#dying on the floor coming back from afterlife just to go through it all over again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

meetmyothersouls · 2 years

Note

Surprise me

I’m having so much fun with these guys!

Will You Still Love Me When I’m a Ghost?

Warnings: Sadness, death, afterlife, ghosts

“That guy’s staring at you,” your friend spoke.

“Who?” You asked, looking over your shoulder, then the other one.

“Don’t look right at him! Dark, curly hair. Super skinny.”

You found the one she was talking about. He was definitely skinny, skeletal even. His dark curls, twisted chaotically in many different directions. He didn’t even bother moving them out of his face, instead he looked at you through medium length locks which hung in front of a pair of bloodshot eyes that looked like they had been through way more than anyone else in the bar had.

“I’m gonna go say hi,” you said.

“Wait really?”

Your friend was right to be shocked, this was extremely out of character for you. You usually let men come up to you. But there was something about this one that drew you to him. The eyes? Or maybe it was the fact that he looked like he could keel over at any moment.

“You look like death,” you said, walking up the stranger.

He pulled his chapped lips into a smile that demanded one in return.

“Makes sense,” he said, tossing a handful of curls to one side of his face. You could now clearly see his eyes. Hazel. And the dark circles underneath them made their color even more vibrant. “I am dying.”

Your smile faded quickly.

“What?”

“I am dying,” he said again. “My names Tim.”

“Oh. God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t-it was a joke. I-”

“It’s okay,” Tim laughed. “I should have started with ‘my names Tim’ and not the ‘I’m dying’ thing.”

What do you say to that?

“Are you sick? I mean like, how…are you…dying?” You cringed. Fuck.

“Cancer.”

You felt even worse and it must’ve been clear on your face.

“Don’t feel bad for me. Though, part of me thinks you already do.”

“I didn’t feel bad for you. Not initially,” you said.

“Why’d you come up to me?”

“You’re eyes.”

Tim cocked his head, giving you a look that asked for further explanation.

“I dunno,” you said, running a hand through your hair; something you did when you were nervous. Your eyes were glued to the floor as you continued to speak. “I felt like, your eyes told a story I needed to hear. It sounds dumb. I know.”

He was silent for a minute and when you finally looked up, you were greeted with another dry-lipped smile.

“It’s not dumb. Sit?” He asked pushing the chair across from him out with his foot. You pulled your lips in, hiding a nervous smile and sat with him. You silently worked a hangnail on your thumb under the table. “Not dumb,” he said again.

“I’m glad you don’t think so.”

“Wanna know what I thought when I looked at you?”

You forgot that he had been the one staring at you first, and somehow knowing that he was the one that initiated it all made you feel less pathetic. “What?”

He smiled before speaking, breaking the skin between a thin crack in his lips. It bled a little. “I was thinking that you look like a girl I’d like to finish the life I have left with.”

The two of you were inseparable after that. And for the remainder of Tims life, you made him the happiest he could be, probably the happiest he had been in a long time. You loved each other with a force that was unbreakable.

“I’ll love you even after I’m gone,” Tim said the night before he died.

“Don’t talk that way.”

He flashed the same chapped lip smile that made you blush the night you met him at the bar. “You say that as if I didn’t tell you from the second I met you that I was dying.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to talk about it. I don’t like to think about you dying. I love you too much to want to think about living the rest of my miserable existence without you.”

He looked up a the ceiling, contemplating his next words. Or maybe deep in thought. You couldn’t tell these days. He was constantly slipping in and out of obvious consciousness and open-eyed unconsciousness. He shook his head before looking back at you.

“Where’d you go?” You asked.

“I was just thinking.”

You grabbed his hand, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

“I don’t think we ever really leave.” He took a shallow breath. “When I’m a ghost, will you still love me?”

“Of course,” you agreed. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you didn’t believe in ghosts.

You called his phone 20 times a day for weeks after he passed just to hear is voice on his voicemail. You even left him messages. You don’t know why you did it, but it became routine.

Wake up. Call Tim’s phone.

Have coffee. Call Tim’s phone.

Drive to work. Call Tim’s phone.

By the end of each day your call history showed nothing by Tim’s name in red print. It felt ridiculous, calling your dead boyfriends phone, knowing he’d never answer again.

You called a month to the day after his passing, it rang twice before stopping. You heard a click on the other end, as if someone on the other side received your call. Your heart sank as you thought his number had finally been recycled, and now belonged to someone else.

“Hello?” You said into the silence.

There was static, and choppy fumbling.

Then nothing but shallow breathing.

“Tim?” You asked, feeling immediately foolish.

But your heart hammered in your chest as an all too familiar voice responded.

He was echoey, and grainy as if he was speaking to you from far away.

“Do you still love me?”

Tags: @imnotoverlyobsessive @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @chicchanelcigs @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @louievr @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp @gatoenlaciudad

#timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #writing #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet x you #timothee blurb #timothee chalamet imagine #timmy chalamet #ghost #halloween special

317 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 2 years

Text

Oc-tober Day Eight – Vengeful Spirit Au

Yandere Housewife – Selene Harris

Word count: 900

Selene Drewitt. Struck down the day of her wedding. As she laid dying on the tiled floor, dressed in the gown she would have been wed in, she wondered where it all went wrong. Why the kind man she once knew had stabbed her through the heart. Why the one she loved would end her life.

No-

There never had been any love in this relationship, had there? A union of convenience; something to give purpose to her miserable existence. In her final moments, she became aware of what life denied her – a chance to love, and be loved. It took her last breath for her to realize how badly she longed for that dream. How she would have never found that happiness with that man. How she should have ran – and she was enraged.

Her hatred for the hand she’d been dealt bled along with her blood into the floorboards. It ran through every wall and room until the entire house was a host for her rage. Her restless soul was now anchored to the home, and she made her presence known. Her former spouse felt her furry for weeks on end until he met his at the bottom of the stairs. Even then, Selene could not find peace. She still longed for that married life – to be loved unconditionally and love that person beyond even that. She thought she’d never reach that happy end.

Until another person moved in.

“That should be the last of them.” You stretch out the knot in your back after placing the last box on the floor. You look around the living room; dozens of boxes full of your junk littered about. For your first house, it was a pretty nice place to have bought by yourself. Two stories, nice backyard; in a pretty good neighborhood. You were lucky the previous owners were selling such a home for so cheap, and nothing seemed to need fixing up on top of that. It was good to have a place to yourself. You still have to wait for all your furniture to arrive so you’d be sleeping on a pile of blankets tonight, but it was nice to finally be home.

You explore around with the remainder of your energy. You check the kitchen, the bedrooms, the basement. All places you’ve seen before, but thought would be nice to look over. Eventually, you come across a door you don’t remember seeing on the tour, and what’s odder is that none of the keys given to you work. You break the handle, your first repair, and head inside what appears to be an attic.

The room is full of boxes that obviously don’t belong to you. Looking through them, you find a variety of things. Sewing equipment, photo albums, an empty ring box. Memories of a previous owner’s entire life One from long ago, if the mountain of dust atop every surface was something to go by. A woman or married couple, you guessed from the picture of a young girl in a violet dress, and another of the same girl at prom with her date; looking miserable in both.

You pack everything up with a defeated sigh. “Guess this room is already occupied. Least there’s still the basement.”

You stand up to leave the room, startled by a figure in the full body mirror in front of you. Your heart settles in your chest as you come to find it was only a dress up mannequin. It was funny though. You could’ve sworn it was dressed in white.

Night had fallen by the time you were done looking around. You search through your stuff for some old pillows and blankets, and set up base in what would become your bedroom. You fall asleep without a care in the world and excitement for the day to come; completely oblivious to the eyes watching over your slumbering form.

Selene dips down beside you, careful not to get any of the blood on her dress on you. You squirm as her palm hand sweeps across your face, tucking your hair behind your ear. She just stares at you for a while; the cavity in her chest pumping more blood into her gown as her undead heart races. In all her years of life, and afterlife, she’s never felt this before. The loss of breath, as crazy as that sounded, the flutter in her stomach. There have been other guests to her residence before, but none have been as enchanting as you. None as caring either; simply tossing her belongings to the trash. She was in love, and at first sight. A feeling that would only grow stronger by each day that she saw your face and got to hear your voice. It went beyond just a simple crush. She had found her one true love.

Selene smiles, planting a phantom kiss to your cheek. She was unaware of just how deep this affection would go in the future, or what she’d do to make sure no one separated you, but the one thing she did know was that she’d make sure you’d never be apart again.

When you wake, it's an alarming surprise. All of your belongings had been sorted out for you; the house at least a home once more. In the kitchen, you find a note taped to the refrigerator door in cursive ink.

“Welcome home, honey.”

You look at the hand you grabbed the note with; noticing the shine that reflects from the window. There’s an engagement ring on your fourth finger.

205 notes · View notes

countrymusiclover · 1 year

Text

72 - Always and Forever

Her Life Means Everything

Thank you all for reading this story 🙏 ❤️ This is the final chapter of Klaus and Maddie

@mrs-fanfiction-2001 @the-big-bad-klaus @dragonixfrye @samsgirl93 @elijahmikaelsonbitch

Nikola was upstairs putting her little Henry to sleep since we had finally made the trip home. It was a long drive but it was worth it. Walking down the main stairs I could see the sadness in my eldest daughter. Of how much she was missing the man that she loved. Entering the main office I saw my sister jump up to her feet running to embrace me in a hug. “Oh Mads. I was so worried that something would happen to you all. How are the girls?”

“Back to their normal selves, Care. Oh and we have a vampire from Nik’s past laying on our bedroom floor since I snapped her neck.” I shrugged my shoulders simply smiling at my twin.

She moved her hands down to my forearms, scanning my eyes confused at what I was saying. “Maddie, I know that look in your eyes. What are you thinking of doing this time?”

“We need to find a way to bring Landon Kirby back. Because I can see the broken heart in my daughter and I hate it - what the hell!” Whipping my head around we heard a werewolf roar through the school where we vamped into the main living room in front of the fireplace.

Hope and Nikola were standing in front of the wolf pack where one werewolf was ready to attack them with a red stake in their hand. “Get away from us, Tribrids. You are monsters and won’t change unless someone ends it!”

“No!” Klaus vamped forward about to snap the werewolf’s neck but a streak of red hair vamped in front of the red stake before the wolf stabbed the weapon into the figure’s chest.

Covering my mouth with my hands I released some tears with Hope and Nikola getting to their feet seeing exactly what I was seeing. “Aurora…” The red headed vampire gasped stumbling backwards staring down at the red stake sticking inside of her chest.

“I’ve got her.” Klaus caught her body biting into his wrist trying to heal her.

Snagging his wrist I stopped him before he could making him send me a confused look. “We need to trade her for Landon. She can take his place once we figure out how to get to the afterlife without dying ourselves. We just need a certain witch..”

“Who?” Hope asked, looking at me then to the Saltzman twins standing beside their father.

Caroline and I both locked gazes where she picked up her phone pressing it to her ear. Turning my head around the doors I heard the werewolves all leave the room on Alaric’s request giving us time alone. The doors slowly opened bringing a smile to my face seeing black curly hair getting thrown in the wind until she shut the door smiling at our group. “Did someone call for a Mystic Falls witch?”

“Bennett witch long time no see.” Klaus grinned tugging me into his side, draping his arm over my shoulder.

She stepped down the stairs where Caroline and I rushed forward engulfing her in a long awaited best friend's hug. She wrapped her arms around each of us laughing along with us. “I have missed you guys so much. And I have missed this little home of ours.”

“I’ve missed you too, Bonnie.” I grinned holding her hand in mine while my sister was holding her other hand. “I am sorry though that I am asking for you to put your life on the line for someone you don't know. I know you would rather be traveling the world like Enzo told you too."

She pulled me in for an individual hug where I squeezed her a little tighter. "Hey don't apologize, Mads. I told you before I went traveling that I would always come if you ever called for my help."

"Well thank you, Bon." I broke the hug staring down at Aurora's body where she was gasping. The stake had grazed her heart enough where it was going to kill her slowly. So we had to move fast if we were going to connect to the limbo and make the trade.

Bonnie had went into the library coming back with her families books of spells sitting on the floor drawing a white circle around all of us. She had instructed the twins to bring the red oak stake that was pulled out of Aurora before all of us were standing around the circle waiting for what to do next. "Alright so Lizzie, Josie, Hope and Nikola we are going to channel the combined magic of each other. But I will be the one who has to travel to limbo since I have been dead already a few times." The four nodded understanding where she turned to face the three immortal vampires. "Caroline you and Klaus are only allowed in the circle to pull us out if something starts to go wrong."

"Wait, you said us. Who's us?" I raised my hand not understanding what she meant.

The Bennett witch takes my hands in hers locking eyes with me. "I need you to come with me to Limbo. Since Aurora is on the verge of death I need someone to make the jump with me. That can respond fast if something goes wrong and we need to get out. I can’t ask the girls to do it because they all need to focus their strength on the connection spell.”

"Sangiema Meam Et Nos Mundo Carcerema. Sangiema Meam Et Nos Mundo…" The four witches intertwined hands muttering softly when I grasped Bonnie's hand in mine and we both put a hand on a dying Aurora who squeezed my shoulder. "...Carcerema. Sangiema Meam Et Nos Mundo Carcerema."

The next time I opened my eyes I saw a boat doc with a far out ocean in front of us. Glancing over my shoulder the land behind us was almost black whereas the direction of the boat was bright and hopeful meaning that was the way to peace. “Maddie Mikaelson, what are you doing here? And who are these two?” I smiled recognizing the voice of my son in law.

“Landon, we have come to bring you home.” Rushing forward I gently hugged him. He hugged me back for a brief moment where I was confused at what he was saying.

“I can’t go back, Maddie. I took the job of the ferrymen so now that I am sending people off to peace forever. I am sorry but it is the right thing to do.”

Knitting my brows together Bonnie glanced at me when I released some tears not wanting to return home without him. “Landon, you have to try and come back. For your family, for Niklola and your son. Or do you not love them anymore?”

“I do love them but I have signed up for this. The only way I can leave is if someone else becomes the ferryman. Who is worthy enough of a trade for me to return to the land of the living. So unless you can show me someone like that then I have to remain here.” He explained throwing his hands up away from his sides.

Running my fingers through my hair I sighed heavily tapping my foot on the wooden dock. “Crap…what do we do now?”

“Let me talk with the boy, Maddison.” Aurora croaked out, stumbling to stand on her own two feet. Vamping beside her I gently held onto her arm so she could steady herself. “Landon is it, I don’t have much longer to live. But I will take this burden from you….I cannot be with my brother Tristan. And I will never be reunited with him…yet you speak of helping others find their way back to their loved ones. I couldn’t let someone destroy the Mikaelson’s bloodline. Which is why I took the stake because I still love the family even though I also hated them at some points. So let me take the place…let me do more than I did with my immortal life.”

Bonnie lifted her head up getting a little dizzy when she stared at the three of us. “Guys I hate to say this but the spell isn’t going to stay for much longer. If we are doing something we need to do it now.”

“If she is willing to sacrifice herself for an entire family then she can take the job. Just know that you will feel weird after paying a price to return someone back to the land of the living. But I won’t take your trade for granted Aurora.” Landon responded by opening his hand creating a large staff holding it out for her to take.

