. She had to see her. She had to be by her side as long as possible.

She had to repay her for the love, for the dream she had given Claudine. She had to be the family her mother had been for her in the absence of a biological father she never knew, and the loss of her adoptive Japanese father at an early age. The lack of a male figure in their family was no cripple to Claudine, but she also missed the presence of the man she knew as her papa. She knew her maman missed him too.

So she had to do this for her mother.

She had to… in the event that… she’d lose her soon as well.

God forbid, Claudine prayed.

She had to return to Japan, study and… get a job, find some way to help her mother pay the increasingly expensive hospital bills, their little family’s saved money steadily disappearing.

She wondered if she should just drop school all together and apply for a troupe. Earn both money and experience.

She had enough rapport both in Japan and France. She could probably get enough opportunities, and she would succeed like she always had…

But…

There was something she wanted to see through, going into university.

When she left for Paris, she had gradually lost contact with all her friends, the culture slowly choking her time, eventually disconnecting them from her.

She’d receive and return the occasional message, but… things were different. She knew she’d drifted apart from everyone.

So, when she found out that they would all be attending the same Arts Institute, and when she had decided to return to Japan for her mother’s sake, she believed it wouldn’t all be that bad if she could apply for a scholarship to the same place, and possibly rebuild everything that was slowly crumbling away.

She wanted to be with everyone again.

And though she believed herself capable of attaining what she wanted on her own, she might require a little assistance from a miracle.

…

And a miracle- could she call this monstrosity of a situation that?- came in the form of a letter that had documents that signified she was the daughter of some ‘Jacques Schnee’ currently undergoing some sort of trial, and because of this, some of the accusations led to the revelation that he was neglecting a daughter, not sending support, and now as some form of bribery and compensation or whatever, he had paid the court to shut up about it if he took responsibility for her now.

Claudine scoffed in disbelief and utter disgust.

So this was her damned biological father? Some apparently bigtime tycoon who slept around and left a woman to fight for herself while carrying his- Claudine would suppose she was now an- illegitimate child.

This… was certainly news she’d never have expected in a million years.

She laughed mirthlessly at it all.

Well, at least her financial crisis had been averted. For better or for worse… she hoped it wasn’t the latter.

One upside was that she now had a clear ticket to that university she wanted to get into, it seemed. Her ‘father’ had taken the liberty of enrolling her there coincidentally. At least he could do something right, Claudine guessed.

“Well… I suppose it’s time to pack.” She sighed falling back onto her current apartment bed, staring at the ceiling.

It wasn’t so bad, maybe. Her newfound reality.

“Japan, I’m coming home to you.”

//-//-//-//-//

Diana glared at the letter in her hand angrily. There, in neat script, she saw the name of the man who had caused all her misfortune.

‘Jacques Schnee.’

“I want to hate you for as long as I live…” She gripped the paper so hard, creases were forming and the agent currently assigned to her worried she’d rip it into shreds. “What is this garbage? And why am I… Why can’t I… refuse… this ugly form salvation…” She choked on her sobs, a hand sympathetically rubbing her back.

“Let’s get you ready, Miss.”

Diana nodded in agreement.

-----

All her bags now in her hand after being dropped off by the cab driver, she stared in awe at the slightly modest, but clearly high-end house.

What the hell, did her dad just get her a house?!

Regardless of its size, couldn’t he have… like… gotten her an apartment or condo, at least?

How rich was this asshole father of hers? Was money the only good thing about him? Not that even that was necessarily a good thing.

With a groaning sigh, she unlatched the gate, walking up the little pathway. There were small flowerbeds already present around the yard, and decorations were tastefully placed.

It at least looked the part of cozy.

Once she got to the door, however, angry sounds coming from inside made her question that.

-Wait. This was her house, right?

Why would sounds be…

In a panic, she unlocked the front door with the key that came with the letter, bursting through it like a mad man, blue eyes flickering about the room, shocked to see two pairs of eyes, wide and intense, staring back at her with equal surprise.

“Who…”

“Oh, this is just great!!!” One with hair as white as snow exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in clear exasperation. “Now we have another one!” She began marching around the room, palms rubbing her face aggressively and scratching through her hair. “That little fuck-“

“-Language.”

“Shut up! I don’t even know who you are, and why you were in my house when I arrived. And you say you aren’t a burglar or whatever, but what is up with your sword play? Even if you were using the curtain pole. Are you some kind of spy or assassin the corporation has sent to finally get rid of me?”

“First of all, this is my house, not yours. And you came at me with a rapier!” A silver-gold blonde replied in equal stress. “You could have killed me!”

“I would never!” The first girl gasped with faux emotion. “At most, you’d lose an ear.”

“Umm…” Diana remained awkwardly fidgeting at the door, her usual bravery and confidence lost in the moment of shock.

“What.”

“I- I am simply here because… apparently my father purchased this place for me.”

Two pairs of eyes blinked once. Twice.

Then realization overtook them.

“Did you just say… father?” The golden-haired one stepped closer to her, a lot less hostile, but still aggressive looking.

“I- Um… yes?”

“Father… you say.” The lady with a rapier in her hand now approached Diana too.

These women were frightening, dear Lord. Diana slowly backed up, but stopped as her foot hit the bags she’d dropped in her frantic moments earlier.

“Can you tell me the name of this… ‘father’ of yours?” Rapier lady asked Diana who was beginning to wonder if she should look for a weapon to defend herself with.

“S-sure. His n-name is…”

“…”

“Is?”

“Fuck.”

Diana was not one to curse, but it surprised her that she did.

But she couldn’t help it, now could she? After all, her mind had been wiped clean as a white slate. A mental block was not what she needed right now, but just about anything involving that man seemed to bring about her misfortune.

At least the hands by which she’d die her early death were from very beautiful women it seemed.

She liked women, at least?

“Excuse me, um… are you alright?” Miss Golden hair was now very safe-looking and welcoming, Diana subconsciously stepped closer towards her.

“What is up with you? I just asked a question.”

“Perhaps, if you placed the sword down, and looked less like you were trying to murder her and look like you were willing to hear her out…”

Diana expected another heated retaliation, so it was a pleasant surprise to see the other woman sheath her weapon, and place it gently on a plastic-covered couch, clearly brand new.

“There. Happy?” She asked, glaring at the woman now gently holding Diana’s hand- and when had that happened?!

With a nod, the girl turned to Diana and asked again. “What is your father’s name. If you could tell us.”

Huh. She was a lot kinder than Diana had initially taken her for.

“I apologize. I can’t… remember at the moment. I- He hasn’t been around… for me until this point. I just… learned his name a few days ago but…” She hung her head in defeat, apologizing all the while. “Sorry I’m of no assistance to you…”

“No, it’s alright. Isn’t it?” The question was clearly not directed at her as she could only hear a grunt from the other side of the room.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Would your father’s name happen to be Jacques?”

At this, Diana lifted her head, another shocker delivered to her, hearing the familiar name, the cogs in her head clicking into place.

“Yes! Yes, that’s it! Jack, or Jacques or whatever. Snee? Shuni? Schee? I don’t quite remember, but something along those lines.” Diana found herself enthusiastic towards the prospect that some of her questions might be answered.

It seemed the other two shared the same sentiment.

“It’s Schnee.” The white-haired lady corrected, eyes furrowing, anger building up once more. “And… THAT BASTARD OLD MAN!” Grabbing her rapier she swung it around, probably to vent her anger. “He set me up! And what’s more…” She whipped her head about to carefully look the other two people over.

“What is it?” Diana said in a voice quite small.

“Seems he had big secrets to hide.” She sighed. Turning to the initial enemy she had, now turned… stranger? She wasn’t sure they were allies at this point, she stated rather than asked. “I guess it’s the same for you?”

The woman beside Diana nodded, expression looking a lot stiffer than her gentle demeanor as she dealt with Diana earlier.

“I see. I can’t believe this situation.”

“What do you me-“

A voice beside Diana delivered her fourth? Fifth? Sixth?- she’d lost count- Shocker of the day.

“Sisters. It seems we’re… sisters.” Turning to Diana, she held out a hand for a shake. “I’m Claudine.”

“I’m Weiss.” Was the grumble from the couch the woman had flopped on top of.

“…O-oh!” Breaking her stare from the hand, she looked into rose-red eyes. “And I’m-“

And the world suddenly turned black.

‘Hello, My Name is…

[Diana Cavendish]

[Weiss Schnee]

[Saijou Claudine]

-And it seems as though…

I have two sisters?!

A/N: If you’re asking, yes. Yes, Diana fainted.

Here are some details for this AU btw:

I’ve decided to make Jacques a half-Jap, half german.

So all of them have a quarter of that blood.

Diana is half brit, quarter jap, quarter german

Weiss is ¾ german because of her mom, and ¼ jap.

Claudine is half French, ¼ german, ¼ jap.

Also, if you want to know their ages, and their order, I decided it this way, and let me just quote how I typed it out in the raw idea draft.

“Diana April 30 16yro in anime 2017+3yrs (2020) she's 19 too omg jahahahaha (wrote this coz I’m currently 19 and was amused)

Clau august 1, 2001 19 at present

Weiss Currently 19 (in volumes 5-6) may 15th lmao hahsha. Perfect!!

Wtf Diana was the oldest? Hooo boi. I did expect and want Kuro to be youngest tho, tbh.”

Why their ages are pretty much the same will be mentioned next chap.

And that’s how it went. Decided with Weiss being the legitimate child coz Jacques was the only canonically mentioned dad between the three girls as far as I know. Or I just didn’t search enough.

But come on. I wouldn’t pass at the chance to beat up the dude in a fic so… hihi.

Feedback is super appreciated!

Thank you for reading!

~Shintori Khazumi

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hi-hey-haechan · 4 years

Text

Self-Harm ~ Mark Lee

Disclaimer: If you are in anyway uncomfortable or triggered by mentions of depression or self-harm, I wouldn’t suggest reading this. Also, this is NOT in any way, intended to romanticize mental illness or self-harm. Love is not a magical cure for either of these. This is not an unfamiliar topic for me. I may not be a professional, but if anyone ever needs to talk to someone, feel free to message me or leave an ask. I’ll help. Always.

Pairing: Mark Lee x reader

Genre: Angst, it’s very sad

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: Y/n, after trapped in a train of depressive, hopeless, worthless thoughts, attempts to escape her mind by hurting herself physically. However, later that day, her boyfriend Mark finds out.

Warnings: Mentions and description of self-harm and depression

The thoughts trickled in slowly, a small drizzle of negativity. A thought surfaced in your mind, and against your will, some part of you latched onto it. The painful words, images, and scenes in your mind became front and center in your brain. And that’s when the rainstorm came in. More negativity became to surround the central thought, every single word on the brink of your consciousness being a negative one. The rain poured down around you, driving you insane, everywhere you turned, being obscured by the rain, the pain within your mind, your soul. And just like that, you were drowning.

This pain ate away at you, toying with your sanity. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend what you were feeling. There was this pit in the middle of your chest, this dark, gaping hole of pain. It was as though every negative emotion you had ever experienced was screaming at you, horrible winds in your mental storm. You couldn’t understand if you were sad, angry, fearful, guilty, or resentful of yourself. Each of these emotions were ones that you felt with so much intensity, that they tangled together, becoming a giant ball of knots that you couldn’t take apart. You didn’t know what you were feeling. In your head, in your heart, you felt everything at once, the pain so blinding that it was numbing. You were so pained, to the point of numbness. The numbness ate a dark hole in your heart and created a lump in your throat.

This, of course, wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. You had dealt with this before. You dealt with it every day, in reality, some days more intense than others. There was comfort in your pain, at times. Worrying about something made you feel in control, as though your paranoia would prevent something from occurring. Happiness scared you. It was a fight with in your mind, these thoughts against your sanity. You’re fighting an internal battle, with no obvious point: the winner is already predetermined.

Mark’s positivity was a bright light in your life. His smile and laugh filled your heart, softening the tangle in the middle of your chest. Without realizing it, he was gentle with your feelings, his words to you therapeutic and warm. You wanted to be strong for him. Often times, you were: You held back your feelings when you needed to, and Mark’s arms were always there to embrace you when tears slipped down your face.

There were some days when you could hardly get out of bed. You dragged yourself through the endless cycle of days, a dark cloud hanging over your head. You wanted to get out. You needed out of your mind, and its dark thoughts that created a hurricane. You needed out of your body, which you loathed each time you looked in the mirror.

You cried. Of course, you did. What else could you do? When you felt enough intensity of one emotion, you managed to cry, your body wracking with sobs as searing-hot tears cut trails down your cheeks. You were a wreck, disgusted at yourself for crying over what you felt.

Then again, what did you feel? Worthlessness was prominent, for sure, side effects of dating an idol. He could have anyone in the world, but he chose you. This made you question why he would choose you. Mark could have chosen a girl with a different body type, and one in which she was fully secure. You felt he could have someone prettier, someone smarter and funnier and kinder and better. Despite his assurances of this being untrue, that he loved you with everything he had, you still felt this way. Your mind was trapped in this state.

At the same time, you were fearful. The weirdest phobias in the darkest parts of you were eating you alive, taking over your life slowly. At the same time, you lived in paranoia, always feeling unsafe and unprotected. You wanted to stop living every day in fear, but how could you, when it was a part of everything you did?

Did Mark make all of this go away? No, of course not. Not even close. Love wasn’t some magical cure for mental illness. However, his sweet ways of understanding you, and the way you smiled uncontrollably around him, most of the time, were what made the pain disappear for some time. Instead of pain being front and center in your mind, it would temporarily move to the back of it, giving you moments of peace. For some moments, your depression wasn’t always with you.

Depression. What an odd term. It was thrown around so much in society, commonized enough to be a simple emotion. It was used for attention, or even as an excuse for some actions. Depression was misunderstood, but those who didn’t understand it, still used the term without realizing its true meaning and power. This infuriated you. Depression was more than just temporary sadness. It was a dark cloud hanging over you 24/7, It was a mental illness that brought on feelings of constant hopelessness, helplessness, and worthlessness. This was something that impacted you day after day.

Mark knew about your depression, of course, and did everything in his power to help you. However, regarding your personal situation, he only knew as much as you told him, which really wasn’t much. Anything else he knew about it was based on his own observations. You constantly felt guilty, wondering if he wanted someone more mentally stable than you.

Thoughts built upon one another, one negative thought bringing on two new ones. Every depressing part of your life became front and center, forcing you to focus on pain, and pain only. You had to write up a report for work, but it remained half-written on your desk, the evils of your brain choosing to consume you instead.

You were desperate, in need of an escape. Everything was something you’d tried: stress eating, binge-watching Netflix or YouTube, reading, writing, sleeping...nothing worked. You were too far past that stage to even consider attempting one of those. It was impulsive, but you needed the escape. It felt like the only way.

Your safety pin was exactly where you had left it: Your bathroom cabinet, left in there just for emergencies: these kinds of emergencies. Settling yourself on the bathroom counter, you pulled off your socks -- thank goodness it was winter, so you had an excuse to wear socks, and you began to inflict pain upon yourself.

You scratched into your skin with the sharp, cold silver of the pin, seeing it flake away as the sting grew more prominent, moving the pin back and forth. The pain was a jolt in your entire being. You scratched the skin of your feet and ankles, for they were usually covered. What had once been skin were now small, angry lines, where blood had barely met the surface. They were painful. Hurting like hell, but were not enough to cause a large amount of blood, or mess, for that matter.

What did I just do? There was always that question after you’d attempted to reciprocate your mental pain with physical pain. Even if you cut, cut, and cut some more, it would never amount to the aching inside of your soul, brain, and heart.

Later that day, Mark had returned home. You two were changing for bed, and you slipped off your socks, having forgotten about the scratches on your feet and ankles from earlier (which hurt like hell whenever you put weight on that foot). You had grabbed your fuzzy socks and were changing into them, but you weren’t fast enough for Mark. Your seconds of forgetfulness lead to a consequence.

“Y/n?” Mark’s voice was small and quiet, sweet enough to almost move you to tears. He was looking right at your scratched-up foot.

You knew what he was looking at and referring to. Before he could say another word, you claimed, “It’s just from a cat in the park.” It was the first lie that came to mind.

“No, they aren’t.” His words were spoken plainly, without a doubt in his voice. He kneeled down and grabbed your foot, not daring to touch the cuts and hurt you further.

“Mark,” you said, your voice almost failing you, “stop.” It was a plea and an apology, broken with pain.

Your boyfriend stood up and sat on the bed next to you. “Why?” he inquired, and it sounded as though his voice had been ripped from his lungs, cracking in the process. Though you didn’t dare make eye contact with him, you knew he was crying.

“I’m sorry.” The words spilled from your lips as a whisper. A tear fell from your eye, landing on your hands, which had been balled up into fists on your lap. When Mark tried to grab your hand, you shrugged away his touch.

“You don’t need to apologize. You never need to apologize for being so hurt, that you do this to yourself.”

A sob escaped your throat, passing your lips against your will. You tipped your head down, trying to mask your cries, to no avail. Cries were ripped from your lungs, and you were blinded by the tears that continually welled up in your eyes, falling at a fast pace. A shattered “I’m sorry,” was all you could sob out, hardly able to breathe. This is me, you were kind of saying. This is broken Y/n.

Mark scrambled onto the bed and embraced your crumpled-over figure, which you couldn’t refuse. His body shook with silent cries against yours, and you hated yourself for this, for having broken him the way you did. “Y/n,” he sobbed out, and he sounded so broken that your heart shattered more. “My baby. Please,” His final word came out as a plead, and it spoke a thousand statements. It told you that he loved you. It told you that he was begging you to go to him, to confide in him, to let him help. It told you that he wanted this to stop, that he wanted you to be nothing but happy for the rest of your life.

Thousands of “I’m sorry”s came from your mouth, the utterance of your words barely audible, but Mark heard them perfectly.

“Why are you sorry? For feeling so low that you do this to yourself? That’s a cry for help. Why am I so stupid for only seeing this now?” He was blaming himself, and that broke you more, guilt becoming more prominent and lost in your tangle of feelings. You hated this. You hated that he saw you like this, weak and fragile, in your worst moments.

“I’m sorry that I’m not perfect for you--” you cried out, not in response to his words, but as a simple sentence that summed up everything you felt in that moment.

“You are! Y/n--” his voice cracked, “I’ll help. Let me fix you, please.”

“This thing,” you whispered, “the harm I inflict upon myself...it helps. It reanchors me. It’s an attempt to reciprocate my mental pain. But Mark, you can’t fix me. Nobody can.”

#nct angst #nct imagines #mark lee imagines #mark lee angst #mark lee #nct mark #nct #nct fanfiction #nct 127 #nct dream #nct u mark #nct u #nct dream imagines #nct dream angst #we_will_winwin

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peterthepark · 5 years

Text

Die For You

Billy Hargrove x Reader

Summary: You’d die for each other. Till the ends of the earth. He’d die for you. Till time stops. And you’d die for him.

Warnings: angst, some fluff, more angst than fluff, some smut, but just angst angst angst, also drugs and drinking?

A/N: Based off of the song, Die For You by The Weeknd. Enjoy! PSA: This work has some instances of a strained/struggling relationship, in no way am I glorifying that or meaning to offend anyone. Thanks.

His emotions are too extreme for a simple ‘I love you.’ He’s crazy about you, addicted to the simultaneous longing and hatred you project onto him; addicted to the way you make him miss you during lonely nights, where he is cold and despondent.

Billy doesn’t love you. No, that’s an understatement.

He would die for you.

His eyes study you from the opposite end of the room; your hips sway with the beat of the music. He’s smoking a cigarette, clouds of white blurring his vision. But his stare hasn’t left yours, never once breaking as he bites his lip at how you look tonight.

It’s when you run over to him after the song is over, the way he feels your nails graze over his neck, the bubbles of laughter leaving your throat, the hoarseness in your voice, he can’t get attached but he is. He recognizes the familiar glimmer in your eyes. Your pupils are blown with adrenaline. He can feel your pulse from a few inches away.

“Do you wanna go back to my place?”

He would die for you.

Billy’s breaths are hot against your skin. He’s sweating, hair damp as he thrusts into you for one final time. His grunts mix with your moans, pulling you down beside him.

“I love you.” You tell him, eyes watering with hope as you toy with the gold necklace that hangs from his neck. His room glows of red, lights flickering as you kiss the tattoo by his arm.

Billy doesn’t say it back. But he pulls you closer to him, staring up at the ceiling. He can see it in your eyes.

There’s a mixture of hatred and desperation in the minuscule specks around your irises. The vibrancy of color from earlier are gone, and he suddenly feels a pang of pain in his head.

“What are you thinking?” You ask, tugging at his necklace to pull him out of his trance. You sit up, putting all your weight on one hand as you bite your lip.

He looks at you, eyes skimming over the swell of your breasts and the red marks on your hips.

He laughs nervously. “You scare the shit out of me, Y/N. I’m - I don’t like feeling like this. Is it supposed to be like this?”

You can’t tell if he’s talking to you. Or if these are his thoughts, projected out loud. He isn’t looking at your eyes, and you’re hurt.

“Well, love is fucking scary, yeah?” Billy perks up at the choked crack in your voice.

No. You don’t get it. It’s something bigger than love.

There’s a void in his chest as you collect your things and disappear into the bathroom to dress.

“Billy, I need to leave.”

“Wait, Y/N. Hey, I’m sorry.”

He follows you out of the bedroom, pressing his head against the door to the bathroom. He kicks it out of frustration, pulling at his hair.

He listens to your sobs.

If only he could tell you.

He would die for you.

You’re drunk when he visits. Parents are nowhere to be seen, clothes and vinyl records thrown across the floor of your bedroom. He sees the framed picture of him, shattered but still hung.

You’re crying into his hair when you see him.

“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you, Billy.” You slur, stumbling out of his grip. He catches you before you tumble to the ground.

You’re a mess. He knows it’s his fault.

“Baby...” He starts, sitting with you. His hands are cupping your cheeks while he speaks. You’re numb. You can’t feel him. “What - what happened?”

“Am I worth it?”

“What?”

“To you, am I worth it?”

“Y/N, I’d die - you’re perfect.” He cracks a sad smile, thumbs swiping at the tears on your cheeks. “You’re worth everything to me.”

“Then why can’t you tell me you love me?” You lean into him. He can smell the alcohol as your lips brush against his. Your hands find his necklace once more. “Am I alone in this? Billy, do you want to break up?”

“You know I can’t walk away from you, angel.”

He would die for you.

He’s watching as you gaze out the window. His hands drum against the steering wheel, a smirk on his face as he speeds through the city.

The rain is hard against Billy’s windshield, water blocking his view. He pulls to a stop, turning on the wipers as he leans over to kiss you.

He knows he’s caught you by surprise, causing him to deepen the kiss. The car behind him honks, and you push him away playfully.

“Billy, go!” You laugh at him, glancing behind you.

“Kiss me back.”

“Isn’t this illegal? You have to go on green.”

It’s dark outside, and Billy is entranced with how the hues of the stoplight casts onto your profile. He shakes his head, smiling victoriously as he sees you glance at his lips.

“Pull over, B.” You whisper. And he does.

The car swerves into an empty parking lot by a gas station. Thunder booms over the sky.

“Now, are you gonna kiss me back?” He quirks a brow at you, hands scratching at the slight stubble on his jaw.

“Catch me first.”

His eyes widen as you run out of the car and into the pouring rain.

“Y/N! My car!” He groans as some drops of rain land on his seats, but he’s more worried that you’re outside. In the pouring fucking rain.

But he isn’t afraid to go out after you. You’re twirling around, hair dripping wet as you try to outrun Billy. There’s puddles everywhere, water splashing as your shoes hit the concrete.

You’re grinning as you see Billy gain up on you, then you’re laughing loudly as his arms encircle your waist. He lifts you up, spinning you around as he shakes his head at you. You kick softly at his legs, bumping your head against his in an effort to escape. Billy puts you down, soaking wet. His leather jacket glistens in the moonlight as drops of water roll down from the tips of his fingers.

You look like idiots.

Billy shuts his eyes as you pull him into you. His hair is in tangles as you course your hands through them. His lips mesh against yours. Your eyebrows are furrowed, ignoring the thunderous roars in the sky while the rain soaks you even more.

He pulls away with a cheeky smile.

He would die for you.

“Can we talk?”

Billy leans against his car, lighting a cigarette as you approach him. You’re in your pajamas.

He was supposed to take you on a date. Why aren’t you dressed?

“Are we not going on that date tonight?” He asks, taking a drag from the cigarette. He starts to get worried when you play with the hem of your jacket.

“No, I don’t think I can.” You clear your throat, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand. “But can we talk?”

“Yeah, let’s go inside.“ Billy pushes himself off of the hood of his car. But he pauses when you place your hands on his chest, stopping in his tracks.

“Out here. We need to talk out here.” You scoff at him. You haven’t looked at him once.

“Okay. Yeah. Uh, what is it?”

“I think we... I think we need a break.”

Your eyes are trained onto the ground. Billy drops the cigarette, eyes softening.

“What?”

A break?

“Yeah, I don’t think I - I can’t do this right now.”

“No, Y/N. What? What did I do? I can make it up. I promise. What do you need?” Billy tries to grab at your hands, but you pull away, holding it away from him. “I thought we were doing good.”

“Billy, this is too much for me.” You sigh, stepping back as he steps forward.

“Y/N. C’mon. This is crazy.”

“I need you to tell me that you love me. Right now.”

“Baby.”

“Billy?”

“I love you. Okay? There, I said it.” He huffs. His throat tightens and he’s trying extremely hard not to cry. His voice is soft, too soft.

You nod, swallowing. “I’ll see you around, Hargrove.”

He runs after you as you walk away.

Now he’s crying.

“You know I would do anything for you, angel. I love you, please! I would - I would die for you. Y/N. Please.”

“No, I died for you.” You snarl, beating at your chest with a fist. “I lost myself, waiting for you to tell me that you love me. You can’t tell a person that you love them when things are ending. That’s fucked.”

Billy has never seen you so angry.

That’s how he knows you’re right.

You did die for him a long time ago.

From then on, you never wished to see Billy again.

You never talked to him.

You never mentioned him.

You never looked for him.

Billy walks around the mall, hands in his pockets as he waits around for his sister Max to leave. His eyes never once glance up. He hears the giggles from groups of girls, pointing and whispering at him with lustful eyes.

He’s tired of it. None of them are someone he wants.

He bumps into someone, hearing them yelp. There’s a hope that courses through his body when he notices the color of the person’s hair, and the sound of their voice.

Billy finally looks up.

And still, it’s not you.

He quickly apologizes, flashing a polite smile before he continues walking.

His throat feels parched and his stomach grumbles at him angrily, so he drops into the nearest restaurant. Billy’s eyes dart around the room, bustling with people. He’s sat at the back of the restaurant, hidden in a small booth.

She’s not here.

Billy runs a hand down his face, before diving into the menu on the table.

“Hi, sir, what can I get you?”

He knows.

And so he looks up once more.

It’s as if everything around him stops.

It really is you. He can’t believe it.