The red head shared a smile at me one more time wrapping her hand around the blade. “Maddison, tell Nik that I will always love him.” Once her hand touched the blade there was a bright blue clow where I shut my eyes seeing that it disappeared. She lifted her hand returning the three of us back to the living realm.

“Landon!” Nikola cried stepping inside the circle flinging herself. He stumbled backwards wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. She started sobbing into his shoulder and he was crying too.

Someone vamped forward picking me up and twirling me around in a circle finally sitting me down on the wooden floor making me giggle happily. “Oh Mads…I was getting worried about you.” Klaus kissed my forehead before I wrapped my arms around his neck breathing in his scent until Caroline walked up to us.

“Now that everyone is back I have been planning a ceremony since Alaric has named me the new headmistress. But I think these two need to finally get married for real don’t you.” She suggested grinning ear to ear seeing that the pair had broken apart from each other yet they never removed their arms from each other.

Hope stepped up pointing towards someone coming down the stairs. “Everybody you need to see this, it's Henry.”

“Oh my god…he’s…he’s walking.” Nikola started crying again watching our grandson stumbling down the staircase attempting to come to his mother and father.

She picked him up in her arms with Landon running his fingers through his short hair. The tiny baby grabbed some of his curly hair before I tugged my husband upstairs knowing that we were going to rush to the whole we’d ceremony. The two young teenagers had been through enough so we knew they would just want to be married already. Standing in front of the mirror I brushed my hands over the light red dress with my hair curled. “I don’t think I am prepared for this, Mads. Walking our little girl down the aisle.”

“Oh Nik, she will always be our little girl forever. Besides if you think about it, Landon is the one who will be joining our family. We won’t lose our girl. She is forever a Mikaelson.” I chuckled, resting my hands on his chest eyeing him up and down. He was wearing a black tux with a white tie. The same exact outfit that he wore the night of the Mikaelson’s ball which seems so long ago.

He sniffs leaning forward pressing his lips down onto mine slowly. Wrapping my arms around his neck I smiled into the kiss depending it when I gripped his shoulders. “I love you, Maddie Forbes . You’re life has given me everything I never thought I could have when I was turned into a vampire.”

“I love you too, Klaus Mikaelson. You have been everything I wanted. And now nothing will separate the Mikaelson and Forbes families. Always and forever isn’t just a family vow anymore.” I declared intertwining my hand with his letting him lead me down the staircase. My sister had quickly decorated the main hall in front of the fireplace where I saw that the Saltzman twins and their other friends were standing on either side.

Marcel, Rebekah, Hayley, Elijah, Freya and her girlfriend had also come with Kol and Daviana. Klaus and I stopped to stand before I broke away from him knowing that he needed to walk Nikola down the isle. Walking down the line I stand beside Hope where she was holding her little nephew in her arms. Everyone turned their heads seeing a white train dress coming down the staircase. Her dress was short in the front and long in the back. Decorated with lace and her hair was curled and a flower crown was sitting on her head. “Awe dad, I can’t handle you crying or I will cry.” She spoke up looping her arm with her fathers.

“I am sorry, little wolf. But I am your father and you are my daughter. Just remember that I love you forever.” He mumbled, squeezing her hand while they walked down.

Caroline walked up being the one to perform the ceremony where I spared a glance at Landon. He was wearing a suit jacket and a nice shirt he got from one of their friends since he didn’t own a suit. And he had a huge grin on his face. “We are gathered here today to join the union of Nikola Mikaelson and Landon Kirby. Now I have a gut feeling that you two have your own vows. So Nikola you can go first then Landon after her.”

“Landon, I love you. There is no one else I would want to be by my side and be the father of my child. I am always worried about finding love while worrying about the destiny that I was given. But there is no uncertainty when you are by my side.” She declares holding his hands in hers.

“Nikola Mikaelson, I love you too. I wasn’t sure where I belonged. I haven’t really had a home until I met you. As long as I am with you I know where I belong and it is with you and Henry.” He grinned brightly down to her.

Caroline held out the rings in her hands watching them slip the rings on one another. “By the power vested in me by the state of Mystic Falls, Virginia. I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Nikola and Landon kissed making everyone start cheering before I heard my husband whisper in my ear causing me to spin around in his comfortable hold draping my arms around his neck. “So now that they are married what do you say we do next in our immortal lives. Would you say Paris, Rome or perhaps France again?”

“It doesn’t matter what we do or where we go, Klaus. I have everything I want. You are my life and I love you, forever.” I vowed kissing him deeply and running my fingers through his blonde hair.

He grinned down into the kiss tugging me against his chest kissing me deeply. “You are my life too, Mads. Always and forever.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

19 notes · View notes

auyouni · 2 years

Text

too big of a loss // septiplier

Jack refuses to accept it. As many times as he’d been sure that Mark was dying in his arms, he’d never actually let himself imagine a life without him.

But, as the erratic heartbeat under his fingertips stills, there is one thing he’s certain of: if Mark is gone, then Jack needs to go too.

Jack slumps over his body, forgetting the rest of the world around them– him, actually, just him now. He gives a sob, squeezing him as if that’ll bring life back into the limp body in his arms, as if that’ll bring back that huge smile and those crinkly eyes, the goofy and sweet laughter, the playfulness and the memories they were supposed to make together. Grief takes over for a moment, burning through him with the knowledge that if he’d called the ambulance when he first collapsed in his arms, if he’d made him eat more, if he’d taken care of him, then….then Mark would be able to hold him back. It’s all his fault, he did everything wrong, Mark was never the rot, he was - Jack had rotted him without either of them noticing, made Mark too reliant on someone who ultimately doesn’t matter. Not as much as Mark. Jack was just supposed to be an afterthought, and that he’d made himself important enough to break Mark's heart was his biggest sin.

Mark was never his, but Jack…. Jack was always all Mark’s. And he’d failed him. He'd failed both of them, all three of them, time and time again.

He hates himself for it, for how recent the time before this was. It was never supposed to happen again - though part of him aches and burns for not being able to do it again, a million times over. Still, he knows, he never would’ve touched Mark if it would’ve saved him.

Through the murky, painful haze in his mind, he hears the phone drop from Ro’s hand as she’s suddenly made aware of the fate of her boyfriend, her future husband, her heart and strength and everything. Everything Jack once wanted (still wants? he doesn’t know, it doesn’t matter, mark was only his in stolen moments and a friendship that he never deserved), she had had.

Their pain, he knows, is the same in that moment.

She collapses next to him and then they’re both cradling Mark's lifeless body, lost in their own, yet shared, grief.

He’s sure, though, that Ro isn’t making the same plans as him.

Jack’s mind races as he tries to remember how much alcohol is left in his room, if it’d be enough to kill him. He realizes, though, that it wouldn’t be fast enough to get him to Mark. He's not sure if he believes in an afterlife, but as long as he ends up wherever Mark is - whether it’s only in the grave beside him or in heaven with him forever - it’ll be okay.

He has promised Mark time and time again that he will never leave him, and that is truly the only thing that matters in that moment. If there’s even a chance of Mark being alone without him for too long in such a significant way, Jack…. Jack would never, ever forgive himself.

This deliberation is only broken when suddenly, someone is gently placing their hand on his shoulder, and his entire body jolts, clinging to Mark tighter. “Sir, ma’am, please let go of the body,” comes a kind voice, but Jack just shakes his head, breathing coming in even shorter as he panics. No, no, no, he can’t take him, he’s all he has, nothing else in his entire world matters to him as much as Mark does. As long as Mark is in his arms he’s not gone yet, all he has to do is hold on. Ro is next to him, unable to let go either, and if he had enough in him to think about anything but Mark Mark Mark, he’d be thankful for her.

It doesn’t take long for them to be pried off his body, security guards holding them back. Jack is sure he’s kicking and yelling and putting up one hell of a fight, but his mind is far beyond his body now. Nothing matters, his only real light gone, that one broken corner of his heart overshadowing the rest of him. When Mark is removed completely, they are finally let go, Rosanna collapses to the floor, body shaking with sobs. Jack is crying too, body shaking - but he doesn’t fall, just walks carefully to where they keep their cleaning supplies. No one notices him - the only people gathering around are tending to the heartbroken Rosanna.

He’s sure it won’t take long, though. Or even much. He’s pouring himself a tall glass, mixing a surely toxic amount of chemicals together. Before he can drink, however, he’s suddenly tackled by a smaller body. He gasps as he hits the ground, entire heart, body, mind and soul screaming in protest, begging for the drink, for the ability to end it all, to get to Mark. He must be so scared right now, so alone, Jack can’t just leave him, he can’t he can’t he can’t. “Jack, stop!” comes a small voice, and it’s vaguely familiar, but Jack doesn’t care, can’t focus on anything but getting back to his drink, to dying. He squirms and tries to shove at the person on top of him, but they won’t budge.

“Get th’ f-fuck offa me!!!” he shouts, but they just wrap their arms around him tight. His emotions make him so very weak, too weak to fight back properly. “I need to be with him, he’s all alone, get off, get off, get off!!!” He’s sobbing now, voice cracking and breaking as he tries his damnedest to get away from the one person standing between him and fixing everything.

“Jack, please, he’s gone, you can’t do anything,” they say, and Ethan's face swims before his eyes. “Please don’t leave us too.” Jack just cries harder, rolling to try and shake him off, finding no logic or reason in his friend’s words.

Doesn’t he see? Doesn’t he understand??? There is no Jack without Mark - ever since he met him there never really has been. A few months apart from each other had broken him completely a year ago, so what the fuck would he do with himself in a lifetime? He’d most likely drink himself to death before a year had passed, and really, this was just faster. “Please, h-he’s all I h-have, Marky, I c-can’t…. I n-n-need him, he doesn’t kn-know, he…. h-he ca-an’t be gone!!” He’s so tired now, the fight almost entirely drained out of him. He’s just a broken man now, no piece left unshattered. “I-I love him, I love him s-s-so much, he’s it, Eth-Ethan please, l-let me go, let me go…. I c-can’t leave him al-alone, p-promised I wouldn’t…. h-he made me promise, I can’t f-fail him, he-he’s alone h-he needs me……”

“This isn't what he would want,” Ethan whispers, but Jack can’t even hear him anymore, apologies and begging spilling from his lips. None of it matters. The second he can, he’ll find a way to join mark.

#character death au #suicide tw #mark #sean #rosanna #ethan #drabble #main youni #septiplier #rosaplier

2 notes · View notes

youryanderedaddy · 3 years

Text

Honey dripping

Yandere! Jumin Han x reader

tw: nsfw, murder, non-con, dub-con, mentions of cheating, mentions of blood, slight sugar daddy vibe, dirty talk, degradation, mention of threats

Summary: Your boyfriend provides everything for you and the only thing he expects in return is your love and loyalty. So of course when you fail to give him that, he gets a little angry.

It was useless - all your struggling and pained little pants. Nothing could stop the brutality unfolding before your eyes, glossy with tears. They were red and sore from the crying, but your despair wasn’t enough to melt his cold black heart. You knew that it was your fault and now someone had to pay the price. You couldn’t deny it, not when it was obvious to the outside gaze exactly what had happened while your loving caretaker was away, working hard to support you and give you anything your heart desired. The bed was messy with the white sheets all crumbled and the smell of adultery in the air still heavy and thick. No pretty words and sweet talking could get you out of the sticky situation this time around.

“Please, tell them to stop!” You whispered, looking at Jumin with the big doe eyes you used when you wanted something to go your way. You even gently touched his hand, trying to wrap your fingers around his to calm him down, only to be met with a cold empty stare of disgust in return. It pierced through your heart like a thousand sharp arrows and your throat tightened in fear as you watched the bussinessman’s bodyguards beat your lover into a sweaty mess of flesh, snot and blood, weeping on the floor. The poor unfortunate soul was two punches away from the afterlife and there was no one to blame, but yourself. Shivers ran through your body from the cold and you realized you were still half - naked, the only thing protecting your most intimate parts being the oversized shirt of the dying man. Jumin glared at you for a long moment, studying the soft features of your delicate face before making an important decision.

“Kill him.” He finally ordered, voice monotone and unbothered by the inhuman whim. With a quick snap of his slender fingers the CEO-in-line had your paramour lifeless, dead on the ground. It happened so fast you found it hard to process down the murder, despite seeing clearly the unmoving figure and all the red sticky liquid he was drowned in. A hard lump stuck at the back of your throat, making it hard to swallow or even breathe, but the panic rising in your chest went unnoticed by Jumin, who was ready to turn his full attention to you, pining you with his cruel gray eyes. “I thought you were different.” He started off slowly, moving closer to you. “You were always so sweet and innocent I almost fell for your little tricks.” The man smiled bitterly, the sadness reflecting in his pupils as he took another step towards you. Now you could feel his big hands grabbing at your hips, drawing you in, and his hot breath on your neck - but he didn’t bite just yet. “I should have known better, that’s on me. After all you are just like those women who use my father for his money and status.” He whispered into your ear as he dig his nails deep into you bare thighs, squizing the naked flesh roughly. “You may be a cheap lying whore, but I still love you.” The bussinessman scratched at the vulnerable skin on your lower body before placing a small wet kiss on your collarbone. “I have invested so much in you, darling, but you seem to have forgotten that.” Jumin finally raised his head, smashing his lips onto yours, pushing his tongue all the way in, leaving you breathing hard and brushing off the saliva running down your chin. “I will teach you what happens when you forget your place, kitten.”

WIth that the man dragged you towards the unmade bed, a harsh reminder of your betrayal, and despite all your squirming and pulling away, begging him to let you go, soon he had you pinned onto the mattress with your wrists trapped beneath his. The director wasted no time in ripping apart the clothing, soaked with the smell of another man. The swift aggressive move left you fully exposed and bare in front of the hungry lustful monster, the fear and andrenaline in your veins turning everything into a hazy mess of ugly emotions and silent sobs. You tried to close your legs, but the attempts to cover yourself were fruitless as the rich man simply tied your thighs, spreading you all to himself. Jumin couldn’t help running a finger up your slit, circling the small sensitive bud in the center until he felt your walls clench around his forefinger, and eventually it came out wet.

“How interesting.” The director stated, smirking with malice. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore, but your body is pointing otherwise.” You whimpered at his words, but your body gave you away as your hips rocked in the air in hopes of finding more stimulation. “I just killed your lover and your wet little pussy still wants me to fill it up, kitten.” Jumin started undoing his belt, taking out his member, hard at the sight of you so open and flustered, ripe for the taking. With one hand he groped your breast, messaging it gently, pulling slightly at the stiff raspberry tip, while the other kept fingering you in a steady pace.

“J-jumin!” You cried out in pleasure despite your best efforts to stay quiet while he played with your body like it was just another one of his possessions. It was humiliating, infuriating even, but there was nothing you could do except lay there and take it like a good little doll. You couln’t even fight off the moans coming out of your scarlet lips because his touch felt so good in such a wrong way. “Please, I am sorry! D-don’t do this to me.” You sobbed, letting the logical part of your brain speak as your cunt twitched in the upcoming orgasm that soon washed over you in one powerful wave. It was painfully satisfiying and left you panting heavily, trying to catch your breath.