Your jaw drops, the pen and paper in your hand falls to the tiled floor. You scramble to pick it up, but your hands get tangled with Billy’s as he tries to help.

“Are you - uh - I’m sorry - are you ready to order?”

He sees the flustered expression on your face. He’d seen it before: when you first saw him, when he introduced himself to you, when he first kissed you.

That’s when you really see how much he changed.

His hair is shorter and darker than before. His skin glows of a perfected tan. His arms are bigger, straining against the tight shirt he sports.

But his eyes.

His eyes.

Billy smiles at you, but it isn’t the same.

Then, you realize.

He died for you, too.

2K notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 3 years

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Tree House Kisses, Chapter 36 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Brand new content! Thank you so much to anyone following this reposting. We’re now caught up, and the idea is to post about a chapter a month until we’re done with the story. (Fingers crossed.) Please let us know if you have any requests!

Click here for previous chapters, or here to read on AO3. XOXO!

Chapter Summary: After the Spring musical forces Courtney and Adore back into each other's lives, Adore gets advice from a very unlikely source.

Chapter 36: Something Good

It was about 2 weeks into play practice for The Sound of Music when Courtney discovered her favorite place in school to make out with Roy: the backstage dressing rooms. She was sitting perched on the counter, Roy’s mouth trailing down her neck. Her hands moved to his waist, tugging on his fly.

Roy groaned slightly, then glanced around the dressing room, asking, “Aren’t you worried that someone might walk in?”

“Isn’t that part of the fun?” she replied with a wicked smile.

He grinned back, dimples deep in his cheeks, shaking his head. Now that the musical had begun, he was relieved, in a way, that there was finally an after-school activity that they could do together. Ever since she’d quit cheer in the Fall, it seemed to Roy that Courtney had been floundering. She wasn’t involved with any sports or clubs. He knew that a big part of it had to do with Adore. She was obviously still feeling depressed about their fractured friendship, which was understandable.

And Roy was happy to fill in the gaps, in theory. But as much as he loved Courtney, he worried that maybe she was putting too much pressure on their relationship. After all, he was just one person. One busy person. So the play gave them a chance to spend time together with more of a purpose. And even better, forced her to socialize with people besides him.

“It’s also slightly terrifying…” he said, gesturing to the door.

Courtney giggled, popping open the button and unzipping him slowly, lips brushing against his, tongue teasing. Roy knew that he shouldn’t let things go this far in public, at school. That this was just part of their game--the one where she was always pushing the envelope and he was responsible for setting the boundaries. But he was only human. Sometimes he didn’t want to be the one to stop things. Sometimes, he just wanted to enjoy himself.

“Fuck…” Roy’s fingers dug into her waist as her hands reached into his pants, heart pounding in his throat.

“Hey-oh dear god!” Jinkx stood in the doorway, a hand covering her eyes. “Uh, Leisl...we need you onstage…we’re about to work on Our Favorite Things.”

“Okay!” Courtney chirped, sliding off the counter, buttoning her top and giving Roy a chaste peck on the cheek.

“And uh…please take care of that...gross situation...” Jinkx made a vague gesture towards Roy’s crotch. “...before you come onstage?”

��Shit, sorry.”

“Good luck, Daddy,” Courtney sang, tossing Roy a kiss as she sailed out the door, leaving him reeling and dizzy.

The worst part about having to see Courtney all the time, for Adore, was how visibly okay she was.

Adore knew she shouldn’t be watching them. But somehow, she couldn’t help her eyes from drifting in their direction at lunch. Watching Courtney lean back, her fingers pressing into the grass. Her head fell backwards, elongating her neck and catching Roy’s attention.

Roy stared at her for a few moments, probably as transfixed as Adore as the sun highlighted Courtney’s angelic features. Adore watched as Roy reached over, slipping his finger under the chain of her necklace before leaning over, placing a soft kiss on Courtney's shoulder. Her glossy pink lips stretched into a wide smile, basking in his attention.

Wishing that she hadn’t seen such a small act of affection, something similar to sadness washed over Adore. Adore knew that Courtney missed her, in theory. She knew that cutting her off had upset her. But she also knew that, ultimately, she was fine. And that was the really gut-wrenching part.

Because Adore was not fine. As much as she tried to pretend sometimes, the loss of her best friend was like an open, gaping wound. She never forgot. She never moved on. She just went through her days feeling numb at best, and miserable at worst, and usually somewhere in the middle.

She had other friends. And she loved them. But Courtney had always brought a special kind of light into her life that no one else could. And the really sad thing was that for a long time, Adore genuinely believed that she’d done the same thing for Courtney.

But it was clear whenever she glimpsed her giggling at play practice, or fooling around with Roy on the grass at lunch, or even just walking through the halls—her light was still there. Adore’s absence hadn’t dimmed it at all.

Adore hated to even admit to herself how much it hurt, but there it was. The raw truth.

“Willam, stop!” Courtney tried to hold back her laughter and get him to focus on their choreography.

Willam was a clear example of how boys could get lead roles with two left feet, whereas she got scolded if she missed one step. They were trying to rehearse their dance during “16 Going On 17” and he was just not taking anything seriously. Partly because he’d been empowered by Mrs. Maguire to be a bit of a ham, when she told him, “I’m not saying you have to camp it up like Dan is doing, but don’t feel like you have to play him perfectly straight.”

Of course, Willam had taken that direction and ran with it, mincing about the stage and tossing imaginary hair. Still obviously a little bitter about getting passed over for the ‘Baroness in Drag’ role she’d given to Dan. In spite of everything though, Courtney was happy that they had so many scenes together. Yes, he could be a pain in the ass, but screwing around with him like two naughty children was just the perfect distraction for her.

Sometimes, as much as she loved Roy, the sympathy in his eyes when she got down was too much to bear. With Willam, there was none of that. They could laugh and have fun and be crazy and she never had to worry about him making her think about something deep. She never had to worry about him being tender or careful the way Roy was sometimes - the way even her mother had been since she’d confessed about her fight with Adore all those months ago. If she spaced out or got wistful, all Willam would do was punch her on the shoulder and tell her to stop being a moody cunt. It was refreshing and necessary.

“Okay, let’s try that again,” said Mrs. Maguire, gesturing for Thorgy to reset the music.

“Hey, Mrs. Maguire. I thought this scene would be kinkier. Weren’t Nazis really into like, BDSM and shit?”

Courtney let out a shrieking giggle, clapping her hand over her mouth.

“Willam, please try to focus on-”

“You’re thinking of Cabaret,” Jinkx answered from the front row, not even looking up from her script.

“Ohhh, bummer.”

“How about a spanking?” Courtney asked gleefully, bouncing around the stage on the balls of her feet. “I mean, he fully deserves it. Both Willam and Rolf.” She gave him a good smack on the ass to emphasize her point, spirits high, an almost manic gleam in her eye.

“Guys-” Mrs. Maguire was starting to look a bit irritated.

“Oh no, I’ve been a bad little Nazi,” Willam said, bending over, putting a finger in his mouth. Courtney giggled harder and slapped his ass again, harder this time.

“What in the actual FUCK?” Bob said, darting out from behind the wings.

Courtney and Willam both whirled around to face him.

“Guys. Please pay attention-” Mrs. Maguire began, but Bob cut her off.

“No, I’m sorry, are these two blonde, blue-eyed, devil fuckheads trivializing white supremacy right now?” he yelled. “Actually, no, worse, they are fucking fetishizing white supremacy. What the fuck?!”

Courtney’s eyes went wide in alarm.

“I’m sorry, Bob,” she said immediately, hitting Willam in the shoulder. This was all his fault, after all.

“Yeah, sorry,” he echoed, “But my character just really likes a spanking-”

“Bill!” Courtney exclaimed, hitting him again. “Bob, I really am sorry. That was dumb.”

“You’re damn right it was!” Bob said. “Now, I want you to apologize to everyone here! Including your Mexican boyfriend!” He pointed at Roy.

“I’m sor-”

“I’m not Mexican, Bob,” Roy called up from the audience.

“Stepping on my motherfucking point, Del Rio!” Bob yelled back.

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean it that way,” Courtney said, heart pounding with embarrassment and fear. Bob hardly ever got angry like that. What if he stayed mad? What if she lost him? What if she lost April, too? Tears pricked at her eyes. Why was she so stupid? “That was insensitive; we won’t do it again, I-”

“Good!”

Bob began to march offstage, and Courtney swallowed, regret swirling in her chest, cheeks still hot with shame. What the fuck was wrong with her? Why did she let Willam rope her into that whole thing?

“Leisl! Rolf! Can we get back to your number?!” Mrs. Maguire asked.

“Yes, sorry!"

Courtney rang Bob’s doorbell and bit her lip, clutching the pink bakery box in her hands.

“Hey…” Bob opened the door, looking her up and down with a slightly confused expression. “What’s up?”

“Um...April said that the apple fritters from Hal’s Donuts are your favorite.” She held out the box, which he took from her skeptically.

“They are…but why?”

“I just felt bad. About the thing with Willam earlier.” Courtney shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh.” Bob sighed. “Well, you should. I mean...I think it’s okay that you feel bad.”

Courtney nodded, swallowing down a lump in her throat.

“I wanted to tell you that I really care about you, and I’m sorry, and if I can make it better-”

“Court, this isn’t about me and you. You know? It’s just like...sometimes it’s really exhausting how much racism and bigotry is just everywhere, all the time, even in a stupid school musical,” Bob said.

“Yeah. I get it. I mean...I think I get it.”

Bob smiled ruefully, holding up the box. “But I do appreciate the reparations.”

“Anytime,” Courtney said, grinning back at him.

“Just want to make sure...you’re not hitting on me right now, are you?”

“No!” Courtney glared at him. “Come on!”

“Okay, okay, just checking,” he laughed.

Adore sat in the back of the theatre, trying to get some of her most annoying homework done while the Von Trapp children rehearsed “So Long, Farewell” onstage.

“I’d like to stay, and taste my first champagne-”

“Courtney!” Mrs. Maguire cut in. “Can you please do the champagne line in a less sexual way? Remember that he’s your dad in this show, not your boyfriend.”

“But I love my Daddy,” Courtney simpered, fluttering her lashes and making the other Von Trapp children titter with laughter.

“Stop it,” Roy said, trying to suppress his grin.

“Courtney, look at it this way. It would be a real problem if Captain Von Trapp got a boner on stage. Especially while his kids are singing,” explained Mrs. Maguire, increasing the giggling from the peanut gallery.

“Yeah, a real problem!” Roy echoed.

“Sorry Daddy!” Courtney sang, skipping back to her place in line.

“Dude…” Bob’s voice carried further than he intended through the theatre, catching Adore’s attention as he thumped Jamin on the shoulder. “Did you see that?”

Adore tilted her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as if she actually needed any help hearing Bob. He was only a few rows away, and even though he seemed to think he was being quiet, his big mouth was 100% audible to anyone in the vicinity.

“Courtney? Is a total fucking nympho,” Bob continued.

“A nympho?!” Jamin repeated, tossing his head back to let out a loud cackle, earning a few looks, but ultimately ignored.

“No, really?” Thorgy gasped at the idea, blinking at Bob in disbelief through thick glasses.

“Yeah, I’m telling you!” Bob insisted, snickering. “Roy says that she used to be kind of a prude, but now she cannot get enough. She just wants his dick like, all the time. Everywhere. I think he used the word ‘insatiable.’”

“Attagirl!” Willam said.

Anger started to find its way into Adore’s veins; the natural instinct to defend and protect Courtney regardless of them not being on good terms poked at Adore like a hot spike.

“Poor guy, he’s exhausted,” Bob said, laughing some more, and Adore slammed her binder shut, immediately grabbing her stuff and racing outside.

Something about that conversation made her feel embarrassed and angry, almost vengefully so. How dare they talk about Courtney that way? Sure, she had her faults, but hearing them laugh about her was so vile, so utterly boy. So wrong. And Adore knew exactly who to blame.

The sound was a cross between a thump and a click, and it caused Roy to look up from his desk, confused. It was after the second one when he realized that something was hitting his window. He crossed the bedroom and lifted it, surprised to see Adore standing there, several pinecones in her hands, about to hurl another one.

“Uh...hi?”

“Come outside!” she demanded.

“Why didn’t you just use the doorbell like a normal person?” Roy asked.

“Why don’t you stop asking pussy-ass questions and get out here?”

Roy rolled his eyes. Obviously, she was in some kind of mood. (What else was new?) He decided to follow the path of least resistance and just do what she wanted.

“I’ll be right down.”

She was pacing around the driveway when he stepped outside, practically wearing a hole in the pavement.

“Hey. Are you alright? What’s-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Adore exploded. “Why are you such an asshole?”

“Uh…” Roy wasn’t sure what this tantrum was about, so he decided to diffuse the situation with some humor. “Well...my parents are both assholes...and then they fucked, and…” He held up his hands as if to say ‘Ta da!’

“That is so not funny,” she said, turning on her heel and sitting down on the curb.

“Listen. I’m sure I deserve all this wrath, but I don’t actually know where it’s coming from. Care to enlighten me?” He walked over and sat down beside her. Just far enough that he’d have time to run away if she took a swing at him. Which wasn’t entirely out of the question.

Adore groaned before speaking.

“Bob is going around talking about how...how you told him that Courtney used to be a prude but now she’s a nymphowho can’t get enough of your stupid dick. It’s gross.”

Roy began to laugh, and only stopped when he saw the expression on Adore’s face grow even angrier, cheeks darkening.

“I...Adore, come on. I never said that.”

“Well, Bob says you did!”

“Well, Bob makes up a lot of shit! Who believes Bob?! And who knows why he said it?” Roy said, suppressing another laugh. He knew why, if he was honest. He’d been telling his friend about how extra needy Courtney had been lately, and he may have left out the part about how sad she was and exaggerated the sex part...just a little bit. That was harmless, right?