“You want me to stop?” The bussinessman suddenly pushed the head of his throbbing member into your entrance, but stopped to look you straight in the eyes. There was no sight of defiance in them, only guilt and desperation - and to him you were the prettiest when needy, broken down and obedient for him. The tears were streaming down your face leaving a salty red trace on your puffy cheeks, and he licked it, running his tongue slowly and teasingly on your hot skin. “If you hate it so much, then, perhaps, you won’t come all over my cock like a little slut, yeah?” Jumin replied huskily, sucking and biting at your neck until several lovebites in all shades of blue and purple were formed, like a collar. The man then forced his lenght into your responsive hole without giving you the time to get used to it properly. Your expression changed from pleasure to pain and you whimpered in agony while the CEO-in-line shoved himself mercilessly into your heat, hitting the overstimulated nervs over and over again. Despite the initial discomort and shock your body managed to relax under the rough treatment and after a few minutes you started to arch your back to meet the harsh punishing thrusts.

“Look at you.” He spoke out, the coldness in his voice piercing your skin while you watched the sweat cover his pitch black hair. “ You are moaning like a dumb little slut while I fuck you silly even though you should be fighting be off. ” The director squeezed your tits, rocking his hips faster and faster - he was very close. “And now I am going to blow my load into you and mark you as mine.” The bussinessman kept hitting your sweet spot, abusing the sensitive place with his manhood. “We will do it together, I will count. You are not allowed to come before me.” The man commanded sternly without losing speed or strenght, staring at you with an intense gaze filled with lust, obsession and adoration. “One, two...” He lowered himself onto your tight hole as he kissed you passionately, invading your mouth with his wet tongue. “Three.” Jumin thrusted lastly before releasing the white thick liquid into your pussy. “Cum for me, my love.” He whispered softly into your ear while playing with your hard nipples. “Cum while I fill you up with my seed.” The bussinessmen kept stirring you up, teasing you, until he felt your cunt clench down, throbbing with need. You finally orgasmed, throwing your head back during the high of the terribly delightful sensation. You closed your eyes - there was nothing left to do or say after the violation.

“Your punishment has come to its end now.” You heard his cold voice from far above you and it felt awfully distant but at this point you didn’t care. You just wanted to qucikly fall asleep and drift away to a different place. Somewhere warm and cozy where no one could hurt you. Unfortunately, his last sentence caught your attention. “But if you ever betray me again, I won’t be so loving anymore. What goes around comes around. Beware, darling.”

#male yandere x reader #yandere jumin x reader #yandere oneshot #yandere mystic messenger #yandere jumin han #yandere male x reader #yandere #yandere male #yandere fanfiction #yandere smut #yancore #yandere one shot #yandere prompt

575 notes · View notes

bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Text

shelter me from winter’s bite

Everyone’s doing a hypothermia fic so I figured I may as well contribute. It’s one of my favorite tropes.

title taken from Brian Czyzyk’s poem “Hoarfrost” (he’s my favorite young queer poet and you should check him out).

tw: hypothermia, angst with a happy ending, whump with a happy ending

---

“Do you always have to be so damnably loud?” Geralt growls, glaring at Jaskier from across the small room.

“My apologies for existing,” the bard snaps back. He’d only been rearranging his pack, looking for something reasonably clean to sleep in while his clothes were laundered by the innkeeper’s lovely wife. “I’ll try to do so more quietly from now on, good sir.”

Geralt huffs out a breath in passive-aggressive annoyance and Jaskier bristles.

“Oh well, then. C’mon witcher, I know you want to say it!”

“Say what?” Geralt asks. His voice is low and threatening. He’s ready to play the game and by god he’s going to win this time.

“It’s practically your motto at this point,” the bard hisses through his teeth, angry and bitter and tired. Geralt sees victory. Sees some peace and quiet on the horizon. “Say it!”

Geralt does as he’s told, like any good witcher would: “Fuck off, bard.”

“There it is!” Jaskier laughs joylessly, throwing up his hands. He pulls on his doublet and boots and heads for the door. “If you want me gone so badly, Geralt, then I will go. I’ll get out of your lovely white hair and leave you to mope in peace.”

“Fucking finally,” the witcher snarls, turning away. He doesn’t see the genuine hurt in Jaskier’s blue eyes as the bard quietly closes the door rather than slamming it. He doesn’t hear the quiet sob that rips its way out of Jaskier’s throat as he stands very still, shocked and suddenly exhausted all the way to his bones. He doesn’t smell the salt of his bard’s tears as he slips silently down the hallway and out into the late autumn night. He doesn’t notice the snow starting to pile up on the windowsill ahead of season.

He’s too busy being a self-flagellating moron to notice any of that.

---

Geralt is woken in the middle of the night by a commotion downstairs. He can hear several loud, panicked heartbeats and one very quiet, very slow heartbeat beneath all of those; it’s achingly familiar but the half-asleep witcher can’t quite call its source to mind. Geralt listens as the innkeeper barks out a series of sharp orders: “Meredith, you get to the kitchen and make some strong black tea! Florence, fetch a pail of warm water and two or three towels from the laundry. Josiah you lazy lout, get into the attic and fetch some blankets! The poor lad has gone blue all over!”

The witcher peers into the hallway and catches the skinny stable hand, Josiah, racing for the attic staircase. “What’s going on?”

“A farmer from the next town over was on his way over to help a friend’s sow give calf and he found-” the lad pauses to suck in a great gulp of air and launches off again “-and he found that friend of yours lying in a snowbank, muttering nonsense and shivering like a leaf. The poor fool didn’t have a cloak on him or anything, just a doublet and walking boots! He’s near-dead!”

Geralt curses and makes for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reaches the main floor. There are voices coming from the kitchen and he follows them as if in a dream, his feet moving without aid of his conscious mind. “Jaskier? Is it the bard, Jaskier?”

“Are you the great brute what kicked him out?” the innkeeper’s wife asks, crossing her arms over her ample chest and narrowing her eyes. Geralt falters.

“No, he- he left on his own, in a huff.”

“Wonder who could have started the huff,” the woman rolls her eyes. This isn’t about his status as a witcher, Geralt knows; this eye roll was made by a woman who knows a lovers’ quarrel when she sees one. Except that this stupid little spat might have cost Jaskier his life.

“Where is he? May I see him, goodwife?”

The woman points to a table in the corner, which has been cleared of cooking implements and cushioned with a heavy bearskin. Jaskier lies atop the brown fur, his skin frighteningly pale, his lips and fingers tinted a slight blue. Geralt rushes to his side and takes one of the bard’s stiff hands in his own. He brushes a stray lock of brown hair from Jaskier’s forehead and nearly recoils in shock from the temperature of his skin. Even colder than his hands, which are already dangerously frigid. If Jaskier cannot play his lute-

Geralt doesn’t even allow himself to finish the thought. Instead he works on rubbing small, careful circles onto the back of the bard’s hands with his thumbs, warming the skin in tiny increments: “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

The bard remains unmoving, heartbeat fluttering weakly, lungs barely drawing breath; Geralt fights back an overwhelming sense of panic, trying to recall whatever training he’d received at Kaer Morhen concerning freezing humans.

“Do you mind if I take him upstairs and tend to him myself?” the witcher asks.

“Can you take care of him?” the innkeeper’s wife replies.

Geralt bows his head, shame licking like flames up and down his bent spine, and nods. “Yes, Ma’am. I have dry clothes for him in our room and I was trained extensively for emergency situations such as this, all witchers are.”

“Alright,” she narrows her eyes. “But he’d best be alive come morning.”

“I’ll happily turn myself over to the village elders to be dealt with accordingly should the bard come to any harm,” he vows. Her eyes widen minutely and he can read the surprise in her body language, but she remains relatively calm.

“Any further harm, rather. Alright, then. I’ll have my husband and the girls bring those supplies up to your room for him. We’ll be glad to go back to sleep.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Geralt bows formally. She blushes despite her irritation with him and waves him away.

“Take your bard and go, witcher, before I change my mind and spend all night caring for him myself out of motherly pity. Go.”

Geralt hefts Jaskier into his arms, heavy bearskin blanket and all, and hurries up the stairs to his room. He will not let Jaskier come to any further harm. Not by his hand. Not by his word. Never again.

---

Back in their room, Geralt quickly undresses the shivering human, peeling away what few damp layers there are with growing disappointment. Jaskier hadn’t been prepared for a walk in the snow at all! Although, to be fair, it hadn’t seemed that cold earlier in the evening and the snow had been sudden and heavy.

He wipes Jaskier down with a warm cloth and slips one of his own clean shirts over the bard’s head. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the way Jaskier’s shoulders don’t quite fill out the dark material. Or on the way his dark, wiry chest hair peeks out through the open laces at his throat. The witcher quickly shuffles him into clean smallclothes and wraps him in a thick wool blanket.

They sit curled before the fire and Geralt holds Jaskier against his chest. He hums with his voice like gravel, grating out one note after the other in some attempt to soothe the bard’s aching body. Jaskier shivers and shakes violently in the witcher’s strong embrace, his eyes clenched shut with the cramps that wrack his frame as his muscles return to their normal temperature. Geralt feels like he’s holding a porcelain doll and keeps his grip deliberately loose, tight enough to comfort but not restrain.

“G-Geralt,” he groans. “Hold me, please.”

The witcher squeezes his arms more confidently around the bard’s middle, burying his face in Jaskier’s soft hair and breathing deeply. The warmth that usually emanates from his busy human body is gone and his chamomile-honey scent is buried beneath a layer of damp cold; it feels wrong. Terribly wrong. Geralt murmurs against his temple, begging the younger man’s forgiveness: “I’m so sorry, Jaskier. Gods, I’m so sorry. Will you ever be able to forgive me? I’m a fool, you know. I’m a fool witcher who never says anything important until it’s too late. I’m so incredibly sorry, my love.”

“This is a very good dream,” the bard sighs, smiling despite the pain. His eyes open, bleary and addled. “Like I was having in the woods, but better.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier seems to understand the unspoken question, even in his current sorry state.

“The real Geralt would never be so gentle with me, dear heart. You must be a dream, sent to me on my deathbed to ease my passage into the afterlife. There’s no other explanation for your sudden displays of tenderness.”

“It’s... It’s really me,” Geralt affirms. He runs his hand up and down the length of Jaskier’s spine, “I’m here, Jaskier. Can you ever forgive me for being so stupid?”

“I forgive you for being stupid ever other day, dear witcher. It is of no consequence to me.”

“It almost was,” Geralt frowns. “I nearly- I almost-”

Jaskier’s arm raises weakly and his too-chilly hand presses to Geralt’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like an idiot. I shouldn’t have kept picking the fight. We both fucked up, alright? What matters is our second chance. We got to have one, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“Am I wearing your shirt?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Yours were all being laundered and this one was clean and it had been in my pack near the fire so it was already warm and-”

“Did you take care of me all night?”

“Hmm.” Geralt sighs after his hum and glances away for a moment. “What did you mean about... about the dream in the woods?”

“Oh. Well, when I was very cold and things were hazy and slow, I dreamed that you were there with me. Everything got very fuzzy and warm for a little bit, and when it was warm you were holding me like this and giving me little kisses. It was... nice. Even though I knew I was dying because you were being so soft, so considerate; saying things to me you’d never say out loud in real life.”

“I love you, Jaskier. I will try my best not to lose my temper needlessly,” the witcher swears. “You don’t deserve it.”

“Can we still cuddle like this?” Jaskier asks, leaning his weigth against Geralt’s firm chest. “It’s so nice to be held.”

“Of course. Anything you want. I’m not going to waste my second chance by treating you poorly. Not for another second, my beloved bard.”

“B-beloved?”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, well then I’m definitely still dreaming.”

Geralt lifts Jaskier into his arms and carries him over to the bed, which is piled high with their extra blankets. He tucks Jaskier into the nest against the wall and lays along the outside of the mattress. He presses his lips to the bard’s, reveling in Jaskier’s returning warmth, and smiles. “I’ll prove it’s not a dream. Every day.”

“Sounds nice,” Jaskier yawns, snuggling into the witcher’s arms and settling down to sleep.

“It will be.”

#geraskier #hypothermia #getting together #bouncey's endless getting together fics #geraskier fic #geraskier fluff #whump with a happy ending #fluff with a happy ending #geralt #jaskier #jaskier whump #jaskier gets hypothermia #caring geralt #soft geralt #winter fics #geraskier winter fics

492 notes · View notes

dragonsareourfuture · 3 years

Text

I Don’t Belong Here — L Lawliet/GN! Reader

Summary: What kind of a story begins with the main character dying? Well, this one. L Lawliet has lived out his days on earth and finds himself in the afterlife. The Good Place, he is told by a neighborhood architect named (Name). One who shows him around his own neighborhood and introduces him to new people. But something doesn’t add up, L notices. Does he really belong in the Good Place?

(I'd advise having knowledge on the TV show "The Good Place" if you wish to understand the majority of this clusterfuck. Although, if you wish to proceed regardless, go right ahead!)

Chapter One: L Lawliet, You Are Dead.

Weclome! Everything Is Fine.

Everything is fine? Is that so?

The last thing L remembers is the ceiling. Just…the ceiling. The fans twirling on the ceiling of the headquarter building and the cross hatching of the tiles. It was peaceful. Was he sleeping? If he had been sleeping, then how did he end up here?

Now, instead of the ceiling, he stares at a wall. Big, green letters stare back at him. “Welcome! Everything Is Fine,” they say. Something inside L is prickling, like something he is forgetting struggling to find its way to his brain. He wants to ponder it, but something about the words splayed out on the wall in front of him is telling him that he doesn’t have to. Everything is fine, after all.

He only manages to tear his eyes away from the bold, sans serif font when the sound of a doorknob turning catches his attention. Huh. Has there always been a door there? If so he hadn’t noticed it, which L thinks is completely absurd as he usually takes mental notes of everything in a room before getting himself seated. But there it is, a door he missed while transfixed on the somehow calming message on the wall, now opening to reveal...a person.

You stand in the doorway, simply smiling.

Now that L’s attention has been drawn away from the mystifying message he can properly analyze his surroundings, and his new visitor. He’s in a rather simple room, nothing but a few plants dotting the perimeter and a couch in the middle, which he is currently sitting on. And he’s sitting normally. Hm. That feels…itchy. L inches a foot onto the couch in his discomfort of sitting with his bottom planted firmly on the cushions with both feet on the ground. Though he hesitates to bring both feet up and hug his knees to his chin as he normally would, because he senses that your sudden presence means he is about to be standing and following you into that mysterious room behind you. Like a doctor calling a patient into an appointment. Except in this case L has no idea what you are, and judging by your suit and comical, colorful bowtie, you are certainly not a doctor.

“L?” you ask, showing your teeth in a kind smile. “Come on in.”

And against his better judgement, he does. L was never the person to simply keep quiet and obey orders in a situation he does not understand. And there certainly is not a whole lot of understanding happening in his brain right now. He should be asking questions. He should be refusing you. He doesn’t know you, you could be leading him to his doom. All this is possible but something about the way you smile at him…like those big, green words, all he reads from you is “Everything Is Fine.”

The room that you lead him into doesn’t look all that much like a death trap, but you can never be sure. It’s a simple office, plants similar to the ones in the waiting room sit in pots in the corners and on the windowsill. The sun shines outside, seeping through the glass and illuminating the desk on the left as you walk in. On it are a few little trinkets, paperweights, and, right in the middle, a manila file folder.