“People believed him!” Adore insisted, tears pricking her eyes. “And you need to put an end to it, or you’re just as guilty as him! If you really cared about her, you wouldn’t want people saying that shit.”

“I don’t really think Courtney would be-” Roy paused mid-sentence, remembering who he was talking to. Who the hell was Adore Delano to lecture him about this? If he really cared? He had given her the benefit of the doubt, seeing how upset she was, but now he was pissed. “Why do you care, anyway?” he asked. “You’re not even friends with her anymore.”

Adore��s face crumbled, tears filling her eyes, a hand covering her mouth. Roy suddenly felt overwhelmingly, unjustifiably guilty.

“Hey...come on…” he began, and then reached out to give her an awkward hug. “It’s...it’s all gonna be okay.”

“It won’t,” Adore sobbed.

“Sure it will,” he insisted.

“I didn't mean-“ Adore hiccupped, “-for it to go on...so long.”

“Okay so...end it. You’re the only one who can.”

“But what am I supposed to say? How will I explain?” Adore buried her face in her hands, Roy’s own hands hesitantly patting her back.

“It doesn’t matter what you say, Dory. She won’t give a shit,” Roy sighed. Was he really going to be the one to fix this friendship, after everything that happened? Apparently, yes. What a chump. “She really misses you, you know. She still wears that stupid bracelet every day.”

“I know,” Adore said, voice breaking.

“And she still...you know, she thinks that any day, you’re just gonna magically be friends again. You know how many times she’s said like…‘Roy, she’s not gonna possibly be mad at me on Halloween...She can’t hate me on Christmas...Roy, it’s my birthday, she’s gonna call me.’”

Adore closed her eyes, gulping for breath, too upset even to make fun of Roy’s terrible impression--he sounded more like a low-rent Marilyn Monroe impersonator than Courtney.

“Are you trying to make me feel worse?”

“No, I’m trying to say...whenever you decide that enough is enough...she’ll be ready. She won’t care. She won’t need an explanation. She’ll just be...so happy.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Roy looked at her curiously, wondering if she knew how much he knew.

“Why wouldn’t I tell you? It’s the truth.”

“Yeah but…” Adore sniffled, wiping her face on her flannel shirt. “I know you hate me. I figured you’d be happy to be rid of me.”

“I don’t hate you. You hate me,” Roy explained slowly.

“I do not. I just...you know, you’re like that one obnoxious, know-it-all cousin that we all have.”

Roy frowned, brows furrowed.

“I don’t have a cousin like that.”

“Right, because you are that cousin, dork,” Adore laughed through her tears, shaking her head.

“Oh.” Roy paused, tilting his head. “Why do you think I hate you?”

Adore shrugged.

“I’ve never hated you. And...even if I did, I’d still want you to make up with Courtney, because I love her, and she loves you. And I want her to be happy.”

“What a hero,” Adore said, rolling her eyes.

“Look...I’ll tell Bob to knock it off with the nympho comments, okay?”

“Okay.” Adore sighed, wiping her eyes again. “Thanks.”

“Sure. You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah…” She swallowed, looking away, suddenly a little embarrassed about losing it and crying all over Roy, of all people. “Why do you have a basketball hoop, anyway? You're three feet tall and you suck at sports.”

“First of all. I'm 5’9” - a totally reasonable height. And second...it's Vanessa’s.”

Adore chuckled, looking back down at the ground. She knew what she had to do now, but she wasn’t sure how.

Pearl’s pencil moved in quick light strokes across the page, filling in the lines on a weed bouquet, with rolling paper for stems and nugs as petals. The cold frame of Violet’s bed continuously pressing into her back from Violet’s constant shifting above made it a less than comfortable position for her, but Pearl was content. Because honestly, no matter how sarcastic, bitchy or self-centered Violet could be, Pearl always jumped at the chance to hang with her; especially when it was just the two of them.

“Ugh, can you believe this. ‘Who Wore it Best?’” Pearl was suddenly engulfed in the aroma of lemon and berries as her sketchbook was replaced with a magazine and Violet’s long dark hair brushed against her face, tickling her nose.

“I mean obviously, none of them. That dress is sooo, fucking ugly.” Violet scoffed. “I mean, nothing. Nothing. Can save that dress. Those pumps on Jessica are really cute though.” Violet’s red fingernail dragged across the page.

She then snorted before the magazine disappeared and she shuffled back to her position on the bed, tucking a pillow under her chest to get comfortable again.

When it was just the two of them, things were different. Violet would never admit it but she was much different outside of school, outside of being surrounded by tons of people she didn't like. She was softer, sillier and more enjoyable. Pearl suspected it was because Violet felt like she had to keep her guard up at school. Like she had to keep everyone at a fair distance so that no one would ever have the upper hand on her--or maybe it was because she was a Gemini and just a crazy bitch. But either way, Pearl liked it.

The blonde smiled to herself before setting her sketchbook aside and climbing onto the bed beside Violet. “Let me see.”

“I know!” Courtney exclaimed, as Jinkx laughed beside her, “That’s why I always ask him to-”

She stopped speaking suddenly, pulse racing. Adore was standing behind Jinkx, waiting for her cue, and around her neck was something Courtney hadn’t seen since wrapping it in September--the choker that she’d given Adore for her birthday. She’d long ago accepted that Adore might have just tossed it in the trash, or donated it to Goodwill. But she’d kept it.

For the first time in so long, Courtney felt a surge of hope, overcome with so much joy that tears stung her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Jinkx asked, placing a hand on her arm.

“Yeah…” Courtney watched Adore carefully as she turned to answer a question from Willam. Had she noticed Courtney? Had she noticed that Courtney noticed her? Courtney turned back to Jinkx. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Courtney stood in the wings, watching the little exchange between Willam and Roy in the “graveyard,” laughing to herself. If Mrs. Maguire thought that her flirting was bad, she should take a second look at Willam. Courtney glanced around to see if anyone else was enjoying their scene as much as her, when she spotted Adore. She waited for Adore to look up and catch her eye.

Adore gave her the slightest little nod, her first sign of civility since the Fall. Courtney’s heart soared. What should she do? Somehow, as much as she wanted to fling herself into Adore’s arms and sob her eyes out, she knew that it would be the wrong move.

So she bit her lip, making a slight motion towards the stage to beckon Adore over.

“Willam’s fucking with Roy. It’s totally making him squirm,” she explained in a soft whisper.

Adore chuckled a bit, standing closer to get a look at them.

On stage, Roy grasped Willam by the shoulders and hissed his line in a stage whisper.

“Come away with us!”

Willam waited a beat. But instead of reaching for his whistle like he was supposed to, he collapsed in Roy’s arms, crooning, “Yaaas, Daddy!”

“You ass,” Roy pushed him off.

Courtney turned to Adore, giggling, glad to see her laughing too, searching awkwardly for something to say. She reached out and touched the veil of her habit.

“I can’t believe you’re playing a nun.”

“Apparently, a lot of nuns were gay. No men to answer to, just women, don’t have to marry some douchey old asshole. Lesbian havens.”

“Wow. Cool.” Courtney nodded. “Sounds like cheer camp.”

Adore stared at her, blinking.

“Huh...I never realized how gay cheerleading was…”

“Oh yeah. Super gay. You should have joined in with me. You’d have cleaned up,” Courtney finished with a sly smile.

“Yeah,” Adore snickered. “Too bad I can’t dance.”

“That doesn’t matter. I can’t dance.”

“Shut up, yes you can.”

“No, I can learn choreography. But according to Alyssa, I had no rhythm,” Courtney explained.

“Yeah, well...Alyssa is a twat.”

“True,” Courtney laughed. She caught Adore’s eye again, grinning at her. And when Adore smiled back, she really did feel like she might break down in tears.

So she looked away, swallowing hard, dared to reach out her hand towards Adore. When Adore allowed her to link their pinkies together, her breath hitched in relief. Even better, Adore took a small step closer to her, allowing Courtney to rest a head on her shoulder.

They probably had a lot to talk about. And it was possible that things wouldn’t ever truly be the same as they were before. But for now, in this moment, Courtney felt like everything was exactly perfect.

Spring had brought more than blossoming flowers—and “pollen,” as Violet constantly whined about—for Adore. That dark cloud that had been hovering over Adore for so many months had finally vanished. The light in her eyes and the genuine laughter that fell from her lips was a breath of fresh air for everyone, but mostly herself.

She had been in such a good mood, she even volunteered to join Violet and Fame for a sleepover.

And now, Violet, Fame and Adore found themselves in the battle of the bored-est; Fame was stuck in a cycle of indecisiveness as she changed around her MySpace theme for the fourth time that evening; Violet was surrounded with a mess of old clothes from her closet on the floor; and Adore, well she was stuffing her face with pizza as waited for Courtney to text her back.

It felt as if things had never changed as Courtney was complaining about her grandmother, who Adore wasn’t too happy to hear had moved in. It had actually come as a shock to Adore. Yes, she noticed Muriel around more often in the neighborhood, but Adore never would have thought that she’d move in.

If only Adore could have been there for that conversation between Courtney and Karen.

Adore knew that it would be the thing she would always regret the most about pushing Courtney away--all the time and moments she should have been there and she wasn’t. The stories she could have been a part of, but now would only hear secondhand, through Courtney’s animated storytelling.

Adore willed away regretful tears before they came. There was no reason to shed sad tears now. She and Courtney were in a better place now.

Maybe, with time, they could even be better than before.

“Ugh, no. I can’t do this!” Violet suddenly announced, crumpling up a blouse and tossing it across the room in frustration.

Adore arched an eyebrow, waiting for Violet to elaborate.

“What’s wrong?” Fame asked, only glancing over at Violet, who was now sitting with her arms crossed, a pout forming on her lips.

“Wassup, Vi? Can’t find your favorite skirt?” Adore joked.

“Shut up!” Violet snapped, “No, I-I’m just… I need a break. I’ve been conceptualizing this dress for nearly two weeks now. And I don’t even like the fabrics together. I mean they’re sooo, fu-cking tacky.” Violet emphasized her point by tossing clothes in the air around her.

“Yeah, and I can not with this theme. I really wanted a theme that would incorporate everything that I am.” Fame pushed her desk chair away from Violet’s computer.

“I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. You had one of the cutest themes in school,” Adore tried to reassure Fame.

“Yeah, but it didn't say ‘FAME!’' she threw her hands up giving her best spirit fingers. “When someone clicks on my page they should instantly know ‘this girl is not like the rest.’”

“Why don't you just, put some pictures of a chicken as your background, and I’m sure we can find an audio of chickens clucking on the internet and call it a day. I mean everyone will definitely know ‘this girl is not like the rest,’” Violet suggested, causing Adore to choke out a laugh.

“I’m not sure whether to be insulted or… because that was actually a pretty good idea-”

Fame’s answer was followed by Violet’s famous screech of, “Hell no!.

“What?” Fame questioned.

“You’re an idiot,” Violet shook her head, climbing on her bed and settling beside Adore. “Do not put chickens as your background and please do not even think about an audio of chickens clucking, because I will never visit your page ever again.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Fame rolled her eyes, before focusing on Adore. “What do you think?”

“I wanna dye my hair,” Adore responded, gladly leaving the chicken conversation behind.

“Wait, huh?”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Adore sat up, tucking her feet under herself. “I think it's time for a change.” She gestured to the two-toned black to a faded blue greyish hair upon her head, the turquoise dye from the summer almost completely gone.

“Wh-” but before Fame could even finish her sentence, Violet let out something between a squeal and a roar of excitement, shocking the other two girls, as she bounded off the bed and started digging through her closet.

“Fame, come on, put on your shoes. We have to do this before she changes her mind. I mean, I had planned to just cut all her hair off tonight in her sleep, but this is so much better!”

“Wait, what?! OUCH!” Adore tumbled off the bed, trying to untangle her legs from beneath her.

By the time she was right side up, Violet and Fame already had their jackets and shoes on their feet.

“You wanted to cut my hair?”

“Adore, only in theory,” Fame tried to reassure her, “now put on your shoes and let's go.”

Adore swatted her hand away, “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“No, but neither did you. You were the one walking around here like some kind of dehydrated smurf, these last few months, so let's go.”

Violet began to pull Adore out of the room before she could even get her shoes on.

“Ugh, I don’t even know why you let it get this far.” Violet shook her head, whipping the dye together in the bowl.

“Tell me about it...” Fame’s disappointed tone made Adore smile. “The blue was fading three months ago. Violet, I told her to let me handle it back then.”

“She doesn’t listen.” Violet rolled her eyes as Fame draped an old towel around Adore’s shoulders.

But in spite of being the object of their derision, Adore felt amazing. In the drug store earlier, she’d chosen a bright, fiery, cherry-red. It would be glorious, a real statement--and it wouldn’t interfere with the play, since she’d be wearing a nun habit the whole time anyway. She was practically bouncing as she sat on the toilet seat in Violet’s small bathroom.

“You both just need to focus on not fucking my hair up. Because if I end up bald because of you two, I’m ready to fight,” Adore joked.

“We know what we’re doing,” Violet reassured her.

“Honestly, all this kinda makes me want to dye my hair,” Fame shrugged, looking thoughtfully at her reflection.

“Omigod! Please go red with me,” Adore begged excitedly. She loved the idea of more people joining in on the fun.

“Hmm, maybe. Not that bright though, maybe a bit more auburn-ish.”

“That… would look so good on you.” Violet’s eyes lit up at the idea of Fame’s famously blonde hair a darker red.

“You think?” Fame tossed her hair, fluttering her lashes at both of them.

“Yes, let’s do it!” Adore cried, gung-ho and excited, bouncing up out of the chair.

“Calm down, bitch,” Violet said, shoving her back into the chair. “One victim at a time here at Chez Violette.”

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seriouslyblacklikemysoul · 4 years

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Until Forever - Sirius Black

Chapter 8. December.

She had practiced everything she would say to him, rehearsing it like a play, going through all of his possible reactions and rehashing her speech to fit the situation, over and over and over again. But when he saw her in the hall between two classes, when she opened her mouth, all that fell out was crackling silence.

It had been a bit more than just awkward; Remus was beyond competitive, trying to steal kisses of her when Sirius was watching. And Sirius was watching most of the time – he couldn’t stop pining after her and he knew it was all kinds of wrong. There was something in the way she lied, he thought. She was staring straight into his eyes. He liked her lies – they brought the pain he was missing lately. Of course, he was jealous that his best friend could have this moment while he was waiting for the ticking clock to burn. She had absolutely no problem admitting she had made a mess – coming to terms with it, that was a problem.

December was upon them and she felt her heart longing for her family and friends – they would all get together, cook, eat, and drink, but mostly they would have fun. They had this tradition – each Friday of December they would have a movie night. And most of time, they didn’t even watch a movie; they were all there for the friendship. They used to have a chat called “Fam”, because they weren’t just friends, they were family, or a really small gang. She missed them like crazy. She missed her life a bit more than she would admit – well, she had no one to admit that to. Reminiscing about her lost life wasn’t going to help her go back, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her friends and how wonderful it would be if all of this was simply a dream. She no longer wanted to live inside a fairy tale. She wanted to return to her old life. Maybe it was because she didn’t have her best friend telling her how stupid she was for actually being involved with any of them or how crazy it was … being in a relationship with Remus while she was pulled towards Sirius every breathing moment. She could use a girls’ night.… Then again, she would be lying her ass off if she said she didn’t enjoy herself. Given everything, she was doing pretty amazing. It was just the guilt that ate her alive. It might have been a little heart wrenching but breaking down at 2 AM changed people. She became distant. She became doubtful. It created an emotional divide between her and everyone else. When she was slumped on the floor, paralyzed with grief, she begun to see through things. The Niagara of tears falling from her eyes, the lump in her throat, the pain pounding in her chest reminded her of the faces she wanted to see, the voices she wanted to hear, the caresses she wanted to feel. She would become isolated. It was 2 AM, the world turned against her, the clock ticked louder than it used to as though to match the shrieking voices in her head. Those voices she wished would fall into silence for they driven her mad. She reached for her phone, to type a text, to try to dial a number, then realized she had no one – and no phone to do so. You begin to think of coping mechanisms. How would she get through this? Swallow a sleeping pill that didn’t work anymore? Seek the comfort of alcohol? Dance with her demons, let them tormented her until she became numb? She became lost. She didn’t know what to do. She pinched her skin to drive away the numbness. Everything became blurry. In a brief moment of clarity, he crossed her mind; she was tempted to talk to him. She missed her friends and this unholy hour made her question the people in her life... Realizing just how much, hurt. Forcing her eyes shut and hoping in a peaceful slumber, she made herself fall asleep. Otherwise, she would have fallen apart.

Waking up early had never been her thing - especially during winter time...But it was one of her favorite things. The frozen atmosphere stood still, waiting for the sun to rise, slowly, indolently; the sky was a pale, frosty, grayish blue and if she listened carefully, the silence was beautiful. As she approached the Great Hall, she heard the soft chatter and the distant yawing. She craved her hot cup of coffee and the delicious breakfast, without caring about her sad look or the fact that she had been avoiding everyone … a while. She took her time, appreciating everything around her; the big, baroque fireplace, the tall walls that reached up to the ceiling, which was covered with floating candles and enchanted to look like the sky above – perfectly still and gray – the High Table, which was designed to house the entire Hogwarts staff – more than half of them were missing. From the architecture to the vibe, it had to be one of the most adoptable rooms inside the castle. She sat down, smiling to them all, filling up her cup with freshly brewed coffee, with no interest of joining their conversation. She had to talk about her wants at some point but it wasn’t the moment – although, not receiving a message is also a message. “You seem off” Peter commented later on, when she had made clear she didn’t want to participate in small talk. Forcing her thought back on track and her eyes to stop wondering around, she simply nodded. She felt off. Peter didn’t question her further, understanding her wish for peace and quiet. Sirius’ and Remus’ eyes met as they both looked at her – the silver eyed boy immediately averted his gaze back to his plate. That had to end at some point. To her disbelief, they hadn’t asked her anything, they hadn’t tried to talk to her and she felt rather grateful. How could she have justified that? ‘You know I miss my friends because I had a life before you? Or rather many years after you?’… no… Slowly, things had become too complicated and she had only her self to blame. Facing her demons had always been a challenge. “… maybe you can join us, if you want to” she caught the last bit of James’ sentence, causing her head to raise instantly and her eyes to focus on him. She smiled apologetically as she hadn’t been listening, gaining an eye roll. "I was saying that you are more than welcome to come with us - we have plenty of rooms and it will be fun. You know, for Christmas break... And New Year's party" James told her in the earnest and sweetest way possible. She was grateful for his invitation and friendship. He was the brother she was missing terribly. She thought about it for a moment. It would definitely be fun. But... "Thank you, Jay. Since it's my first and last Christmas here, I would like to spend it inside the castle. I hear it's beautiful" she concluded. Otherwise, it would be too complicated... Not that now was easy, but she knew that being so close with them ... It could only end one way. He agreed with her but two other people were harder to convince. She had yet to talk with Remus and she was fucking dreading it... And, as much as she wanted to, she couldn't talk with Sirius. She was a walking disaster.

The small, fleeting moments that floated around her entire existence made the world seem distant in a way. She was catastrophically romantic but how could she be red in a world of black and white? She would be consumed either by her own façade or by her surroundings. In order to keep her sanity, she had realized that she needed to project a totally different image of who she was – she was balancing on very thin ice, trying not to fall right in the freezing sea of her lies. She saw Remus eyeing her carefully as if he was trying to catch her lying. She wanted to have a proper conversation with him because she already knew where this was going but she knew that if she let him talk to her, she would back down. There was a certain truth in his words and at a time, for a time, it also happened to be true for her. But that was a lifetime ago. She had already chosen this path; she already knew the end and she craved a change. Maybe she was being selfish but prioritizing herself was a necessity at this time. And maybe things were simpler than all of the crap she was thinking. Maybe it was just about smiling, smiling a lot, smiling well and wanting and feeling happy today, right now. Maybe it was just about knowing how to enjoy every moment she lived, thinking she will never repeat it again. Maybe it was just about enjoying each person she had around her at every moment of her life and knowing how to give them the best of her without expecting anything in return. Maybe, and just maybe, it was just about appreciating a little bit more every little gesture, every single thing she did every day, no matter how simple, and feeling like it was extraordinary, and learning to enjoy everything she held, because it sure wasn’t a little… She met his eyes for the first time in days. Oh, crap. What a plot twist he was. And for a moment nothing else really even mattered. She lived in moments, nothing more. She owed it to them, but mostly to herself. She had to be honest. Some things were way too overwhelming for her to keep them secret. Without much thought, she turned to Remus and begged him with her eyes for some privacy but as soon as his eyes found hers, she lost all her nerve and the guilt washed over her. Hopefully, all he saw was a rather perplexed look and a question. “Are you coming?” Lily asked her with an eyebrow archer. She glanced her way, completely out of focus. The ginger-haired girl understood as she mouthed ‘Hogsmeade’ and ‘tomorrow’. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world” she answered kindheartedly as she was already thinking about her first butterbeer.

Sometimes things went wrong. People left. Hearts broke Stuff that she didn’t want to happen, happened. Experiences that were out of her control hit her like a wall, and there was nothing she could do other than accept this phase of life. In those moments, it was hard to believe that life would be okay again. Because how could it be when everything was going wrong. But things have to get better, didn’t they? Bad stuff happened in order for her to appreciate the good, and often things fell apart so that the pieces could join together in a new way—the way they were supposed to. But sometimes things went wrong because she was trying so hard to push pieces that didn’t fit together, in order for life to make sense. But those pieces needed to fall apart. She needed to fall apart. Life needed to fall apart—so that it could come together the way it was meant to. Her entire life in this timeline meant that she had to let go of all the things she thought of as given, her own and not there anymore. It was the hardest task she had yet to achieve. One thing that she had realized was that some of her older friends weren’t really all that great after all. And how did she realize that? Oh, it was simple. All it took was a walk to the nearest village. Lily was the kindest and sweetest person, Alice was the most considering, Mary and Dorcas were the most free-spirited people she had ever met and Marlene was… well, she was pretty much like her. Even she had opened up to her; the blonde had let her do her eyeliner and as much as she wanted her to look like a panda, she was gorgeous. With the boys, though, it was different. James was her brother, Peter was – despite her desire to hate him – fun, sweet, shy. She wasn’t going to bother her mind trying to think about the other two. She had never seen anything like it – or felt that she could freeze to death like that ever before. Hogsmeade was exactly as she had imagined but nothing like it at the same time. Covered in snow, she could barely see the sign of the Three Broomsticks but the entire village was magnificent and vivid. The pub was a rather small place but that didn’t bother her. Sure, it was probably packed but she would still enjoy a butterbeer and a firewhiskey – she was old enough for that. She was pretty sure that Remus wanted this to be a proper date and that was why she never left Lily’s side. They had an honest talk the previous night – well, as honest as it could ever be. The most important things were left out and instead they had focused on her love life. Or how badly she had screwed it up. The boys found a rather large but secluded table with a comfy couch and plenty of chairs. Lily and James scouted in, but she preferred the chair – something, she was sure, Remus took notice of. Once she saw Sirius taking out his cigarette pack, she realized it was okay for her to smoke inside but before she could, she found herself standing up and offering to get them drinks – Remus was glaring daggers at her. The bar hadn’t enough drinks for her to be okay. After the nine butterbeers, she finally ordered hers, leaving both Remus and the barman startled. “The strongest bourbon you have – and do keep them coming” she emphasized. Clearly, she had her share of drinks, Remus thought, just as she was avoiding him and a conversation. The barman laughed and told her that she wasn’t old enough, mistaking her for just another Hogwarts student. “Look, I don’t have an ID but you can bet your ass, I’m twenty-two. Just ask her” she pointed at a rather amused Minerva McGonagall – which he did and got his answer, even though the professor gave her a stern look of disapproval. As they waited, Remus grasped the opportunity to talk to her. “So, are you enjoying Hogsmeade?” he tried to stir up a proper answer but didn’t stick to it, as he cut her off. “Screw this. You know what? I can’t do this anymore. You’re avoiding me and I’m pretending to understand why. So, please, tell me, because my imagination is making up things that are far worse than anything you’ll say” he whispered-yelled at her. Just in time, the drinks were ready and waiting for them to carry them to their table. She finally looked at him and saw how terrible this must had been for him. “When you get used to goodbyes, nothing really surprises you anymore. You’re not afraid that people might leave and you’re not holding on to someone because you can’t imagine your life without them. When you get used to goodbyes, you get used to being alone. You still feel sad or heartbroken but it never takes over your life, it never stops you from knowing you’re a person worth loving and it never makes you doubt yourself. When you get used to goodbyes, you get used to leaving too. You get used to walking away when you’re being mistreated. You know how to detach when things are no longer healthy for you. You don’t feel like it’s the end of the world if you leave even if you don’t know where you’re going or what’s going to happen next. When you get used to goodbyes, you get used to instability, inconsistency and uncertainty. Your life never really felt like a straight line, it was always zigzagging and twists and turns. Your life never really had one path but it was always a bunch of different paths that you had to explore all by yourself. When you get used to goodbyes, you get used to the pain. You learn how to live with it instead of avoiding it. You don’t let it consume you anymore. In a way, it trains you to face certain challenges alone instead of running away from them. It trains you to expect the unexpected somehow. It trains you that you can trust people and fall in love with them but that doesn’t mean they’ll stay and it doesn’t mean that they won’t move to another country and it doesn’t mean that they’ll always be by your side. When you get used to goodbyes, you learn that you can be as open and as vulnerable as you can be and it still won’t be enough. When you get used to goodbyes, you learn how to appreciate your own company and accept your flaws and your demons because no matter who’s sleeping next to you now, you could eventually wake up and find yourself sleeping alone and no matter how many beautiful promises you’ve heard, you know that some of them are empty. When you get used to goodbyes, forever is not linked to someone else, forever is linked to you and only you” she knew that it was what she wanted to confess. She knew it would end up in a goodbye soon enough. Instead she simply told him,

“I will. Just not here”. She took a testing sip of her drink and rather impressed downed it immediately, as she ordered the second one. Maybe it wasn’t smart, but she had a bunch of friends in the next table waiting to have fun – and if she wanted to survive the constant kissing and snogging and touching, she would have to be a bit tipsy.

___ Taglist: @nadinissavage @mycobrakai1972

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aliceslantern · 4 years

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Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 24--Unsettled

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: “Unsettled.” Troubled by the lack of purpose, Ienzo attempts to dispose of papers of the past, only to end up caught within it.

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

---

Ienzo was feeling restless. This was not an unfamiliar feeling, but rather one that had snuck up on him with increasing frequency. He felt as if he were at his wit’s end.

The garden was done, finished, left behind were empty gaps that made him realize that after all this time he still wasn’t sure who he was. It was something like existential agony. He was exhausted, physically and mentally, yet sleep eluded him. So did any notion of rest. He found himself, again, missing the days when thoughts would unravel so cleanly; he felt nothing but tangles, and his feelings resembled even less.