You circle around the desk and settle yourself into the rollaway chair, gesturing to the sleek armchair across from you. “Why don’t you have a seat, hm?”

What is wrong with him right now? You ask him to do something and he just…does? What happened to his spine, other than it bending exponentially thanks to the way he sits?

No matter, there are more important things to think about right now. Like the fact that he might finally be getting some answers.

You open the file in front of you and skim whatever’s written, opening your mouth to say something when your eyes meet his. And then they drift down to his legs. You stare at him curiously with your mouth still agape for a few moments at how his knees are pulled up to his chin, eventually shaking your head and getting back on track.

“My name is (Name), and of course I already know yours.” you say, folding your hands in front of you. “So, how are you, L?”

How should L even answer that?

“I’m…confused, mostly. How are you?”

Your eyes light up, as if you haven’t been asked that in a while. “Oh, well I’m fine. Y’know, busy, but fine! And, yes, I’d assume you’d be confused, everyone in your situation usually is.”

“My situation? What exactly do you mean by that?” Now that L has finally asked one question he can’t seem to stop the ball from rolling “Speaking of you, who are you exactly? Actually, never mind who, but where—“

You hold up a hand. “All of your questions will be answered, I promise. There’s just one thing that you need to know before we tackle any of that.”

“And what is that?”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, elbows digging into the surface of your desk as you lean forward. You look like you’re about to tell him that he’s fired. That his dog died. That some kid took the last of the strawberry shortcake and he’s going to have to settle for carrot cake. What comes out of your mouth is much worse.

“L Lawliet, you are dead.”

…

He’s…?

Yes. Yes, he is. That’s why he doesn’t remember how he got here.

He’s dead. Huh.

L is perfectly content in not saying anything about this new little factoid, but you’re looking at him expectantly, and a little cautiously. Like you either expect him to punch you or burst into tears. L wonders if that fear is based on experience. How many other people have to told this to?

“…Am I, now? That’s a shame.”

You breathe out a sigh, which could be from relief. “Yes, it is. But, not to worry! Because you’ve ended up in the Good Place, L. You’re going to be okay.”

“So it’s called the Good Place?” L brings his thumb to his lips. “A rather simple thing to call it.”

You nod. “Pretty self-explanatory, right? We didn’t want anyone to get confused. There are just so many names for it on earth. Heaven, Valhalla, Nirvana…But it all translates to one place. Here. And you get to be a part of it.”

“That sounds…” Before he can articulate his thoughts, a dilemma from earlier brings itself to the forefront of L’s mind. “Wrong.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My memories are all wrong. Before this, all I can remember is the ceiling and nothing else. If I were to have died, surely I would remember it, yes?”

You take a gulp of air and pull the manila file closer to you. “We take it upon ourselves to erase the memories of death if they are particularly traumatizing or embarrassing. Helps the residents adapt into a peaceful afterlife better, I’m sure you understand.”

“Yes, that is perfectly sensible. Although I may ask, what is an example of a death that is not at all traumatizing?”

“Pfft, there hardly is one. You’d be surprised how many memories we have to erase.”

“On the contrary, I am hardly surprised. I’m sure there are plenty of people who cannot accept the nature of their death, let alone the fact that they have died in the first place.”

You sigh, “You’re tellin’ me. Most people come around once I tell them that they’re basically in paradise, but some won’t even listen to me once I break the news. One person tried to convince me I was the dead one! It’s just—oh, um, but that’s hardly the point.”

“Do you ever tell someone how they died if they ask?”

Your expression hardens. “I do, but I like to know that they’re certain before I tell them.”

“I am.”

Exhaling through your nose, you prop the manila folder up like a book, scanning the files inside. “Alright then. Let’s see here…ah, okay. So, unfortunately this one’s pretty traumatizing, it’s not really one of those embarrassing deaths that some people get a kick out of, so brace yourself.” You look over the top of the folder as if checking to see if he’s braced himself. His expression and stance is unwavering, large eyes merely staring back at you patiently. “You were betrayed by your colleague Yagami Light – also known as your adversary Kira – and killed by the Shinigami Rem at his request.”

Oh yeah. That.

The ceiling was not clear in view, no, there was something obstructing L’s view of it. A face, staring down at him as his heart gave out right on the floor. Brown eyes filled with such cocky maliciousness, the upward tilt of lips L only knew to spout lies. It all equated to a side of Yagami Light that L knew existed but had never seen up until his final moments. It all added up to one final conclusion -- Yagami Light was Kira all along. L had been right. But the price of knowing that for certain is that, now, there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I’m..I’m sorry. I never know what to do when I have to tell people…” you try, reaching across the table and planting a hand down in front of him. Not asking to hold his hand, not even expecting a reaction. Just showing that you’re there, and that you’re trying.

“It’s up to them now. I’ve done all that I could. I trust my successors.”

“In catching the murderer Kira, right?” you ask, to which L confirms with a polite utterance of ‘yes’. Obviously you know the answer. “I understand that is one of the many, many cases you’ve worked on during your lifetime.” you scan your eyes quickly down what appears to be a long list in your folder. Do you have every detail of his life in those files? Every case he ever took? Hell, every day in his life? You set the file down flat in front of you and look at him with something L determines is admiration. “You’ve done so much good in your lifetime, L. You’ve worked so hard over the entirety of your life to make sure you left the world a little better than you found it. Now…well, now you can rest.”

You can relax, you tell him. And it seems to simple coming out of your mouth yet somehow it still feels out of reach.

“I can…” Is all L manages to say, his preoccupation coming across as dreamy and wistful. His mind is busy running a mile a minute and his mouth just can’t keep up. L decides to test the words out on his own tongue to see if they still sound foreign, “I can rest now.”

Yeah, no, it still sounds like bullshit.

“Yes! Well, after the tour, of course.”

“Tour?”

You start to stand, straightening your colorful bowtie and circling around your desk to the door which you pull open. You don’t exit right away, though. You stand next to the exit, waiting for L to follow you. While he works on untangling himself from his current position you clarify, “A tour of the neighborhood! Where you’ll spend your afterlife.”

#death note #death note x reader #death note fanfic #the good place #the good place au #l lawliet x reader #x reader fanfic #x reader #reader insert #death note l #l lawliet

60 notes · View notes

wavesmp3 · 3 years

Text

[ksw] clouds

sunwoo x reader

wc. 5k warnings: medical inaccuracies, death, illness, hospitals, overall just a pretty heavy piece genre can only be described as an absolute mess inspired mainly by san junipero but also slightly by charlie kaufman and wong kar wai

a/n: this is supposed to be told nonlinearly but like the creation of it was very messy so i have no clue if it actually worked, so good luck trying to make this piece make sense of this :)

act iii. scene iii.

Sunwoo sits and watches the sun shift from pink and blue to an impossible shade of green. And it’s then he knows that without a doubt Clara has ruined the color green for him. Because instead of marveling at the color of the sky, Sunwoo is reminded of the doors in her apartment building.

“Thought I might find you here.” The voice of a stranger who Sunwoo loved once upon a time says behind him. He tries like hell not to turn around. Not to lean back towards the voice and wait for your hand on his shoulder or your shin knocking familiarly against his back. He focuses on the waves crashing below instead. The roar of the water beneath him is deafening, but only if you let it be. He does, and he almost forgets that you’re behind him.

“Where’d you go?” You ask, now sitting next to him, tugging at the long grass.

“I’m right here.”

“And what about in there?” You bring a finger up and poke at the side of his forehead.

He turns to you, facing you in full. He takes in your features like it’s the first time all over again. And, oh, he wishes he knew before how many firsts you already had together. This is just another. This is just the first time he’s seen you in the past six months and remembered the thousands of times he’s seen your face before.

He studied your cheeks. The one he now recalls running the back of his palm over after you left for the Cloud.

He memorizes, for the millionth time, your eyes. He used to swear they were darker than they are, but then he saw them in the sun. He was dying back then; then he saw your eyes and you saved him. Just like that.

Mr. Choi was right of course. As he always must be. You and him are like an old married couple. Not like. You are. Almost were.

“I had lunch with Mr. Choi today.” He tells you.

You squint at him. “I know. It’s Thursday.” You pull out a piece of the grass. “What’d he make?”

“Ramen.”

“Was it good?”

“It was okay.”

“Too spicy?”

Suwnoo answers with a sigh, looking away from you and back towards the water. The deafening waves crash against the cliffside. “I know you looked at your file.” He finally says. You stop pulling at the grass. You still. “Mr. Choi told me.”

After he says it, there’s a silence that isn’t actually silent at all. The waves rage below his feet. The seagulls are there too, beneath, above, somewhere, everywhere. And then, of course, there’s you and Sunwoo, trying to be silent over the static in your heads and the machines you’re hooked up to in a universe far far away.

“Did he tell you about my file?”

He looks at you again. “No.”

“Oh.” You look away, brows furrowed, lick your lips, and then turn back to him. “So why are you upset?”

“After he told me, I went and I…”

“You didn’t.”

“I looked at mine.”

There’s another silence, except that this time it really is quiet. Sunwoo read once whilst in a rabbit hole of medical research that true silence only happens in a vacuum, where there is no medium for sound waves to travel through. This must be that. This place, the files, Mr. Choi and Mr. Chan, Clara and her apartment building full of green doors--it’s a vacuum. And they stick people in it then call it the Cloud. They call it extra time. But it isn’t. It’s nothing and he’s stuck in the middle of it. So Sunwo stares at you, straight through the vacuum of time and space you’re both lost in, waits for you to say something, and then waits for himself to hear it.

“You looked?” You finally say, voice folding in on itself.

“Yes.” Sunwoo’s own voice is barely there. You must be reading his lips which you’ve always been good at anyways.

“So you know now?”

“I always knew, and now, I remember.”

act i. scene iv.

There’s been an accident.

That’s what they say when the sun falls out of the sky and the world starts spinning in the wrong direction. It’s how they show up at Sunwoo’s door painted in shades of blue and red, with authority in their arms and hands on their hips. How they prepare him for the looming moment where they rip past his skin, blood, bone to shoot a gun straight at his heart. I’m so sorry for your loss, they say leaving him with a bullet lodged somewhere between his left and right atrium.

And those are the four words that play over and over and over in Sunwoo’s head as he gets to the hospital. Those are the words that crawl inside his open chest and turn him blue and black with infection. There’s been an accident, he remembers, staring at the extraordinary measures taken to keep your heart beating and lungs beating. This is it. Except that the accident isn’t that you’re dying, but that you’re dying. It’s always supposed to have been him. He’s supposed to be the one stuffed with tubes and hooked up to monitors, the one whose life is hanging on by a thread, and you’re supposed to be the one that saves him. It all feels like a play that’s gone horribly wrong because everyone switched parts after intermission without telling him. At what point did you steal the role of dying protagonist from him?

We did everything we could, a stranger in a white coat says. Except that it’s not some stranger, it’s your colleague and co-worker because this is the hospital you work at and the hospital Sunwoo met you in. There was too much damage to the brain, they explain as the image of their tear-stricken face goes from your friend during intern year to the doctor who operated on you as your brain went dead.

“We have two options, right?” Sunwoo is far too familiar with surgery and all this. He knows from his hospital days what’s supposed to happen next. But apparently, things have changed since then.

“Actually, there’s a third option.”

Sunwoo doesn’t waste a second. He jumps out of the chair stained red from his bleeding heart and asks: “What is it?”

“We can upload them.”

act iii. scene ii.

In fifty days of living in the cloud, Sunwoo has learned all about the people that he shares a building with. There’s Mr. Chan who lives behind a vomit green on the same floor as him and who hasn’t left his room since last January. There’s also Mr. Choi, who lives behind the emerald door and invites Suwoo over for lunch every Thursday. Clara lives upstairs, where the walls are painted in various shades of green--olive, seaweed, moss, hunter, shamrock, sage, and others that Sunwoo tries not to think too deeply about. He’s only met Clara once in the past fifty days and has no particular wish to see her again. He hadn’t expected her to be a kid. Cancer, you told him after their introduction in the lobby, poor girl was only seven. As said before, Sunwoo tries not to think about it.

And then of course there’s you behind the forest green door who has been slowly showing him all the good places. There’s the beach where you spent the day making seashell necklaces. The cafe which serves its tea too sweet for him, but sweet enough to be considered your favorite. Sunwoo just gets the chocolate bread. You took him downtown. To a club. The tallest building. And to midtown where the amusement park is.

But his favorite place you’ve taken him so far is the cliffside above the beach, where the waves crash against the rocks in a way that can only be described as violent. That day you and him laid in the grass and stared at the clouds with your heads dangling just over the edge and water spraying the backs of your necks. That day you turned to him and told him you’re sorry. For what, he asked. I’m so sorry you’re sick, you said, but it’s nice to have you around here. I think in a sense, we’ve both been waiting for this. Then, you smiled and stole all of the blood from his body. So yeah, that day, that place--it’s his favorite.

Today, you take him on a hike up a mountain.

“Do you believe in an afterlife?” You ask him after having spent thirty minutes silently staring at the view from the best peak.

“One after this?”

“Yeah. I guess. Although, I’m not so convinced this counts.”

“I don’t know.” Sunwoo shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Do you think we’d be able to be with our loved ones in it?”

His chest lurches. “If there is one, yes.”

“Do you think it’ll be different than this?”

Sunwoo turns to you finally. “Why are you asking about this?”

You shake your head. “Nevermind. It’s a stupid question.”

He turns back towards the view. From here, he can make out Clara’s building. He thinks about her, about Mr. Choi and Mr. Chan, who he recently found out were once married but who haven’t spoken since Mr. Chan read his file in January, and he thinks about you and about him.

“I think,” Sunwoo says, loud enough so that you can hear after wandering a little bit away from him, “that whatever the afterlife is, if it does exist, it’ll be worth it.”

You turn to him, but don’t make any move to come near him again. “And if it doesn’t exist?”

“Then life will have been worth it.”

The corner of your lip lifts. “I like that.”

Sunwoo only nods at the sentiment, and after a long while, he builds enough courage to ask, “you’ve been here a really long time, haven’t you?”

“Time doesn't work as linearly in the cloud as it does in the real world. Sometimes it feels like I got here and then you arrived the very next day.” You turn back towards the view and exhale heavily.

“But yes. I’ve been here for an eternity.”

act ii. scene i.

Before he actually sees you, Sunwoo feels you. Not you, in particular, but something in the distance, a presence in the corner of the room and a pair of eyes watching him from somewhere far away.

The scariest part is how much the feeling doesn’t actually scare him.

Two days after that, he starts to see you in the flesh. He tells himself that his mind is playing tricks on him, that the person he saw in the produce aisle wasn’t actually you at all and was just a stranger with the same hair.

He doesn’t go straight home from the store that day. Instead, he stops by the hospital and checks in on you, but even that doesn’t do anything about the fact that he sees a shadow of you behind the bed.

The day after that, you speak to him. Standing in the middle of his kitchen in broad daylight, you speak, you say hello, and the first thing Sunwoo thinks is that he’s dead.

You aren’t, you reply. You’re a zombie, he reasons, here for my brain. I’m not. A ghost. No. Are you, here Sunwoo falters, fear flooding out of his body to make room for the briefest blotch of hope that’s crushed almost immediately by you saying: I’m not alive, Sunwoo. You saw me in the hospital yesterday.

“So then,” he swallows, “what are you?”

I’m here. You look at him, stare at his face and without a sliver of doubt say, I’m here for you.

Sunwoo knows it’s impossible. You can’t be here. You can’t. And yet, you are.

Three years ago Sunwoo was told he had three months left to live, and he still remembers how impossibly you saved him from the brink of death. He remembers how impossible things happen all the time, and how impossibly possible it is that this is one of them. He steps towards you, touches your face, and feels the real, impossible thing against his hand.

“You’re here.”

On the fifth day of your haunting, Sunwoo finally has the sense to ask why.

Why what?

“Why are you here?”

I’m here for you.

“Stop saying that.”

But I am, you tell him. You asked, and that’s the answer. I’m a doctor, Sunwoo. I’m here for you.

Then, finally, he hears what you’ve been saying for the past five days. You’re here for him.

And the thing about doctors is that they’re there for you when you need them.

“I’m sick.”

Yes, you answer quietly, although it wasn’t a question.

“Again.”

I’m so sorry.

“You’re a hallucination, aren’t you?” Sunwoo’s shocked by how sad that makes him, how disappointing it is. “I’ve been hallucinating.”

Find me in the Cloud, Sunwoo. There’s something I want to say.

You’re gone by the time he gets to the hospital.

act iii. scene i.

Sunwoo stares at the hall of green doors, eyes darting from door to door in an attempt to stare down the shades until they confess which one of them is tea green.

“Clara, the landlord, likes colors.” A voice says from behind him. “Every couple of months she repaints all of the doors in different shades of the same one. Before the green, it was yellow.”

Sunwoo turns around to face you. When your eyes find him, they go blank for the smallest of moments. You give him a look that goes right through him, turning him inside out like you’ve seen the underside of his skin. It irks him.

“I’m Sunwoo. I’m new.”

You gulp. “You’re here.” He doesn’t know what to make of the statement. Do all people in the cloud act like this? “Why?”

Sunwoo nods, maybe you’re not so weird as much as you just have a weird way of posing questions. “I was told I’m sick.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, frowning like you actually might feel back for him.

“Have you been here a while then?” You nod. “Can I ask how long?” You shake your head. Sunwoo doesn’t think too much about it. Instead, he returns your earlier question “Why are you here?”

“Brain dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

You ignore it and point to a door down the hall. “I’m forest green. You?”

“Tea green. But I can’t find-”

You tap the door in front of him. “This one, genius.”

“Oh.” He laughs awkwardly. “Thanks.”

Your mouth parts as if to say something, and your face goes blank again. He feels his skin turning itself inside out because of it. “Have you read your file yet?”

He shakes his head. “I just got here.”

You inhale, softening, and mutter an ‘okay’. You continue down the hall towards your door. Sunwoo is stuck in place. “I can show you around here, if you like. Take you to all the cool places.”

Sunwoo takes you up on it.

A forest green door slams shut down the hallway.

act i. scene ii.

“Thank you for taking me out of the hospital.” Sunwoo says, exhaling. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been to a park like this.”

And it’s true, he really can’t. He’s been sick for so long now, and has been through a multitude of treatment plans and too many surgeries. When you’re sick and have 9 surgeons turn you down after asking them to save your life, you forget the joy of being outside and feeling the sun on your skin. You were the first doctor to agree to the surgery. You’re the only doctor to have ever treated Sunwoo like he wasn’t dying, like he was actually going to live.

“You don’t have to thank me. This is good for me too.” You say, head resting against the park bench and eyes closed.

Sunwoo inhales, taking in the park with all his senses. A visceral sort of thing you learn to do as often as possible when you’ve been as close to death as frequently as he has. He feels the wood beneath his body and the grass beneath his feet. He feels the light on his skin and the wind pushing against his arms and nose. He listens to the kids screaming at the playground at the bottom of the hill and to the dogs barking within the dog park beside it. He takes all this in, relishes in it for the last time as a dying person.

You sigh. “One more surgery.”

“And then I’ll be done with this sickness.”

You smile. He pretends not to see. “And then you’ll be done.”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

“Don’t do that.”

“No. Seriously.”

You smile again, this time at him. Sunwoo doesn’t have to pretend not to see. “I haven’t finished saving it yet.”

He leans back against the bench and closes his eyes. “But you will.”

You tap on your coffee cup. “Honestly though, you did more work than me.” Sunwoo frowns while you take a sip. “The other nine doctors you called are good doctors, and they made the same judgement call I would have made for any other patient. No sane doctor would have agreed to treat you. But you were the reason I said yes. You had such faith that you were going to live and so much faith that I could do it that I believed you. I might be the one doing the technical saving, but you, Sunwoo, you’re the one who convinced me to do it. You saved yourself.”

He stares at you. The light hits your eyes like it’s finding a way to break through them. In truth, before Sunwoo got sick, he didn’t think he was scared of death, but he is. He’s terrified of it. Sunwoo realized it two weeks after his diagnosis and the day after he was wrongly told he only had three more months left to live. But now, for the first time since he was diagnosed, he doesn't feel so afraid of it. Despite how far he’s come and how close he is to beating this fucking illness, while staring at the light woven through your eyes, Sunwoo thinks he could live with himself if he dropped dead tonight.

That thought alone, is almost as terrifying as death used to be.

act iii. scene v.

“I saw your ghost, you know.” It’s the first thing Sunwoo has said to you in over two weeks. “It wasn’t actually you though, was it?” You don’t even bother looking up from your cup of tea. Through the silence, Sunwoo orders a coffee.

“I didn’t know that.” The coffee turns lukewarm. “It wasn’t me.” You push an uneaten half of chocolate bread towards him. “It’s in your brain this time. Symptoms can include hallucinations.”

“Think you can still save me?” You can’t. If you know that much, you know he’s out of medical miracles, and that this time, he really won’t survive it. But it’s a joke. And you laugh at it.

“Definitely not. I never really liked neurosurgery.”

And all at once, he’s painfully aware of your friend somewhere in the real world that does like it but watched anyways as your brain died before her, split wide open.

“Anyways, how do you know all of this?” But what Sunwoo really wants to say is brains are killer. Literally. Figuratively.

“I’ve known since we...“ you hesitate, mouth stuck halfway through a word he can’t place. “After last time, I read your chart and looked at your scans.” Sunwoo nods. He expected as much. He doesn’t ask how you got them. “I’m sorry you're sick again.” You say to him quietly. “I’m sorry you’re dying.”

“I’m sorry you’re dead.” As soon as the words have left his mouth, he regrets them. Because you aren’t. And he knows you too well to think you’d look past the technicality.

You scoff, shake your head slightly, and with a spiteful smile say, “Can I say it?”

Sunwoo only sighs. “Let’s start over instead.”

You nod. He pushes the chocolate bread back.

act iii. scene iv.

Mr. Choi was the one to recommend that Sunwoo give you and himself space. It’s been a month since you and him last spoke, since that moment hovering above the waves after he read his file and after he found out you read yours. He misses you, and has been for so long now. Mr. Choi was wrong. Sunwoo’s standing outside your forest green door to prove it.

You open the door before he can knock. There’s no shock in your voice when you say his name, like you’ve been waiting for this day, expecting it.

He looks behind you, at your apartment in Clara’s building that looks just like your apartment in the real world. The same one he cleaned out after you died, still filled with things he gave to your family or donated or took back to his place. He wants to crumble just looking at it again. “Can I come in?”

“It’s only been a month.”

And he knows what you mean by it. Three months is the recommended time off after reading one’s file. To reacclimate, they say, to process. But the insinuation that Sunwoo was supposed to go three months without seeing you makes him feel sick. The insinuation that after a year of being without you in the real world he was supposed to be without you here too, enrages him. Then he remembers how long you’ve been here, and how long you’ve been doing this and feels slightly murderous.

All he says is: “It’s been a lot longer than that for you.”

Your lip twitches. You lock and unlock the open forest green door five times before saying, “Are you sure?”

He nods. You let him in.

Sunwoo used to imagine what it would be like to meet you again in the Cloud one day. He imagined tears and hugs and kisses. He imagined i love you’s and i hate you’s and i miss you. He imagined the scenario more times than can possibly be considered healthy. But he imagined something. He was waiting for the day. Waiting for this day. But this moment, sitting at your round wood table while you boil water for tea, is nothing like the million different ways he imagined seeing you again.

And as you set down two mismatched mugs and take the seat across from him, he doesn’t even try to create one of them. “How long has it been since you read your file?”

You watch the steam rise from your tea for a long moment, then stand, grab the sugar and pour a spoonful of it into your tea. You take another spoonful and look at him expectantly. “Want some?” He nods, and you pour the sugar into his. You stir the tea then taste, then cringe, then add more sugar and then ask if he wants it. He refuses. You stir again. Sunwoo watches the whirlpool and waits the eternity it takes you to say: “I read it on my first day.”

You put the sugar away, satisfied with the tea’s sweetness while Sunwoo marvels at how long you’ve known and how silently you’ve been carrying the knowledge of you and him since he came. And that knowledge is what makes him finally remember one of the reasons he came. “Is there something you want to tell me?” You look up at him when he asks it, exhaling like you’ve been wanting to bring it up for so long now, which Sunwoo guesses isn’t as much of a simile as he thinks it is.

“Yes, actually. I…” you hesitate, flicking the mug as if the right words will come hopping out of the tea. Sunwoo watches for it. “I’ve just been here for a long time now, Sunwoo.”

“Two years isn’t that long.”

“Time doesn’t work the same here as it does down there.” You tell him tiredly. “It’s been decades.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“In the beginning, I didn’t mind the waiting. I knew you were on your way, but I just,” you hesitate, “I didn’t think it’d take so long for you to come back to me.”

Sunwoo covers your hand with his. “I’m sorry.” You twist your palm into it, squeeze, then pull your hand away. Sunwoo swallows. “I came as fast as I could.”

“I know. I waited.”

“Do you regret it?” Sunwoo’s terrified of what the answer might be.

You don’t give it. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then?”

“I’ve been here for so long, and,” your head drops, voice breaking under the weight it carries, “it’s been so lonely.”

“But I’m here now.” Sunwoo says, leaning forward against the table. “You aren’t alone anymore.”

“I know you’re here. I know, and I thought that would fix it, but it didn’t. Seeing you in the hall that day was so bittersweet, because you were here but that also meant you were somewhere else dying. Because you were here and I still felt lonely.” You stop, chugg the remaining bits of your tea, and then wipe your cheeks. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

“No.” But it’s a lie. He does get it. He knows all about loneliness and the way it creeps inside, so slyly. The way it starts small and then grows, feeding on negligence, until it's too big for your body. He knows how it sits inside you, for all its enormity, and spills into everything. He knows how it lingers. How it has nothing to do with people or lack of them and everything to do with grief. Sunwoo knows all about loneliness. The day he read his file he felt a dam of it burst open within him.

“I’m saying that in the real world I saved you, and now it’s your turn to save me.” You gulp. “I’m saying that I want you to unplug me.”

It takes a moment for Sunwoo to even register what you’ve said, but when he does remember the life support that’s keeping your body alive somewhere in a universe far away, he doesn’t say anything. He just stands and walks out of your apartment.

act i. scene iii.

“Doctor, please present.” The attending announces, stepping into Sunwoo’s room for rounds.

“Mr. Kim,” a resident starts, flipping open his chart, “was diagnosed 14 months ago and has gone through several different treatment plans. When he came to us, the illness had spread and was deemed inoperable and untreatable by several other physicians. Our treatment plan was aggressive and grueling but ultimately, effective. Sunwoo is 20 days post op from his third and final surgery. The surgery went extremely well with no complications and his vitals were excellent. He has been a model patient all throughout recovery, and according to our latest scans, he is also now illness free…”

Sunwoo doesn’t even bother listening to the rest.

“So, now that I’m no longer a patient, if I ask you out on a date, will you actually say yes?”

“Well,” you say, signing his discharge papers, “only one way to know.”

“What is it?”

You look up at him, smiling. “Ask me again.”

He does.

You say yes.

act iii. scene v. take ii.

“I saw your ghost.” The first thing Sunwoo says after the last failed attempt.

You look up from your tea. “It wasn’t me.”

“I know.” Sunwoo orders another coffee. “But the hallucination was how I knew I was sick again. It made me feel like you were trying to warn me, like you were up here somewhere caring from a distance. Right after I pieced it all together you told me to find you here and that there was something you wanted to say.” The coffee turns lukewarm again. Sunwoo can’t bring himself to say it. You sigh and push the same piece of chocolate bread back towards him. This time, he takes a bite from it. And with a mouthful of chocolate bread, he cries, “I just got you back, and now you want to leave all over again.”

You frown. “I didn’t want to leave the first time, and it’s different now.”

“How?”

“I want to go. Isn’t that worth something?”

“And what about what I want?”

“Oh, Sunwoo,” you say, “I’m sorry you’re sick. The hallucination was you and your head, but for what it’s worth, I have been up here caring from a distance. I still…” you don’t need to say the words. He knows. He never had to doubt it. “I never stopped.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked of me.” Sunwoo tells you. He made the decision last week but today, right now, with your confession still falling through the air, is the first time he’s had the stomach to swallow it. “And I’ll do it. I will. I just need some time. You’ve had so long and in comparison I’ve had nothing.”

“Okay.” You say simply.

“How long can you give me?”

You smile. “You know I’d give you an eternity if you asked for it.”

“I’m scared.” Sunwoo confesses then. “I know it’s what you want, but selfishly, I don’t want to let you again. I don’t know if I’m a big enough person to do it.”

“I do.” You say to him, leaning forward against the table and looking straight through him. “I know because I was your doctor. I have cut inside your body, seen all your organs, and during surgery two, I held your heart in my hands. I felt it beating. So I know exactly how big it is, and I know it’s big enough for this”

Sunwoo feels the heart you worked so hard to repair bursting inside of him.

“God. Why’d you have to read your file so soon?”

You laugh. “I missed you. I couldn’t help it.”

And just like that, you’ve stolen the entire concept of fear from him.

“I’m ready.”

“What?”

He looks at you and feels the loneliness slither away.

“Ask me again.”

#sunwoo x reader #sunwoo scenarios #sunwoo imagines #sunwoo fanfic #the boyz scenarios #the boyz fanfic #sunwoo fluff #sunwoo angst #mine #*clouds

86 notes · View notes

dumdumsun · 3 years

Text

Of Starlight

A/N: Hey, hey, we’re nearing the end

Warnings: none that I’m aware of

Word Count: 2163

—————————————

Chapter 15: I Heard A Rumor

Five hadn’t expected to see (Y/N) asleep beside him the next morning. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, but he tried his best to let them focus on her peaceful face. His side ached as he reached forward and brushed his thumb lightly across her cheekbone and he thought, he’d like to be able to wake up like this everyday. Minus the shrapnel wound, of course. In fact, the stinging pain reminded him of just why he couldn’t think of fantasies like that right now. He still needed to find Harold Jenkins, and he’d be able to effectively do so now that his wound had been taken care of. Leaning forward, he kissed (Y/N) on the cheek and moved to get out of bed, but she began to stir in her sleep. Freezing, he watched as her (e/c) eyes cracked open. When they rested on him, a sleepy smile spread across her face. “Morning.” She rasped.