I feel as though I’m back at square one, he wrote early one evening. This sensation stuck with him. What awful, horrifically boring waffling. It certainly didn’t make him good company. Worse still than was that everyone else seemed to be in good spirits. He found himself dealing with another type of illusion; feigned laughter, a neutral expression, cheer and chatter where there should be none.

Not many seemed to notice this shift, and for this Ienzo was both incensed and grateful. Only Demyx did, but he was far too busy and exhausted from his own work (oh, to have the certainty of a calling); Ienzo just said that he was tired and that was all.

It did not feel good to lie to him.

But truthfully, how did he define this feeling? Was it the weight, the numbness of depression? He wasn’t so sure. Mostly, he felt the slickness of anxiety, like acid along his veins despite medication. He felt trapped within his own heart, within a remorse that was supposed to have eased. Would he carry this his whole life?

Did he want to?

Ienzo wanted to live more than anything. It was a desire that was nearly painful. He needed to get this feeling out of his body somehow.

“I don’t suppose you have anything you seek to get rid of?” he asked Even. “I was purging my papers in an attempt to get organized.”

“What are you disposing of?” He seemed distracted; he had a new project to keep him occupied, studying the long term impacts of darkness on trauma and the body. It was worthwhile work, and seemed to have reconnected Even with the real world.

“Nothing that hasn’t already been digitized and archived.”

Even gestured vaguely to a pile of file folders in a crate by the door. “I suppose you must need something to fill your days now, then.”

Ienzo paused, and just barely turned back. “That,” he said, “is putting it mildly.”

“Why don’t you continue your studies? It’s been a long enough time. They’ve kept you busy with such frippery.”

“...I would not call it that.”

He shrugged. “Most people your age seem to get caught in crises of existence. I should hate to see you become stagnant.”

Ienzo considered the irony of this. “I won’t--no less than you, anyway.”

Even scowled. “Go on then, will you? I need to concentrate.”

“Certainly.”

He took his papers to a courtyard, one shielded from the wind. What was left didn’t seem like much; Ansem had already shredded a majority of it, and the strings of paper sat heavily against the stone. For a moment he ran his thumb along the matchbox in his pocket. What was the point of this? He withdrew his hands and looked at them. It took a little bit of doing--magic was so much harder than it used to be--but before long he held a small flame in his palm. He studied the color of it, the bright red and orange. He picked up one of the pages and held a corner into his hand, watching it disappear into smoke.

It didn’t take long for the mess to burn. Curious, how quickly things could be destroyed. Ienzo watched the flames, perched on the lip of a derelict fountain. It didn’t make him feel much better, but it made him feel no worse. He nursed the brunt of a headache idly.

“...An attempt at catharsis?” He heard over his shoulder. Ienzo turned and saw Dilan facing him, his face alight with bemusement.

“I suppose. I figure there’s no need to keep this all, not when we have it in the computer.”

To his surprise, Dilan sat next to him. “Is it a pleasure to burn?”

Ienzo rolled his eyes at the reference. “Not quite. Good to know that I have some magic left, however small.” His head ached dryly, insistently. There were a few moments of silence; the fire cracked and popped a little, emitting some sparks. “You needn’t worry, I’ll clean up all the ash once it’s over.”

“...Saves me a bit of work. Yes. Our list of tasks seems to grow by the day.”

Ienzo glanced over to him. “...Does it?”

“Someone’s got to make this place habitable. And that committee is scattered enough as it is. I’d hoped Demyx’s membership in it would garner us some resources, but they seem to never have anything to spare.”

“...Well, town is growing. This place isn’t exactly a priority when we're the only ones who live here.”

“It was once beautiful,” Dilan said. “A shame, all of this finery, crumbling.”

Ienzo blinked quickly, feeling a touch dazed. “...Like so many things,” he mumbled.

“Are you alright?”

He forced a smile. “Oh, yes. Magic tires me. That’s all.”

“Are you certain? I know there was some--hesitation, as to whether or not to let you--”

“I am a grown man. Demyx and Even do not make decisions for me.” His tone came out sharp.

Dilan pursed his lips. “Of course you’re right.”

Ienzo shoved his hands back into his pockets, feeling cold now. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m more tired than I thought.” The pain in his head throbbed in time with his pulse. “This has nearly burnt itself out. I'll get to it in a few hours when it's all cooled.”

“Nothing nearby to burn,” Dilan said. “It feels nice to sit, admittedly. I feel as though I haven’t stopped moving all morning.”

He stood, and had to fight not to stumble at the sudden wave of dizziness. He clutched his head, felt at the space under his nose. No blood. Surely there must be something else wrong with him?

He heard gravel crunch as Dilan stood. “Ienzo?”

“I’m fine,” he said, but it sounded weak. “It’s just a little--”

Abruptly, his knees gave out, his vision darkening for a moment. When he came to, Dilan’s jacket was under his head. “Yes, you’re just fine, aren’t you,” he spat. “Do you always feel this need to lie?”

Ienzo was still reeling. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“Someone has got to take a look at you, and he seems to know what he's doing. You’re not well.”

He tried to sit up, only to have Dilan ease him back down. “He’s going to kill me,” Ienzo said dazedly.

Dilan laughed. “Nothing like young love, is there? Ienzo? Ien--”

The smell of something bitter, and a touch of something cool on his cheek. “Oh thank god,” Ienzo heard. His eyelids felt leaden. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes…” He mumbled. He forced his eyes open. Demyx was crouched over him, one hand taking Ienzo’s pulse. He looked flushed; he must have ran here. The pain in his head was so intense as to be almost unnoticeable. “I… I’m sorry.”

“What did you do?” he asked.

“I… I cast one small fire spell… that’s all.”

Demyx rested a hand against his forehead. “You’re stable,” he told Ienzo. “It seems that the magic triggered a migraine--”

“Oh, is that all?” Ienzo muttered.

“When Dilan said you blacked out I--I figured…” He turned redder. “You’re going to be okay. Drink this.” He offered him a canteen. Whatever was inside was sour, and he flinched. “It’s for the pain.”

It did seem to help, but made everything a bit foggy. “Do you need help with him?” Dilan asked.

“No, I got it.”

Humiliation washed over him, and he felt his eyes water. “I can walk.”

Demyx hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Yes… just let me--” He sat up, the dizziness worsening.

“Oh, no. Let me carry you. I’m sure you can do it, it’ll just suck major ass when you feel like this.”

“No,” he snapped. “No.”

Demyx blinked. “Ienzo--”

Something was unraveling, a hot stab of nausea almost making him double over.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Ienzo pressed a hand to his face, feeling the tears spill over against his will.

“Baby…” Demyx trailed off. “I knew something was wrong. I knew it.”

“...I shall… leave you some privacy,” Dilan said. “Call if you change your mind.”

Demyx pulled Ienzo close. He felt like he could barely breathe, clinging to him with a pathetic sort of desperation. Demyx stroked his hair. “What’s really going on?” He asked.

“Nothing,” Ienzo insisted. “That’s the issue, there’s nothing wrong and I still feel this way.”

He kissed his cheek and handed him a handkerchief.

“I feel… purposeless,” he said. “I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m lost… I’m so used to… moving forward, to having a goal.”

Demyx wiped a tear from Ienzo’s face. “Do you think this could also be some kind of sadness?”

He sniffled. He was a bit woozy. “How so?”

“It’s… weird,” he said slowly. “Maybe this is how you’re letting go of it.”

“By feeling like garbage?”

“You took on so much pain that wasn't yours. Mine, the Heartless'. It has to come out sometime. Using magic could've triggered it.”

Ienzo touched his chest with a trembling hand. “...You may be right. These emotions… didn’t feel connected to me.” Such strange permutation of power.

“Let it go,” Demyx said gently.

“Cry it out?” he asked bitterly.

“If you have to.” He sat and crossed his legs. “Come here.”

Humiliation broke through the weird cool stillness within him. He let himself be pulled close, breathing in Demyx’s smell and the scent of ash, water oozing down his cheeks. “It’s been months,” he hiccuped. “I haven’t the slightest idea why this is happening now.”

“You’re good at pushing things away.”

“Deluding myself, you mean?” He was trembling.

“Maybe you weren’t ready.”

For a moment anger nearly broke through him, but he deflated. “...Maybe not,” he conceded. “It is so… strange… I feel like I’ve made some leaps and bounds, and yet, my heart is so tender… infantile, if you will.” He hated the way he sounded, thick and poorly. A thin, sharp pain redoubled behind his eyes. “You know I used to feel them, when I was younger.”

“The victims?”

His body was leaden. “Yes. I could hear them, even when I was nowhere near the lab. For whatever reason, I always had an acute sensitivity to darkness. Is it because I was nearly one of them?”

Demyx’s arms around him tensed just the slightest. “...You were?”

“Yes. I never… told that story?” The tears continued to run, cool and distant. “They were… keenly interested in the hearts of children. And I was… there. You have to admit it’s quite utilitarian of them." The ache in his heart was lessening, bleeding out. "I think this connection is fading.”

“Good,” he said woodenly. “But they… they never--”

Ienzo took some of his own weight back. He shook his head. “We became Nobodies first.” He touched his chest, the space above his heart. “I suppose that in and of itself was an experiment.” He could taste salt, when he spoke. “The slightest twitch of power, and it all comes up,” he muttered. “I am so very… tired. Demyx?”

His jaw was clenched tightly. He grit his teeth.

“Don’t hold it against them. We’ve all done bad things in our lives.”

“Why aren’t you mad?”

“...I’ve spent enough time dwelling on it,” he said tiredly. “What good would anger do? They’re in pain as well.”

Demyx took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he seemed to have composed himself somewhat. “Do you want to go home?”

“There’s nothing I want more.”

---

It took a long while for the tears to stop and the ache to fade, but once it was all over he felt lighter. He figured that settled it. Time to stop feeling sorry for himself and move on. The past was the past; nothing left to be done. He would study, pull the pieces of himself back together one by one. And then whatever happened next. No point fretting about it. Easier said than done, Ienzo knew, but at the same time it was completely necessary. Once he was feeling more himself, he might work with the committee. One day.

But all there was was the present.

#beyond this existence: new life #ienzo #demyx #dilan (kingdom hearts)#zemyx #beyond this existence

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katekarnage7 · 5 years

Text

Stairway to Heaven

Okay, so, basically, instead of writing one of my many alphabet prompts, I opened up a Google Docs page and started writing. The inspiration was kind of just flowing and I wrote about 2,000 words that I’m now going to share with all of you. Quick warning: This is majorly depressing and comes from my current angst-ridden emotional state. Enjoy!

This can also be found on AO3 right here!

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Castiel has been many things. An Angel of the Lord, a soldier, a warrior, a friend, a guardian, a Winchester. No matter what you decide to label him, there is only one label that means anything to him. You would think it would be ‘Angel of the Lord’ but it’s not.

His angelic roots mean nothing to him. His days of being a soldier are as meaningless as blades of grass being shredded. The only title that has ever meant anything to him is Winchester. He watches over them.

Or at least he did.

But in any case, he’s proud to be the Winchesters’ brother-in-arms. Then, one day came that he became more than that. He was no longer Castiel, Angel of the Lord. He became Castiel, Dean Winchester’s angel.

Nothing has ever meant more to him than that.

His love for Dean has been a long-growing flower that bloomed two years ago on the dot. That was the day when he finally made Dean his. When he finally became a true Winchester. He had two years of the happiest days he’s had in his long, long life.

Two years of pure magic that he never thought possible. He never even dreamed of that beautiful, enchanting sense of happiness that was his life. But, of course, all good things must come to an end.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The steady sounds of the EKG bring him back into the real world. His hands are cold and slippery as they cling to each other in his lap. Dean’s lifeless looking body torments him from the sterile hospital bed.

His throat is raw and his eyes are itchy from crying. He didn’t even know he could cry until now. It’s a very human thing, isn’t it? Angels aren’t designed to feel emotion. They’re not designed to cry.

He was never supposed to fall in love with a human, however, he supposes he’s never quite followed the rules. It’s just as Naomi said, there’s a crack in his chassis. A glitch in his robot-like programming.

He used to wish that he was normal. That he didn’t feel these complex things that humans call emotions. And now? Now he’s glad that he can feel all of it. The joy, the beauty, the sensation. Even the pain and torment that he’s endured have all been worth it because of the man lying in front of him.

His humanity has always been a weakness but now he knows that it’s a strength. He braves a glance at the love of his life’s face. It’s cold and clammy, frail even. Those are the effects of cancer.

It’s a disease that festers and spreads inside your body, wreaking havoc upon its systems. Cancer is dark and infectious in its nature. It’s a disease that should be long-eradicated. And yet it’s not. The worst part is that, in his human state, he is powerless to save Dean. His Righteous Man.

The last way Dean ever expected to go out was cancer. He told Castiel that himself. Apparently, the man thought it would be ‘pedal to the metal’ until he died in a blaze of glory. Where’s the glory in this?

Dean has slowly been wasting away for months. The bags underneath his eyes have gotten darker and heavier with each passing day. His body has gotten thinner and far frailer than Castiel thought possible. Dean’s once-powerful muscles have grown weak and decrepit.

Castiel once thought that God - Chuck, he supposes - was all-knowing and self-giving. That he provided a fair, beautiful world for humans to live in. Even though he was aware of the flaws of the human world back then, he thought it was simply the human’s corrupt touch that ruined it.

But how could any fair world allow this to happen to Dean? His beloved should not be in a hospital bed fighting for his life because of this disgusting disease. He should be smiling and eating all the pie his heart desires.