“Morning.” He laid back down and let her stare at him. In all forms, in all angles, she was breathtaking. He almost couldn’t believe it. The way her eyes squinted when a new thought passed through her mind, the way they blinked twice when she snapped herself back into reality, it was all her. He wanted to comment on it, but he saw the flash of pain on her face and her smile turned bittersweet. “Stop doing that.” He whispered.

“Doing what?”

“Stop looking at me like this is the last time you’ll see me.”

She went silent for a second, her fingers tracing his features. “I can’t help it…”

Not another thing was said before she got out of bed and assisted Five out of the room. From down the hall, they heard a bell ringing and Klaus’s cheerful voice. Turning, they saw him approaching the two with a smile. “Good morning, lovebirds!”

“Good morning, Klaus. What is it?” (Y/N) asked as she shifted her arm that was around Five.

“Important family business downstairs. Breakfast will be provided.” He grinned.

“You get more insufferable everyday…” Five groaned, only encouraging his brother’s antics.

“Come on, let’s go! I already got the big guy waiting on me!” He began ringing the bell as he danced down the stairs. With a sigh, the pair followed him down into the kitchen, where Luther was sitting at the table. The man clearly had one hell of a night, seemingly hungover. As they entered the kitchen, Klaus immediately began pouring cups of coffee for everyone. Five and (Y/N) sat beside Luther, the girl handing the boy one of the cups. He took a sip and grimaced.

“Jesus. Who do I gotta kill to get a decent cup of coffee?” He hissed up at Klaus as he set the cup back down. (Y/N) sighed and reached over, gently taking his hand in hers. Klaus handed her a plate of eggs and she gratefully took it, setting it down in front of Five. “No, I don’t want to eat.”

“Five, you need to eat something.”

“(Y/N), I just said no.”

“And I say eat your food. Now.” She sternly demanded, as a mother would to her child. Five exhaled through his nose before picking up the fork, grumpily eating his eggs. She proudly smiled and rubbed circles on his back. Luther groaned and drank his coffee.

“Can we get started, please?”

“Anyone seen any of the others? Diego? Allison? No?” He looked to his sister, who only glanced around the table, wordlessly asking her usual question. Klaus motioned towards the seat across from her. Good, Ben is here. “Alright, then, this is the closest thing to a quorum...,” He banged his spatula on the table, only causing Luther more irritation. “...that we’re gonna get. Now, listening up. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna spit it out. Yeah...” He trailed off and the three frowned in confusion when he didn’t continue.

“Klaus.”

“I conjured Dad last night.” This was met with silence. Five and Luther glanced at each other in disbelief as (Y/N) stared at her brother in shock.

“Wait, seriously? I thought you hadn’t been able to.” She leaned forward.

“Ah, yes, but I’m sober. Ta-da!” He gave lazy jazz hands. “I got clean, yesterday, to talk to… well… you know, and then ended up having this… conversation with dear old Daddy himself.” He explained, (Y/N) slowly sitting back with a hum. Luther dropped his hand from his face and began to stand.

“Has anyone got some aspirin?”

“Top shelf, next to the crackers.” Five answered, now finished with his eggs and drinking more of his coffee.

“Hey, hey, hey. This is serious, guys, alright?” Klaus tried to get everyone back on track, Luther sighing and sitting back down in his seat. “This really happened, I swear.”

“So, what did he say?” (Y/N) raised her brow.

“Well, he gave me the usual lecture about my appearance and my failures in life. Yada, yada, yada. No surprise there. Even the afterlife couldn’t soften a hardass like Dad, right? But he did mention something about his murder, or lack thereof, because… he killed himself.” Klaus’s voice quieted as he looked down at his spatula. His siblings only stared, Luther the least convinced.

“I don’t have time for your games, Klaus.” This time, he actually stood from his chair as if to leave, but Klaus stopped him.

“No, I’m telling you the truth, Luther. I’m telling you the truth.”

“Why’d he do it, then?” Five asked, narrowing his eyes.

“He said it was the only way to get us home again.”

“No. Dad wouldn’t just kill himself.” Luther shook his head.

“Ah, you said it yourself. He was depressed.” Five pointed out, (Y/N) nodding in agreement. “Holed up in his office and room all day and night.”

“No. There weren’t any signs. Suicidal people exhibit certain tendencies, strange behaviors.”

“Like sending someone to the moon for no reason?” Klaus tilted his head and (Y/N) frowned quizzically. Luther only stared him down.

“I swear to god, Klaus, if you’re lying-”

“I’m not. I’m not.”

“Master Klaus is correct.”

Everyone in the room turned to see Pogo enter, limping with his cane. He stopped a little ways away from the table. Placing both hands on his cane, he sighed. “Regretfully… I helped Master Hargreeves enact his plan. So did Grace. It was a difficult choice for both of us… More difficult than you could ever know…”

(Y/N) shook her head as she stared down at the floor. “But… But Mom’s programming, i-it wouldn’t have allowed her-”

“I know, Miss (Y/N). Prior to your father’s death, Grace’s programming was adjusted so that she was incapable of administering first aid on that fateful night.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Sick bastard.” Five muttered. Luther stared down at the table with somber eyes.

“So the security tape we saw?”

“It was meant to further the murder mystery.” Pogo clarified, Luther scoffing. “Your father hoped that being back here, solving it together… would reignite your desire to be a team again.”

“And to what end?” Five questioned.

“To save the world, of course.”

“Oh, alright.” Klaus sarcastically giggled. Luther’s glare was then directed to their chimp butler.

“First the moon mission and now this. You watched me search for answers and said nothing,” As he spoke, Pogo’s head bowed in shame. “Anything else you want to share, Pogo? Any other damn secrets?” His siblings tried to calm him as his voice increased volume. “No, I won’t calm down! We’ve been lied to by the one person in this family we all trusted.”

“It was your father’s dying wish, Master Luther. I…,” Pogo sighed. “I had no choice.”

Luther stalked closer to him, eyes never leaving his form. “There’s always choice.” He muttered before walking out of the kitchen. (Y/N) stared ahead, trying to make sense of this fucked up situation. Beside her, Five ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

“I gotta think.” He sighed and grabbed the girl by the arm before blinking into his room. The two didn’t speak as they stood on opposite sides of the room, trying to make sense of everything. (Y/N), for one, was a bit pissed off. The man she had been trying to get away from for so long was the very one who had planned to bring her right back. Only it was to deal with something he clearly must have known about. Pogo said it himself, they were brought back to save the world. And while that does sound like a job for the Umbrella Academy, it’s not like any of them would have answered a call from Reginald and accepted such a mission. They had parted ways, planned on never seeing him again. So, viewed from some angles, it was the perfect plan. Jesus, he couldn’t have pretended to be deathly sick?! (Y/N)’s thoughts were put on hold when she heard Five approach her. He opened the wardrobe beside her and pulled out another uniform, wincing a bit when he raised his right arm. She wordlessly stood before him and helped him change his clothing. The entire interaction was intimate, but of course not sexual in any way. It was simply familiar. When she buttoned his dress shirt for him, it felt as if this was the right thing to do. As if being this close to him and doing something as casual as fixing his shirt was what she was meant to do, as silly as she thought it sounded. The silence between them was comfortable and they only interrupted it when (Y/N) asked if she was hurting his side and he would reply with no.

Once they were finished, Five gently grabbed her hand and kissed her cheek. When he pulled away, they stared at one another with wide eyes. Five had kissed her cheeks, her forehead and her hands before, yes, but he had never initiated affection like that out of the blue before. He almost regretted it, but (Y/N) gave him a giddy smile that instantly relaxed him. “Well, I suppose we should… go save the world, Starlight.”

“If we must.” She lightly joked and gently swung their joined hands as they walked out of the room. Klaus’s bedroom door was wide open when they reached it, so they both walked right in. He was currently shirtless, shoeless, and playing with yarn on his bed. Five uselessly knocked on the door as he passed it to get inside.

“Hey. Get up. We’re going.”

“Where?”

“To save the world, duh.” (Y/N) furrowed her brows.

“Oh, is that all? Great.” Klaus moved the yarn away and started to put his clothes back on as Five paced the room.

“So, Pogo said Dad killed himself to get us all back together, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So it got me thinking. I had to jump to the future to figure out when it happened, but Dad, he can’t time travel. So how’d the crazy bastard actually know to kill himself a week before the end of the world?”

“I was thinking the same thing.” (Y/N) nodded as Klaus tried to answer the question, but Five cut him off.

“Don’t answer. That was purely rhetorical. Truth is, our whole lives, he’s been telling us we’d save the world from an impending apocalypse.”

“Yeah, but I also thought he just said that to scare us into doing the dishes.” Klaus added as he struggled to shove his foot into his shoe. Five turned to him with raised brows.

“Me, too. But what if the old man really knew it was going to happen?”

“Exactly, but how the hell would he?” (Y/N) turned to her love, avoiding Klaus’s elbow as he raised his arms to put his shirt back on.

“No idea. But the fact remains, his fakakta plan worked. We all came home.”

“The perfect, fucked up plan for his perfectly fucked up family…”

“Well, since we’re here, we might as well save the world.”

Klaus finished dressing himself and wore a smile. “Oh, yeah? What, like, the three of us?”

“Uh, well, ideally, no, but… gotta work with what I’ve got. No offense to you, Starlight, you’ve been a wonderful help.”

“Awe, shucks.” She deadpanned. As they walked down the hall, Diego’s figure sprinted towards them, but turned into his bedroom, no longer in a sling. “Diego?”

“Where have you been?” Five stopped, the other two doing the same.

“Jail,” Diego quickly answered as he threw off his jacket. “Long story. Where’s Luther?”

“Haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

“Yeah,” Klaus stretched. “Two days until the world ends, he picks a great time to drop off the grid.” He commented as Diego walked back out, now in his leather gear. He cursed and adjusted his clothing before tilting his head up to his siblings.

“Allison is in danger.”

—————————————

Taglist: @nate-isnt-great @43sparrows @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @narikyuwu @sm0kingcrack @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @call-me-starstorm @rev-enviadhell @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @simping-4-fictional-men @hehehehannahthings @harrystylescherrie

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #tua #tua fanfic #tua x reader #tua five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five #number five x reader #five x reader #of starlight

132 notes · View notes

milfcodeddean · 3 years

Text

Memento Moratus Sum

Emma Haunts the Necklace- The Fic <3

Starts more post/concepty and becomes a fic bc I did not plan on this it was stream of consciousness! I have not seen all of the later seasons and it was hard to keep track of what plot points to mention even of all the seasons I have seen!

AO3

Emma dies and Dean keeps her necklace to have something to remember her by, partly out of grief for what could have been partly as an act of emotional self flagellation. He wears it under his shirt, a secret, just like any thoughts he has about his dead daughter.

Emma is a ghost because she didn’t do enough to be a monster and earn her place in purgatory but she isn’t human enough for heaven and she’s anchored to the necklace.

She follows Dean around silently, quickly learning enough about ghosts to know if she reveals herself too soon or ever really then Dean is going to burn the necklace.

During season seven Dean is haunted by two ghosts, Bobby, who is actively reaching out for him, and Emma, who is a silent observer. I think Emma hides from Bobby, he’s a hunter and she doesn’t want him to tell Dean about her, OR Bobby sees her before she knows ghosts can see other ghosts and they talk and he pities her but agrees to not let Dean know

Dean is wearing the necklace when he goes to purgatory. Emma is still a ghost here but it’s different, and she’s been watching this man for months now, he’s her world now. She keeps some of the monsters away, she makes him wake up when there are threats at night, she watches him befriend a monster and burns with pain at the knowledge that maybe she could have had that. Maybe she didn’t need to kill him, maybe he would have loved her not just as a dead hypothetical but as her.

Dean comes out of purgatory with an extra extra passenger. She watches with a sense of smugness as he rages at Sam, she pretends he’s also mad over her. She doesn’t like Sam’s attitude towards Benny either. She gets to see her great grandfather and she sees him die. She talks to his ghost, he calls her granddaughter (forgetting the great) even after learning she’s an amazon, before he gets reaped.

There’s an empty room in the bunker she pretends is hers. She moves objects in there, never quite decorating, but practicing telekinesis where Dean won’t see it and making up a fantasy of a life she could have had. She still never minds being tethered to Dean, especially now as he doesn’t sleep around and spends less time in bars where she’s left uncomfortably watching. She likes going to the grocery store, she likes watching him cook, maybe a few times she’s kept a pot from boiling over or a bag from falling. She’s learning to live from watching Dean, he doesn’t know it, but he’s teaching her life skills. She doesn’t know the names for the dishes he teaches her to make or the parts of cars or guns but she etches the motions he makes into her mind. She likes Charlie, she wishes she could meet her, and she likes larping. She imagines herself as an Amazon warrior of antiquity, armored in bronze.

She tried to wake Dean and Charlie out of their djinn dream but nothing worked, she tried to fight the djinn to no avail either. When Dean and Charlie hugged she wished she could be in their embrace too.

She’s glad it’s Bobby’s ghost they use for the trial, she’s so glad she never revealed herself.

Sam is slowly growing on her, she doesn’t love him but he means enough to Dean that she would try to stop him from dying.

She knows about Gadreel. She hides harder now, afraid too of the new angel in the bunker. Castiel she likes, Castiel she watched in purgatory and she watched beat her father bloody in the crypt and she understood brain washing and the control of authorities. She almost reveals herself and her knowledge of Gadreel when Dean kicks Cas out of the bunker, but her hesitation lasts too long.

She’s tethered to Dean so she isn’t there when Kevin dies. Kevin had been another one she enjoyed observing, she envied him his mother in so many ways, Linda had been everything Lydia hadn’t been. When Kevin dies he’s haunting the bunker too. It’s almost like having a friend. He pities her, but she’ll take anything, he’s sort of her age in some ways and she teaches him how to be a ghost.

Crowley almost gives her away. He knows she’s there, but he saves her presence as a bargaining chip against Dean, a surprise tidbit to bring up later.

The father of murder can see her too. Cain keeps his eyes on her father most of the time, but the spark in his eyes and smirk when he sees her and her bloody pink shirt cut straight through her.

Her father dies. She wants to run to him, to fling her arms around him and greet him with her bloody lips and stained shirt and tell him she forgives him and she loves him and she’s sorry he’s dead but can she at least spend some of eternity with him and she wants to teach him to be a ghost and she wants to tell him so many things she’s noticed. But Crowley does something that locks her voice and powers and keeps her from the room.

Demon dean leaves the bunker with Emma’s necklace ripped off and dropped beside a bedstead.

Sam picks up the necklace. Emma hates him touching it but it’s all she can hope that he doesn’t destroy it. She doesn’t know if he recognizes it, but he doesn’t throw it away, and brings it out to show Castiel as evidence for Dean’s absence. Castiel names it as Amazon gold, recognizes it as Dean’s, but does not know it’s origin. Emma has to hear her story from her murderer’s lips. She almost shows herself, but she’s afraid Sam will cast the necklace into a fire. If they could do that to Bobby, they’ll do it to her. But she doesn’t feel like a vengeful uncontrolled spirit, perhaps it’s the Amazon magic, but she feels calmer than she ever was during her days of life.

Her necklace stays in the bunker, she watches demon Dean from a distance at first, she tries to comfort him strapped to the chair but he calls her a hallucination and lets something between a sob and a laugh out before turning away. She tries, she wipes his brow, she begs him to become human again or to die, she tries to keep the devil’s trap intact. Still she is called a hallucination. It’s almost nice to be important enough that he’d hallucinate her.

When Dean, normal human dean, is back, he fixes the necklace with pliers and holds it staring at it in his hands. He’s alone in his room. Emma gently puts her hands over his where they are clasped around her anchor to him. She doesn’t know if he can feel her. Her name comes from his mouth in a breathy whisper, wet and rough, a word unused to being spoken. He bends over himself, weeping with the necklace pressed to his mouth. Emma weeps as well. He would not weep if he did not love her, but he is a hunter and she has to chose between this silent spectatorship where she can pretend she is living in rooms beside him, or the knowledge that if he knew she was haunting him, he would burn the necklace to send her on.

She doesn’t know if there’s another afterlife for failed amazons, and from what she understands of Heaven, hers would be something pathetic like the day she met Dean before she died, or an eternity as a ghost watching him weep.

She hates watching Dean with Amara those few days. She hates the burning wretched envy risking corrupting her as he holds a baby girl that isn’t her. She hates that Amara loves Dean. And she hates even more that Amara brings back Mary instead of her.

She never realized that she wanted to be brought back and resurrected so badly and that it was even an option until she watches Dean reunite with Mary.

Dean mentions her to Mary- almost - he says he had a kid, and the cut off gesture to the necklace means her. Emma stopped minding that Dean never spoke about her. She didn’t want him to talk about her with Sam, and she quickly realized he didn’t talk about his grief with anyone. But he did wear her necklace, and sometimes he took it out from under his shirt and rubbed his thumb over the metal and she would pretend it was his thumb stroking the back of her hand. Dean didn’t talk about her and she didn’t need him to. But now he had, and with his mother. And he implied he had thought about what he would want for her, that he wouldn’t want his life of violence and moving for her.

Emma likes Mary as a warrior woman, but can’t help but understand Dean’s pain when she leaves. She understands being the surprise child older than a parent wants too much.

She tried to help Dean as she always has, but the British Men of Letters terrify her. She knows they would either keep her to study or destroy her and she can’t trust anyone to keep her secret from their spying.

Later it seems the world collapses again. Cas dies. Angels don’t have ghosts, she can never meet him. And Kelly has eyes only for her son until she is reaped. Emma wishes she could comfort Dean or that she could truly leave him to his grief. She turns away as he ties Castiel’s body with yellow curtains. She stands beside him watching the pyre.

She doesn’t understand Dean’s attitude towards Jack. She’s watched jealously how Dean interacts with Krissy, with Claire, with the orphan boys at the home, and she has her fantasy of how Dean would have treated her had she lived. The jealous part of her doesn’t want Dean to like Jack, but most of her wants Dean to go back to acting like how she expected him to, she wants the man she could pretend was being her father. And she watches Jack enough to be afraid of their similarities. To see herself in him. And if Dean hates him, would he have hated her. Does he only wear her necklace because she’s dead.

She watches silently when Dean finally breaks, confronted, and tells Sam that he sees her in Jack. She hears how he loves her. She watches Sam realize the enormity of his crime and apologize. She accepts the apology, even if it wasn’t meant for her ears. Dean doesn’t see her, but she sits beside him on the opposite side of Sam on that floor.

Something has changed.

Sometimes, it seems like Dean is glimpsing her out of the corner of his eye. He stares at the steamy bathroom mirror while he’s shaving, right at the red smear on the pink of her shirt. He nicks himself, swears, and swipes a hand through the steam, through her image. He does double takes in the rear view mirror, glancing twice at the backseat where she sits, pretending she’s part of his road trips.

Jack brings back Castiel. Jack has powers beyond what Emma could have imagined. And Jack is both nice and not fully indoctrinated into hunting ways. Emma also likes Jack, she understands so much about him, and she likes the shows he watches, she likes the way he’s nice, and in her elaborate fantasy of what if she was alive, she decides he’s her brother.

It’s hard to find a time when Jack is alone but near enough to Dean and the anchoring necklace that she can talk to him, but it happens.

Emma focuses everything she has into appearing, a heavy grounding feeling she hasn’t felt since Dean was a chained demon. The words catch in her throat, unpracticed at speaking, but she blurts out to Jack that she’s his sister, the words spilling fast, that she’s Dean’s dead daughter, she doesn’t tell him that Sam killed her, she’s seen Sam with him, their closeness she can’t decide if she envies or not. She tells him she’s an Amazon, how she’s dead but anchored, how she doesn’t have a heaven or purgatory or hell, how she wants to come back. She tells him that she likes his shows and she tells him she loves Dean and Castiel and she finds things she likes about Sam. He doesn’t look at her with pity. He looks at her with a bright spark to his eyes.

But he doesn’t resurrect her. At least not right away. Apparently he’s been too recently warned off from the idea of asking for forgiveness rather than permission. He thinks she should reveal herself to Dean first, before they decide. Emma hates the idea, she spent all of these years afraid of Dean destroying her anchor, and now she’s afraid of his rejection, what if he resents her watching him all the time, what if he blames her for not doing more. What if he wants her gone instead of brought back.

The Amazons,in their scant days of raising her, taught her to be brave.

Jack asks the family to stay after dinner.

Emma takes a deep breath, more for the instinctive motion than for a need for air, and materializes.

There’s a beat of silence and then a mess of noises. Dean drops a mug, Sam’s chair skids, everyone one is talking at once.

Emma can’t find words to say to Dean, she wants to stare at him as she always does, but she can’t bear to see rejection on his face. She waits and Jack opens his mouth to introduce her but then her name comes from Dean’s lips. It’s like that dark night where they wept in his bedroom again. She has called him many variants of father in her mind in several languages, but it is the most childish “daddy” that slips out.

No one else in the room matters, he looks at her, meeting her eyes instead of the gorey wound, and she gets eye contact without having to pretend she is what’s in his sight line.

He doesn’t ask if she’s a ghost or if she’s dead or any of the silly civilian questions. He only manages “how” before fumbling for the necklace, and she nods confirmation. She wonders if he’s planning on burning it.

He asks how long and suddenly words spill forth, she tells him she’s been here the whole time, watching, she says she sorry about Bobby and Kevin and Charlie and Kelly and Cas and Benny she tells him the ones she helped with being a ghost, she tells him about watching the others move on, she says she’s sorry she couldn’t do more when he was a demon and something in his expression breaks, she says she’s sorry she never showed herself.

He holds up a hand, stopping her before she apologizes again, and says he remembers her when he was a demon, that he had thought she was a hallucination, she nods and cries anew.

She wants to tell him that she’s watched him and loves him and even if it’s embarrassing she wants to say she’s pretended to be alive with him, and she wants most of all to ask if he loves her, to hear it said to her face.

Instead he asks weakly why she’s here now.

She says she wanted to come clean about haunting him, says she’s thought about it for years and was scared he would burn the necklace, says she’s learned about ghosts from him and she’s never felt vengeful, she doesn’t feel corrupted, and maybe it’s because she’s a monster. His face twitches at that word.

Jack interrupts, changing the air in the room and suddenly both she and Dean remember their audience. Sam’s eyes are wet and he looks something close to afraid. Emma hopes the look on Castiel’s face is softness for her too and not just Jack.

Jack offers to bring her back, tells Dean that they didn’t want to do it behind his back. Emma turns invisible again out of the sick swoosh of anxiety that overwhelms her. She barely hears through her ringing ears that Dean desperately agrees and says yes, fumbling to take the necklace off and pass it to Jack.

She’s going to have to wait a few days. Jack is going to bring her back where her body is, and that’s more than 24 hours of driving away, and Dean wants to be there.

It’s a weird car ride, they know she’s there, and she sits between Castiel and Jack in the back of the Impala. They had her pick a set of Jack’s clothes to replace her bloody shirt, they have food and water for her. Emma doesn’t have a name for the emotions she’s feeling and they’re almost overwhelming.

They don’t have to dig her up to bring her back, Jack’s powers allow for that at least, and Emma is glad, she’s watched Dean dig up enough graves to imagine what she’ll look like.

Then Jack’s eyes glow bright gold.

It’s like what she imagines being born feels like. Overwhelming and dark and bright and both blissful and painful. And then she is gasping with real lungs and the sunlight is bright in her eyes and she can feel the textures of her clothing and the grass.

And then arms and hands are on her, Dean is pulling her to her feet and into his embrace in one motion.

She’s never been hugged by him, and it’s better than her jealous imaginings when he held others. She never wants to let go, she feels safe and warm and loved and his hand is on her hair and she can smell him and feel his heartbeat.

He finally lets go and steps back to look at her, keeping a hand on her shoulder and cupping her cheek with the other. There are streaks of tears matching her own on his face. His hands leave only to be replaced by Jack.

Jack’s hug is different but enthusiastic, there are no tears, he is beaming, part proud, part delighted, she can’t help but smile back. He calls her sister and she accepts him as brother.

Castiel does not embrace her, but his greeting his warm and his eyes match his smile. He clasps her hand between his and Emma’s heart swells.

She knows Sam doesn’t know how to look at her or how to talk to her. She doesn’t know what she wants from him either. She knows hes sorry, she’s heard it from his own lips, not to her, but to the only other person to whom it would matter. She smiles hesitantly at him, instead of glaring, and waves.

Then she slips her hand back into Dean’s and lets him pull her into another hug. She feels light and giddy and afraid this is all a dream. If she died and this is heaven then she would accept that too.

But it’s real, she changes out of her bloody shirt and into a blue one of Jack’s, she drinks water for the first time in years and eats fruit snacks from a packet pulled from Castiel’s trench-coat pocket, and a cereal bar.

A few hours later they stop at a nicer diner than Emma usually sees them eat at, and Dean tells the hostess it’s his daughter’s birthday and Emma gets to order foods she’s been curiously watching people eat for years off the menu. The restaurant gives her cake.

Emma’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and Dean’s eyes have not lost their cheerful crinkle and Jack is beaming and even Sam and Castiel look endlessly pleased.

Later there will be harder talks, about the things she’s witnessed, later she’ll talk about haunting their steps, about the years of questions built up, later she’ll realize she doesn’t remember how to sleep and Dean will sit and try to stroke her hair and talk softly and it’s nice but not enough. Later it will be Castiel who explains how to become human, how to adjust to having a body, how to sleep and how to tell if you like a food or not. Later she will argue with Dean about her usefulness on hunts and he will tell her how scared he is of her dying again. Later Mary will come back and die. Later Jack will die and a demon will wear his corpse and she will hate and fear it, later God will tell her she is an interloper in his story.

But for now Emma has a family and a piece of cake and a table of smiles.

#emma winchester #emmanatural #dean winchester #dad dean winchester #my writing #this was not planned this was just me thinking Hey what if Emma haunted the necklace and was there watching events and like the Emma feeling #s spilled over into a whole 3.5k fic so #i might put this on ao3? the start is so weak tho #yes that is a reference to buried ghosts and bitter truths

70 notes · View notes

samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

Crawl Home to Her

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem BAU Reader

Warnings: Religion is mentioned, slight mention of supposed homophobia, drug use, death and thoughts of dying, kidnapping (it’s Spencer’s POV of Revelations)

Author’s Note: I was listening to Work Song by Hozier and felt like it fits PERFECTLY for what Spencer was going through when he was kidnapped by Tobias. I took some creative liberties, but much of the plot lines up to the show’s episode. I linked the song if anyone wants to listen to it before they read or after, it’s such a beautiful song. Hozier is in my top three artists; his voice is just so beautiful and soulful.

Summary: The only thing that’s keeping Spencer alive is the memories of his Heaven. Maybe someone how a faithless man will escape Death’s grasp on faith alone.

Word Count: around 3.2K

Category: Angst

Crawl Home to Her

When Spencer comes to the first thing he notices is the smell of burning. The stench permeates the air around him, filling his nostrils. The second thing he notices is breathing. Breathing that is not his own. A man stands before him and it takes him a second to piece it all together. The throbbing in his head takes much of his energy. He can feel the blood drip down the back of his neck and cake onto the collar of his work shirt. Strangely, all he could think about is the time his father told him a respectable man never wore a spoiler shirt. Well dad, look at me now, Spencer thinks grimly. He hates that his father occupies his mind even when he’s about to die. He has much more beautiful things to think about than the man who called him a failure.

“They’re gone,” the shadowy figure tells him. Tobias, Spencer thinks. Tobias is the unsub.

“Who are they?,” Spencer asks, his voice must sound as cowardly as he feels. He hopes that Tobias didn’t get Y/N. He can’t live with himself if he let his partner, in more ways than one, get hurt.

“It’s just me know,” Tobias answers, in such a way that it’s almost obvious.

“Who...Who are you?” Spencer croaks. The lightbulb hanging above his head taunts him. He has the lightbulb, but where’s the ideas? Where are the answers? Where is the light of safety?

“I’m Raphael,” Tobias says, standing to his full height, towering over a trembling Spencer.

Raphael... The angel...Spencer’s mind turns but is halted by the horrible smell coming from his side. It invades his mind and nothing seems to make sense.

“What’s that smell?” he asks.

“They’re burning fish hearts and livers. Keeps away the devil,” Tobias or Raphael answers, Spencer is not too sure who he’s even talking to at this point.

“They say you can see inside men’s minds,”

“That’s not true, I-I study human behavior-” Spencer reasons, but is cut off by Tobias/Raphael’s passive shushing.

“I’m not interested in the arguments of men,” Raphael tells him. He turns around to rummage in his pocket for something that Spencer can’t make out in the dim light of the shed. Between the lightbulb blinding him and the stench of the liver burning, Spencer’s senses are overloading themselves. Focus, Spencer, focus, he begs of himself.

Don’t let him win. Don’t let him win.

Tobias pulls out a revolver and a bullet. He toys the bullet in Spencer’s face, asking him “Do you know what this is?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe.

“It’s God’s will,” Tobias says rationally.

The cocks the gun and aims it towards Spencer’s head. If he pulls the trigger he’d shoot him straight in his head. Staring down death, all Spencer can think about is him suggesting that they split up. He was the one who left Y/N, he’s the one that’s responsible.

“You don’t have to do this,” Spencer tries to reason.

“I’m just an instrument of God. This is your salvation, this is time to repent for your sins,” Tobias says, pulling a chair to sit next time. It’s strange, Spencer thinks, Tobias is not that much older than he is. This job has forced Spencer to think of the countless paths that he could have gone down. Part of him thinks that could have easily been on the other side, the angry part of him, the broken and sad part of him.

“Tell me your sins, and may God forgive you,” Tobias says, his voice almost as fearful as Spencer feels.

Spencer closes his eyes, trying to think of all the things he’s done wrong in his life. All the people he’s hurt or the mistakes that he’s made. But at this moment there’s nothing running through his mind by the thought of Y/N. The way she’d hold him after a case or the way that she’d listen to him with light in her eye’s. It’s nice to have someone who cares, Spencer thinks. Or at least it was.

“I’m a good man, Tobias, I’m a good man. Like you, we catch the bad guys, Tobias--we are the same. We catch the sinners.” Spencer professes, trying anything to get out of here alive. He’d do anything to get back to Y/N. To get back in her warm embrace.