How is this fair? How can any world with a present god allow this to happen? These thoughts echo in his head. Rage fills him and he feels the urge to get up and scream until his voice is rough and hoarse. He wants to tear down Heaven block by wretched block until they finally agree to heal Dean.

He’s been praying for months but no angel will come to his rescue. The cruelty of his supposed family eats away at him. If only he had his Grace, he could fix everything! He could set the world right!

After all, there is no world without Dean Winchester. Not one that Castiel wants to live in anyway. Dean has been the only light in the darkness of his life for so long. He’s been his sun and stars. His world.

And now his world is falling to pieces right in front of him.

It’s all too much. In moments, he’s up and out of his seat. He throws open the door to Dean’s room in the hospital and storms out. His vision is blinded by tears as he rushes out of the hospital. In all honesty, he has no idea where he’s going, all he knows is that he has to keep moving.

He runs until his body is weak and shaky. He collapses onto the cold, damp grass. The sky above him is bright and lit with glowing stars that seem to taunt him with their endless beauty. He wants to shout. He wants to cry out into the heavens and beg them to help him.

Unfortunately, Heaven, Hell, the universe itself is cold and uncaring. How do humans live like this? How do they live each day with the weight of death hanging over them? Thinking of Dean in that hospital bed destroys Castiel. He can barely breathe, barely function. How do humans do it? How do they live knowing every day might be their last? Knowing that every day they could lose the love that they’ve fought so desperately for?

Castiel’s heart aches as he lays in the grass. There are tall, dark pines lining the peaceful clearing. This is a place that he would have taken Dean for a picnic. This is a place he could have been very human indeed and asked Dean a question that lives in infamy.

A declaration of love.

Now he will never get to hear Dean’s answer to that question. He will never be able to slip a ring that shows their everlasting bond onto Dean’s finger. There will be no more sunny days. Only this cold, isolating feeling.

He lies in the grass, feeling nothing whatsoever. And that’s how he stays. Perfectly numb. He cannot handle the overwhelming pain that rips into him whenever he thinks of his beloved’s thin face. How is he supposed to handle this?

After eternities of knowing exactly what to do, this makes him feel like he’s drowning in hopelessness. He was supposed to be able to save Dean. That’s what he’s done all along, isn’t it? And now… Now he’s a failure through and through.

He failed as an angel. He failed a soldier. He failed as Dean’s angel. All he has left is this desperate feeling in his chest. He wants to cling to whatever happy memories he has of his beloved, knowing that there may never be others.

He feels a hot prickle in his nose and suddenly, tears start trickling down his face. That soft crying soon breaks out into sobbing. He cries out and thrashes on the ground, his heart breaking in his chest.

Dean always used to tease him for how he said “Hello, Dean” whenever they saw each other. And now… Now only two words are echoing inside his head. Goodbye, Dean.

---

The funeral is the hardest part. Having to pretend that he’s perfectly fine even though the love of his life is dead and gone. And for good this time. Sam is a mess and has been since they learned of Dean’s cancer. Sam desperately began searching for a cure but… It was cancer. Humans are apparently quite fond of pointing out the impossibility of a cure for cancer. There was nothing to be done. Castiel realized that quite soon.

Back then, he simply wanted to make Dean’s remaining time comfortable and enjoyable. He vowed to help Dean with everything and be the angel he needed. Now, Dean Winchester, the love of his life, is simply gone and there’s nothing to be done about it.

Dean’s death was quite sudden. One moment he was breathing and had a pulse, and the next… Nothing. The noise of that EKG will haunt him forever. A flat beeping noise that lives in his nightmares.

Dean’s once bright green eyes that reminded him of apple orchards in the summer heat became cold and unseeing. Unfeeling. Those eyes, those freckles, that stubborn personality… All of it is… was what made Dean Winchester.

Humans say that bad things happen for a reason. Well, Castiel disagrees. Bad things don’t happen for a reason. They just happen. One moment, you feel so happy that you could fly and the next, you’re drowning in an endless sea of despair.

The worst part is that there is no rhyme or reason. There’s just that all-consuming pain.

Now, six months after Dean’s death, he is standing at his grave. The sky is cloudy and dark. There is no sun, no chirping birds. Just a sense of sadness that permeates the air. Hot tears spill down his cheeks.

“Hello, Dean,” he croaks. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to visit. I… It’s not been easy without you. Sam is… He’s not doing so well and neither am I. We miss you. I miss you. I miss your references that I never understood, even with Metatron’s knowledge. I miss your beautiful smiles and kind eyes.”

“I miss your jokes and the way you used to try to make me laugh even though it was a lost cause. I miss the way you brought light into my life. The way that you saw my darkness and decided to pull me out of it with a simple “Hey, Cas” and just made everything better.”

Castiel clears his throat, willing away the tears. “I know you wouldn’t want me to cry. It’s far too human. But I… I need you to come back to me. Please. I’ll beg if I have to. You’re Dean Winchester! You always come back!” Anger festers inside of him and begins to boil over. “How dare you leave me on my own?!” he yells.

The blissfully empty graveyard consumes his screams into its emptiness. He balls up his fists. “I never even-” his voice breaks. “I never even got to say goodbye. Not properly. Not the way I wanted to, so you have to come back. Please just come back. I want to see you again. I want to feel you in my arms again. I want you to kiss me like nothing else matters.”

“I want to fall asleep with you. I want to brush your hair away from your forehead and tell you how beautiful you are.” He falls to his knees in the grass. “Come back to me,” he whispers, tears slipping down his face and onto the turned over ground marking Dean’s grave.

After a moment, he stands up and wipes the tears away. “I’ll be back soon,” he says, his heart heavy in his chest. “Goodbye, Dean,” he whispers as he turns his back on his beloved’s grave and walks out of the graveyard.

It’s never seemed right to say goodbye, however, now he has to. He clambers into the Impala and starts the engine. As he pulls away from the graveyard in Dean’s beloved car, he turns on the radio.

Led Zeppelin's song “Stairway to Heaven” begins to play and the graveyard becomes a dot in his rearview mirror.

---

And there ya have it! Some fresh angst! I hope you guys enjoyed that and if you want me to tag you for my future random writing posts, just let me know. If you’re wondering about the alphabet prompts, the next one should be up next week if all goes well. Thank you for reading!

As always, if you want to view the fic on AO3, it’s here.

#destiel #angst #basically just cas being sad #spn #spn fic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #destiel fanfic #y'all there is something wrong with me #this fic is my emotional state

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babyleclerc · 6 years

Text

Always Remember Us This Way - Part Two

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Style: Series (Read Part One here)

Warnings: Angst, language. Break-up feels. Also this is just really fuckin’ sad, guys.

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: You’ve been friends with Chris since College, but as you’ve gotten older you’re getting tired of the on again/off again dynamic of your relationship. This time, you’re actually breaking up. For good.

A/N: I’M SORRY FOR EVERYTHING THAT THIS CHAPTER IS. This honestly hurt me to write, and you can blame @deartomhardy for the mess of this chapter. This left my heart in pieces tbh. I tried to keep POV’s clear, so for stuff happening from Chris’s eyes I labeled as “Chris’s POV”. Everything else is in reader – your – POV. Includes a cameo from our favorite Seba! Enjoy my friends!

Chris’s POV

Chris took a long swig of his beer, allowing the cold liquid to burn down his throat slowly. He placed it down on the table, picking at the label with his thumb. Ever since Y/N had walked out on him last night, he’d felt so numb. He thought letting her go would be freeing, maybe that he’d even feel a little relief. But instead he just felt hollow, and guilty. Why did he feel that way?

“Isn’t this like, the thousandth time you guys have broken up?” Sebastian’s voice cut Chris from his reverie, bringing him back down to Earth. “You’ll get over it. You guys always do.�� Sebastian took a chug of his beer, eyeing his pickings around the bar. Him and Chris had been having this conversation about Y/N since filming the Winter Soldier, none of this drama was news to him.

Chris shook his head, playing with the paper that was now sticking to his fingers. “It was different this time, Seb. She meant it.” His voice felt heavy, as did his heart. Seb sighed, cocking his head slightly to the right, as his eyes landed on Chris’s weary face.

“Well, what happened? Why did she just leave?”

“I kicked her out.”

Seb choked on his beer, “You what?!” He coughed a few times, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, “Why the hell would you do that?”

Chris groaned, “I don’t know, man! She was saying all this stuff about how she wanted to get serious and she was feeling stuck. And I don’t know, it felt like an ultimatum or something. I froze. I panicked.”

“So, logically… amidst this ‘frozen panic’”, Sebastian used air quotes, “Your dumbass asked her hot, devoted-to-you, ass to leave? Smooth move, Evans.”

Chris groaned again, letting his forehead drop to the table with a soft thud. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” His voice was muffled against the table.

“Gee, what was your first clue?” Seb winked, grinning from ear to ear as he took another drink. “I just don’t get it, man. You love her. You’ve loved her since the moment you met her. Why is taking the next step with her such a big deal?”

“I don’t know.” Chris ran his hand along his face, sighing deeply. “I guess I just.. we met so easily, and we were friends so fast. The sex is…was…great. We never had problems with that, but when I met her I never just thought oh, she’s the one. You know? It wasn’t instant like that.”

“Then why have you stayed with her all these years?”

Chris shrugged, “It’s easy?”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, “Man, you better have a better explanation for being with her for this long other than ‘it’s easy’. That’s the lamest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No, it’s not,” Chris stammered, straightening himself up in the booth and hunching over the table, towards Sebastian. “It’s not that she’s easy, that’s not what I meant. I just mean being with her, it’s like breathing, you know? I don’t have to think about it. Other than the fighting, which happens a lot, it just… is. Her and I, we just get each other. It’s…”

“Easy?” Seb offered, smiling sadly across the table at Chris.

Chris shrugged, slumping back into the booth, “Yeah, easy.” He mumbled.

Jesus Christ, what the hell was taking so long?

You knocked on your best friend’s door for the third time, sniffling as you shivered, the cold breeze seeping through your thin sweater. In your haste to leave the house, you’d forgotten to grab a jacket on your way out. You went to the only place you could think of who would take you in with open arms and without judgment.

“Hey!” A cheery voice finally swung open the door and greeted you warmly. You looked up at her, eyes red and swollen, undoubtedly from all the crying. Your best friend, Karlie’s, demeanor changed instantly upon taking you in. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Can I come in?” You asked lamely, ignoring Karlie’s pointed question.

“Of course,” She said quickly, ushering you into her warm house. It smelled of vanilla and fresh chocolate chip cookies, even though she wasn’t baking. Her home always smelled like that. It made you smile slightly, despite the pain you were feeling slowly taking over every inch of your bones. “Can I get you something?”

You opened your mouth in response, but she interrupted before you could, easily reading your mind, “And I don’t have trash coffee available. It’s tea or tea, miscreant.”

You rolled your eyes, too exhausted to argue as you threw yourself into a ball on the couch, “Tea’s fine,” You mumbled back, settling on your side as Karlie filled the teakettle with water and set it on the stove.

“As much as I just love your unexpected visits,” Karlie grinned, popping herself right on top of you on the couch, crushing your legs and making you groan in response.

“Jesus, you’re so boney.” You squirmed underneath of her, “Eat a burger or something.”

“Love you too,” Karlie responded with a grin, getting comfortable as she lovingly slapped your ass. “So what’s up, buttercup?”

“Chris and I…” You paused, taking a deep breath, and shifted so that you could look up at your gorgeous best friend of over a decade. She stared back at you patiently. “We broke up.” You said simply, letting the words fall out of your mouth.

They hung in the silence as Karlie digested this new information.

“Wait, what? I’m so sorry, what happened? Do you want to talk about it?”

You shrugged, closing your eyes as Karlie’s left hand rubbed up and down your right arm soothingly, “I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel about it, honestly. It all happened so fast. One minute we were arguing about last night and then the next he was kicking me out.”

“Kicking you out?”

You sighed, “I mean, not quite. He didn’t force me or anything, but he told me to leave.”

Karlie’s brows knitted together, scowling, “I’ll kill that bastard.” You chuckled softly, for the first time in what felt like hours. “I don’t get it though, Y/N, why so suddenly? You guys have been going on and off again for so long, what was the final straw?”

You shrugged, tears burning against the back of your eyes but trying hard to fight them. “I just… I was tired of being second best, Kar. It hurts too much.” A lone tear squeezed out the corner of your left eye, and you let it fall, feeling your chest starting to tighten as the familiar wave of tears threatened to take over you. Karlie frowned at the sight of you, wishing there was some way she could alleviate your pain.

“I didn’t think he’d actually tell me to leave,” You said softly, more out loud than to Karlie particularly.

“Oh, hon,” Karlie pulled the blanket over your shoulder, pushing your hair back gently.

“Why didn’t he fight for me, Kar? I thought he loved me. I thought he wanted to be with me.” You were barely choking out your words now, as you began sobbing into the couch pillow uncontrollably. “Why wasn’t I enough?”

“Shhh,” Karlie said softly, continuing to run her hand along your hair, “Shhh, it’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay.”

And you let the tears flow freely, uninterrupted, allowing the pain of everything that had been said to you – all the years of your snuggles, laughs, cries, fights, intimate moments crashing down on you like hightide waves – until sleep finally claimed you.

“I can’t do this, let’s just go back home. I change my mind.” You were starting to feel a panic attack coming on as Karlie pulled the car over, arriving at your driveway.

“Noooo,” She groaned, putting a hand on your leg for moral support. “We came all this way, you can’t back out now.”

“I don’t want to see him.” You replied, turning your head to meet Karlie’s eyes. “It’s way too fresh, I don’t want to deal with him telling me to get the hell out or something. Again.”

Karlie sighed, patting your knee comfortingly, “OK, then you won’t have to. I’ll go in and grab your laptop and phone charger for you. That’s all you need, right?”

You nodded, “A few extra clothes wouldn’t hurt either. Just whatever you can grab.”

“Can do, nephew.” Karlie grinned at you, effortlessly hopping out of the car and shutting the door behind her. You sighed as she walked up to the door, closing your eyes and letting your head fall back against headrest.

Chris’s POV

Chris jumped, hearing loud slams on the front door as Dodger’s ears perked up, beginning to bark at the unexpected noises.

“What the hell?” Chris murmured, maneuvering himself towards the front door, keeping one hand on Dodger’s collar to ensure he didn’t jump on whomever was at the front door. “Oh.” Chris said, swinging the door open to see Y/N’s best friend, Karlie, standing at his door. She looked annoyed as all hell, and the second he made eye contact with her, she was glaring daggers his way. “It’s you. What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too, asswipe.” Karlie responded, shoving past him and entering Chris’s home.

“Sure, come on in, Karlie.” Chris retorted, rolling his eyes. “Me casa es su casa.” Karlie didn’t respond as she hustled up the stairs and Chris followed, watching as she grabbed Y/N’s laptop and a few extra clothes. “How’s she doing?” Chris asked softly, leaning against the doorway to their bedroom. He didn’t dare look Karlie in the eyes.

“She’s doing fine, Chris, no thanks to you.” Karlie snapped, snatching a few pairs of jeans and throwing them into her bag. “Seriously, who the hell kicks their girlfriend out of their own apartment? Where did you think she was going to go, Chris? Or did that thought not occur to you in that thick-headed skull of yours?”

Chris scowled, feeling defensive. “Clearly she found her way to you, otherwise you wouldn’t be here getting her things. Surprise, surprise, Y/N runs off to best friend Karlie to save the day. Never seen that one before.”

“Christopher Robert Evans, you’re a fucking idiot.” Karlie jabbed a finger into his chest, slamming into his shoulder as she rolled past him and barreled down the stairs. “The best thing she ever did is walk out of that door when you gave her the chance. Why are you so afraid to feel something real? You claim you love her, yet you happily kick her out the door when she asks you once out of ten fucking years, by the way, to commit to her beyond just using her as a fuck buddy. God, she’s such a demon. How dare she want something more for the both of you.” Karlie feigned shock dramatically to emphasize her point, rolling her eyes again as she unplugged Y/N’s iPhone charger from the wall.

Surprised by the silence that greeted her, Karlie looked behind her to see Chris’s face somewhat sobered. He looked… dare she think it, ashamed?

“She wasn’t just a fuck buddy,” Chris started, sighing, “You know she means more to me than that.”

“You know, Chris, I don’t think I do.” Karlie’s tone was a little softer, kinder than when she had been ranting before. “And I don’t think she does, either.”

“I don’t like being backed into corners. I just need some space to think.”

“You don’t kick someone out of their own home when you ‘need some space to think’.” Karlie used air quotes, and bit her lip as Chris’s shoulders drooped, looking defeated. “She’s hurt, Chris.”

“I just want to see her,” Chris pleaded, understanding that Karlie was the sacred gateway to get to Y/N.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Chris paused, scrutinizing Karlie’s face. “She’s here, isn’t she? In the car?” Karlie’s eyes widened, shaking her head. Chris saw right through her, “You never were any good at poker.” He gave her a sad smile as he made his way out the front door, towards the parked car in the driveway. Karlie wasn’t fast enough to stop him.

Chris’s breath hitched as he caught sight of her in the car, eyes closed, head leaning back against the headrest. She looked beautiful, as always. Upset and hurt, she clearly had been crying most of the night; he could tell by the way her typically glowing features were somehow now subdued. He felt his insides twist at the thought of him being the reason she was in so much pain.

He walked towards her, tapping lightly on her car window as she jumped, looking wildly around the car to see him on the other side of the taps. Her demeanor changed immediately. She crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to make eye contact with him as she sat up straight, looking straight ahead.

“Baby,” Chris pleaded, his heart breaking as he watched a lone tear roll down the side of her cheek. “Please, just roll down the window. Give me two minutes.”

Y/N ignored him, and Chris pressed his palm to the glass of the window, wishing more than anything that he could hold her again. He was such an idiot, why had he even kicked her out in the first place? This whole thing was so stupid, he didn’t mean for her to walk out of his life. That wasn’t his intention.

“I just want to talk to you for a minute. Baby, please.” He begged, as he saw Y/N struggling to hold it together, the tears continuously flowing down her perfect face. What he would give to kiss those cheeks one last time, feeling her giggle against his lips as he smothered her in kisses.

“Chris,” Karlie murmured softly, finally catching up to him at the car. “I think we should go.”

Chris blinked a few times, hand still pressed firmly to the window. He sniffed, holding back tears himself as he took a few steps back from the car, looking all but defeated.

“No, yeah, right. See you later,”

And before Karlie could say another word, Chris left, cocooning himself back into his lifeless, now empty, home.

End of Part Two.

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kimjongdaely · 5 years

Text

Nostalgic

Pairing: Optional bias x Reader

Warning: mentions of sexual intercourse, lots of texting so it might be a bit confusing, self harm

Summary: Liking your best friend only ever has two outcomes: happiness, or soul-crushing despair. And mine was the latter.

There’s nothing scarier in this world than change.

Change is scary.

I hate change.

There are so many moments where I think ‘I wish time would stop’ or ‘I wish it would always be like this.’

But it never is.

The last time I had “fallen in love,” it had hurt, bled, and scarred.

There was a boy I liked.

Every story starts this way.

And every heartbreak ends the same way.

Middle school science class.

Group project.

Assigned groups.

Ugh.

That was how I met him.

It wasn’t love at first sight. But there was a bond. We were comfortable around each other. He made me laugh. I made him laugh. We became close quickly, until we were ‘best friends.’

We didn’t spend a day without calling or texting each other. We would help each other out. We studied together, hung out together, and was each others’ wingman. It was a very special time for me, probably the happiest I’ve been.

But he was mean.

No, not really.

He was mean in his own way, because he was too friendly. Too nice. Too casual.

Too hard to read.

He was hot and cold and bipolar.

He would call me by pet names, he cared about me, he flirted and was cheesy and—

It made me hope.

I fell hard.

The kind that had me falling from the sky, crashing onto the concrete ground head-on. The kind that shattered your body and soul.

The kind that tore you apart inside out.

I didn’t know what to do.

It was the first time I had really fallen in love. Sure, there were a few times where I ‘crushed’ on people, the kind where I would talk and giggle and watch the person I liked but it never really hurt.

Not like this.

I was scared.

I was happy with him. I wanted to stay like this. I was happy staying as his best friend. It hurt when he liked other girls. It hurt every time he would smile and tell me he liked this other girl, this girl that was prettier, smarter, much more charming than I could ever be. It hurt when he would use cheesy pick-up lines on me and then tell me it wasn’t for me.

was

never

for

me.

But I was content like that. I would endure it. Because I loved him. I wanted to see him happy. I wanted to be his strength, for him to rely on me and care for me, even if it was just as a friend. I wanted him to continue smiling at me and laughing like usual. I didn’t want to scare him away. I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want this to end.

But humans are so greedy.

It was never enough.

I wished I could be by his side, and why couldn’t I? Didn’t he say he cared about me? Didn’t he say I was his best friend? Why couldn’t I become something more?

I could make him happy.

I thought that so many times.

I don’t know if I could’ve.

I was a coward.

But brave at the same time.

I confessed through text because it was the best I could do. I wanted him to know. I wanted him to look at me properly, see me as a girl instead of simply his best friend.

I wanted him to know.

I wanted him to like me back.

I like you, I wrote.

This is another joke, right? He replies

I was nothing more than a joke to him. My feelings, all of it was simply a joke.

I’m serious, I told him.

Dude, quit joking.

I’m not joking!

He stopped replying.

There was so much distance between us. It was suffocating. He avoided me at school. Didn’t text me anymore unless it was school related. Pretended he didn’t know me. Pretended I didn’t exist.

I was crumbling inside. I don’t know what to do. I was scared and I felt alone. Abandoned.

By the person who meant so much to me.

I don’t know if he was being considerate. If cutting me off like that was his way of being ‘nice.’ Maybe he didn’t want to lead me on more. Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know. Still don’t.

I thought of asking. But I’m so scared.

I’m desperate.

I wanted to get closer to him again. I had no other option, nothing to talk with him about. He would reply if it’s school-related, right? Through text I asked him to help me study for a science test. His answer was no. He said he would be studying with my best friend.

It hurt. I was bitter. I was too cold.

I was mad. Because I was sad. And I acted childish and spoiled and we fought. He said he didn’t care about me anymore. He said I get mad too easily and called me mean.

Me, mad, mean!? I was livid. My heart ached and my eyes stung. I wonder what expression he would’ve had then. I wonder how he would’ve reacted if he saw how hurt I really was.

You’re the mean one, I wrote out desperately. I wanted him to see things from my view, for once.

You’re right. I’m sorry. I care about you a lot. You’re my best friend. You’re the one person I care about most in my life.

The words on my screen looked like a curse and a blessing at the same time. And I knew it was a lie, but it was a beautiful lie. For the briefest moment, I felt happy.

Until I was crushed by sorrow again as I wrote out, I can bet a million dollars I’m not and you know I’m right.

I dug my own grave. I should’ve just let him lie. I should’ve just believed in them. Would I be happier?

Yeah, you’re right.

I don’t remember if he hesitated when he replied with that. I don’t think he did. He knew he was lying to me.

He was mean.

I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t know he could tear me down again.

You’re being too emotional and you overreact all the time. The freaking reason is because you like me. You should stop liking me. It’s hurting you.

He still cared. I felt pathetic, because that’s all I could think about. He still cared. But never in that way. Or maybe he was just saying that because I was bothering him? Because I was annoying?

I desperately replied.

I know you don’t like me. I know you never will, so I’m trying the best I can.

But if you know I never will, why are you trying?

The final nail to the coffin.

They lied when they said time heals all wounds.

We didn’t talk for months. I did all kinds of stupid crazy things to get his attention. It was pathetic, foolish. It never worked. I was making a fool of myself, acting like a clown. I’m so embarrassed of myself.

So embarrassed.

I hate myself.

I hate these feelings.

More so because I still loved him.

I hate myself.

I can’t stop.

regret

telling

him.

Middle school graduation. I cried so much that day. Children are funny that way, when they see people crying they naturally want to cry too. A lot of people were transferring schools for high school, including my best friend. But in all honesty I wasn’t particularly sad. I cried simply because everyone else was.

Is there something wrong with me?

Have I grown so numb that I can no longer feel sorrow? Have I gone to the point where I cry just because I should?

I saw him.

It’s been a while since I’ve talked to him, but I saw him a lot. My eyes naturally sought him out, followed his every movement.

Today is graduation day, surely I can approach him, right? Surely, he wouldn’t push me away on this day?

I asked him for a hug. Everyone was hugging everyone because so many people were leaving. It wasn’t weird for me to do this.

“If I hugged you I would definitely break down.” He answered, looking like he was holding back tears.

“Please?”

He hugged me.

It was warm. Comforting. Soothing.

But it was also so, so painful.

High school crept up on me. Before I knew it, I was a high schooler. I haven’t talked to him very often, but it wasn’t like we were avoiding each other either. We greeted each other when we needed to, but our group of friends were different so we didn’t see each other often.

He had become so different.

He had always been popular, but popularity in high school was different. It meant alcohol, smoking, sex.

Everyone at this age wanted to grow up a little quicker, and it was the only way they knew how.

Stupid, really.

He died his hair. Went out drinking a lot. Did a lot of stupid things, but that’s alright. Because that’s what makes them popular, no?

He got a girlfriend.

He never stayed with one for too long, but she was different.

Could I say he loved her? I don’t really know.

But they were close. They had sex. He once said he would marry her.

They ‘loved’ each other.

Until they didn’t.

After a year or two, she transferred. She once said she wouldn’t be able to live without him. She cut herself over him. Threatened him several times.

Later, I heard she got herself a new boyfriend.

So maybe time does heal all wounds.

My memories are honestly very blurry. I don’t remember much anymore, other than the pain, and the overwhelming sense of nostalgia.

Every time I look back, I would always wonder what if. What if I never told him? What if he liked me back?

There are snippets of memories that I recall.

Me giving him a cookie on Valentine’s day, only for him to throw it on the ground.

A middle school dance where we made a circle and slow-danced together, me and him standing next to one another.

Movie night at school where we fooled around.

A time where we worked together and someone mistook us as a couple.

Being teamed up in gym class.

So insignificant moments make such a big impact on me.

Even when we graduated high school, he wasn’t there. Didn’t show up for graduation dinner, wasn’t there when we signed each other’s yearbook.

Now I’m in college.

Things don’t hurt as much.

I still think I’m stupid every time I look back. I get embarrassed at myself, always asking myself why I did such things.

After I had just moved, he texted me about the ‘good old days.’

A few weeks before summer vacation, a friend I haven’t seen or spoken to for a long time texted me, asking me if I could meet up now. The clock said 11:30pm. He was nuts.

I declined. He said it was too bad because he would be leaving tomorrow.

Oh, that’s too bad.

If I could, I really wanted to go. Am I stupid for still thinking that?

The next day I decided to text him. It’s been so long, surely nothing matters anymore. We’re still friends, aren’t we?

Hey! Sorry I couldn’t meet up with you yesterday. Next time you come, let’s meet up!

His reply.

Yeah let’s meet up again when I’m back.

A/N: Yes this is all true and real and happened to me. Sorry for this gloomy fic. For those angst lovers, happy reading!

©kimjongdaely

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