“We all have our sins, including you. You just need sometime to sort them out,” Tobias says, and like that he’s gone with the wind.

***

It’s early morning when Spencer wakes up, the sun bleeds through the cracks of the wood panel door. His clothes are caked in his blood and dirt. His hair is stringy and the blood from his ear clogs his hearing. But he’s alive, he's still here, breathing the same air as Y/N. Somehow that’s enough to keep him hoping that she’d find him- save him.

The door opens with a sudden slam, Tobias walks in carrying a load of logs. There’s something different about him. Spencer thinks that there’s an air of arrogance, an air of superiority in his walk.

“What are you staring at, boy?” Tobias- or at least the man who looks like Tobias Hankel asks.

“You’re not Raphael?” Spencer reasons.

Tobias throws the pile of logs into the box on the floor of the shed. He stands up to his full height, but there’s something that’s taller about him than last night. There’s something more intimating about the man standing before Spencer.

“Do I look like Raphael to you?” Tobias asks, the sneer so apparent.

Spencer decides to ignore that, answering this person, whoever he is, is not in his best interest.

“Thank you for burning these, for keeping us safe,” Spencer says, trying to get on his good side for his sake, so he can go back to Y/N.

Y/N. If Spencer can just close off his mind and focus on her, he’d be okay. He’d get through this. If he can just close his eyes he can just feel her touch or taste her lips against his. If her kisses make him a sinner then crucify him. Least he’d die a happy man, with the promise of tomorrow with her endless love.

“Don’t try to trick me, you’re are filthy liar, you’re a disgusting sinner,”

God, Spencer thinks, waits until he hears that he’s from Vegas and fell in love with a man. Spencer focuses on breathing, not the itch from being dirty with his own blood or not the thought of impending death.

“It will be over if you confess, boy. Confess your sins!” Tobias yells.

“I’m not a sinner,” Spencer says, almost defiantly. There’s a surge of strength in Spencer, and he swears that the small memories of Y/N makes him a stronger person.

“We are all sinners”

“The Lord spoke unto Moses saying, ‘speak unto all the congregation of the children of the lord’ and say unto them, ye shall be holy, for I, the lord your god, am holy,” Spencer quotes, the fear somehow seeping back into his voice.

“You know Leviticus,” Tobias says, almost surprised. Yes, Spencer thinks, even heathens can quote the Bible.

“I know every word of the Bible, I can quote it for you?” Spencer pleads.

“Even the Devil can read,” Tobias tells him.

Spencer’s wound bleeds down his neck, the throbbing almost pounds to the beat of his heart.

“It’s time to confess, Spencer Reid,” Tobias whispers, leaning into Spencer.

“I’m a good man, Tobias. I finally found someone who puts back the pieces. I found someone who loves me, and I can’t leave her like this. I can’t do that to her.” Spencer confesses.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs,” Tobias quotes, and as he does his face seems to drift off. It’s like he's there with Spencer, but not there at the same time.

“First Corinthians, Verse 13,” Spencer recites.

“Hmm, so your parents did raise a believer,” Tobias reckons.

More or less, Spencer thinks. He might not believe in God the Almighty, some entity in the clouds watching over him, but he does believe in love and maybe even an afterlife. He has to believe in an afterlife, because if he doesn’t he’d fail to give Y/N forever.

“Yes,” Spencer says, settling on playing the part of a righteous believer.

“Yes, my parents read me the Bible. They are good people too,” Spencer tells him.

Spencer’s not really sure what happens next, but the blow to his head makes the world go black and the sweet memories of Y/N fade into the distance.

***

A cool rag presses against Spencer’s head, where he figures where “Tobias” hit him, or whoever was there with him.

Dissociative Identity Disorder. DID. DSM-5. 300.14 (F44.81). Tobias has three personalities, Spencer thinks. He remembers the day vidily. Reading about DID with Ethan, they sat on the lawn of the park near school. His memories are distrubed by a very confused looking Tobias, who hold bandages and a wet rag.

“What’s your name?” Spencer asks, hoping that whoever was there last night is gone.

“Tobias,” he says, almost meekly. Spencer recognizes something in that, somewhere deep inside him, he recognizes the fear that Tobias wears like a shield. The man here last night must have been his father...

“Who was here last night?”

“My father, Charles,” Tobias says. “I’m sorry if he hurt you.”

Tobias turns to reach in his bag, he brings out a vial of clear liquid, a needle and a long piece of cloth. He ties the long piece of cloth around Spencer’s arm, who with a sudden realization fights to get away from Tobias.

“NO! Please, NO!” Spencer yells, trying his hardest to fend off the inevitable.

“It helps, Spencer. I’m trying to save you from him! It’s gonna help, it helped me,” Tobias tells him, continuing to tie the fabric in a tight knot above Spencer’s elbow.

“Please! I don't want it!” Spencer pleads as the room folds in one him, the darkness is not welcoming, it's suffocating. It’s sucking the life out of him and he can’t escape it’s clutches.

***

There’s another person in this shed, Spencer thinks. He tries to strain his eyes to make out who it is. It’s not Tobias, the shadow is too short for him.

Y/N.

She’s wearing a dress, the blue dress that she wore on their first date. He loves that dress on her. He’s sure he’d love any dress or anything she’d put on to wear for their first date, because well, it’s their first date.

“Spencer,” her voice is even more comforting than usual. It’s syrupy sweet and he feels like he’d get a toothache just from listening.

“Sweet Spencer, you need to come home to me, okay? Come home to me baby.”

He tries to call out to her, but it’s futile. She's a ghost, but she looked so real. Maybe he’s the ghost and his eternal damnation is to haunt her. He’s able to see her, but never able to get close enough to feel the way her hands caress his checks or the way her eyes light up at his touches.

The spooky beauty of his girlfriend is whisked away with the familiar shoots of two tall, skinny figures. His parents. His father sits there on the table with a sneer on his face. His mother has this faraway look on her face. Spencer’s twelve again, listening to his father yell and slam the bedroom door as he rushes out the door, never looking back.

The shadowy figures are gone as soon as they came and are nothing but a reminder to Spencer that he’s not worthy of love. He feels guilty. He really does, but the needle going into his vein brings back Y/N and for now he wants nothing more, but to see her, even if it’s not real.

***

Spencer’s not sure if he craves the clear liquid in the vial because he gets to see Y/N or if he craves to see Y/N because gets to the liquid coursing through his veins, the slightest reminder that he’s alive.

He’s alone in the shed, but there’s a bright green light blinking. A computer, he wonders. Is this the way from the Ninth Circle of Hell? Is this his way home, his way to Y/N?

His thoughts of home and of their warm bed are interrupted by who he can only assume is Raphael, enough time has passed for him to be rising to the surface. Part of him misses Tobias, they’d probably would have been friends growing up. Two outcasts raised by a parent who meant well, but did do irreparable harm in the end.

“It’s time to choose,” Raphael announces. He points to the computer screen, which lights up. Spencer can only assume that his face is being streamed across the internet. Garcia, and probably the entire team are watching this, watching him at his lowest moment. He swore that he’d never show Y/N himself like this, even though he knows that she’ll love him still.

“Choose a member of your team to die. You are all sinners in the end, but it’s time for you to choose who dies.” Raphael tells him, his voice booming, a stark difference from the nervous murmurs of Tobias.

“No,” Spencer shouts. “Kill me, kill me instead!”

“Choose or they all die!” Raphael yells.

Think, Spencer. Think. He looks around at the shed, trying to think of an out. His eyes latch on to the shovel sitting in the corner of the room. That’s new, he realizes. A cemetery, a grave...

“I choose Y/N,” Spencer says, not truly believing what he’s saying, but praying that she gets the message.

“Why?” Raphael asks.

“She’s prideful and careless,” Spencer reasons, trying his hardest to appear nonchalant.

“Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before the fall,” Raphael quotes.

“Yes, John 14:27,” Spencer says. And with that his fate and Y/N is sealed. It’s funny in a twisted way, he always knows that his fate would be forever linked to hers, but not just in this way.

“Come on, boy. Get up,” Raphael orders him.

Spencer makes it to his feet and the pair make their way into the night.

***

Spencer’s not sure how far he’s walked, but his feet are numb and he can’t feel anything in his arm. The inside of his arm is littered with marks, a constant reminder of the cravings he’s feeling. No, he tells himself. What he craves is Y/N. He makes his way up the rocky terrain of the cemetery, hoping that she’s on her way to rescue him, hoping that she’s there to wash away the dirt and kiss his scars.

Raphael is at his side, pulling him along. It's a strange similarity to Dante and Virgil and their journey to the depths of Hell. Maybe in this scenario Spencer isn’t Dante, maybe he’s Beatrice waiting for his Dante to rescue him.

“Please, I need rest. I’m exhausted,” Spencer tries to argue, but it’s no use. Raphael’s grip on his arm only tightens.

“Keep moving,”

They arrive at the cemetery. Spencer is not ready to die. He’s not ready to die and leave Y/N. He wishes he really did believe in God because maybe, maybe he wouldn’t be as scared as he is right now.

“Dig,” Raphael tells him, tossing the shovel on the ground at Spencer’s feet.

As if he’s shaking Death’s hand, Spencer reaches down for the shovel and starts to dig. Each deposit in the mountain of dirt is a cry for help. Each time he cracks his neck in pain or rubs his hands in exhaustion is a goodbye kiss for Y/N.

Spencer stands to his full height. He’s nearly as tall as Tobias, somehow he still feels like a child.

He suspects that Tobias feels the same way. Maybe one day Spencer will come to regret his choice. Maybe one day Spencer will be grateful that he reached into the very depths of his strength to fight to the very end.

“Tell Tobias I’m sorry,” Spencer says, the tears flooding his eyes.

Spencer bangs the back of the shovel against Tobias’s head. His limp body falls to the ground and suddenly he’s terrified that Tobias is somehow still alive. Spencer scrambles for the gun and pulls the trigger. He’s not even sure how many shots he fires but the body is punctured with bloody holes. Spencer, clutches are Tobias’s lifeless body. As if he can squeeze him back to life.

He thinks he’s imagining it. He thinks that he’s on the brink of death. There’s a light, a soft yellow light beckoning him home. A voice calls out to him, clear and strong, it’s drawing him in and Spencer is crawling from his own grave to the voice that he could recognize anywhere. He’s teetering between Heaven and Hell. Y/N’s voice and light tether him home.

“Spencer!” she calls. Finally, he thinks. Finally, she’s close; he lets himself believe he’s safe.

“I’m here!” he shouts, surprised at the force of his voice.

“Oh Spencer,” she says, running to him.

She falls to the ground next to him. Spencer is scared that she’s not real, that it’s the drugs in his system again making him believe that she’s nothing but a cruel figment of his mind.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I knew you’d find me. Please forgive me, I didn’t mean it,” Spencer cries, his face tucked into the crook of her neck.

“Shhh, baby. I’d find you anywhere. Hmm, let’s get you out of here. You are safe now Spencer,” she tells him softly.

Spencer may not be a man who believes in God but he has to believe in Heaven, because Heaven is holding him in her arms.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader angst #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #mgg

241 notes · View notes

cyllaeth · 3 years

Text

play with fire

find on ao3

This is going to be a fun ride.

The silence in the car is scary because itʼs uncomfortable and that has never been a problem before. Buck shoots a quick glance at his friend. Eddieʼs eyes are fixated on the road, his jaw so clenched, Buck swears, he can hear his teeth gritting. His hands are on the steering wheel but his grip is so tight, his knuckles are white. Yeah, heʼs definitely mad.

The problem is that Buck doesnʼt know why Eddie is so furious.

Fine.

Maybe he knows. But that doesnʼt mean he understands. Heʼs never seen Eddie that angry. He remembers vividly when Eddie snapped at him in the grocery store right after the lawsuit—but itʼs just a pale comparison to his rage now. It doesnʼt make sense—because Buck didnʼt do anything stupid like another lawsuit—he just... He just did his job.

He risked his life to save someone elseʼs but he does it almost on a daily basis; Eddie does the exact same thing and yet, Buck has never snapped at him. So why is it different now?

Because you almost died today says an annoying voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like his sister.

Because you almost died in Eddieʼs fucking arms.

Buck tries to ignore it; he has to ignore it because if he doesnʼt, heʼll drown in guilt and shame. And probably wake up some long forgotten demons.

He canʼt re-live it again and again.

When they stop, he realises, theyʼre in front of Eddieʼs house and heʼs genuinely surprised his friend brought him here.

“This isnʼt my apartment.” He blurts out. He knows itʼs probably the dumbest thing he couldʼve said but he doesnʼt understand why Eddie took him to his home if heʼs pissed off at him. Itʼd be definitely easier to cool off if the source of his anger wasnʼt there, right?

“Like hell Iʼm letting you stay alone after the shit you did.”

Thereʼs something in Eddieʼs voice that makes Buck squirm. He sounds angry, sure, but also hurt, broken. Resigned. He sounds exactly like when Shannon died.

Buck knows that because he was there. He remembers how mad Eddie was at his wife for leaving him and Christopher again, this time for good.

Eventually, Eddie gets out of the car and goes to the house. Buck quietly follows his best friendʼs footsteps and he flinches when Eddie drops off his bag on the floor.

“You can take a shower if you want, Iʼll make up the bed.”

He knows Buck too well; he knows that Buck hates the specific smell of the hospital and always tries to get rid of it as soon as possible. Buckʼs really grateful for that also because he can simply postpone their argument, just for a little bit. Maybe shower will help him cool off because heʼs irritated too but he doesnʼt truly want to fight with Eddie. He goes to the bathroom, takes off his clothes and steps under the shower. He lets the cold water run down his body and he really tries to calm himself; there was enough drama today and yeah, he almost died so he deserves to have a moment of uninterrupted peace. Or so he thinks. Heʼs getting more and more cold and he knows he should get out before Eddie will storm inside and drag him out of the shower. Buck wouldnʼt be even surprised if his friend did something like this.

Then, with a long sigh, he turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He quickly rinses himself with a towel and slips into his most comfortable clothes. Whatʼs a little funny and maybe even ironic, his favorite grey, worn out t-shirt is actually Eddieʼs and it even smells like him.

Crap.

He really needs to finally leave the bathroom and face his friend but heʼs trying to delay the inevitable by thoroughly brushing his teeth. And then, he doesnʼt find anything else he can do so he goes back to the living room. Heʼs quite surprised that he doesnʼt see the pillows or blanket on the couch because he thought heʼs gonna sleep there and heʼs even more surprised he doesnʼt see Eddie there. He finds him in the kitchen instead, leaning against the counter and nursing his favourite beer. Thereʼs a glimpse of hope in Buckʼs chest that maybe Eddie cooled off a little, that maybe he realised he has exaggerated and his anger isnʼt completely justified. Heʼs wrong, though. Eddie is not even slightly less annoyed and it takes Buck one look at his best friend to realise that.

He sighs again because Eddieʼs anger starts to get on his nerves. He moves closer until he stands against Eddie and looks him in the eye.

“Do what you have to do, letʼs get this over with.” He says with a tiredness in his voice. The only thing he wants right now is sleep, he wants to fall asleep and forget about the whole world for a couple of hours. “If you want to yell at me then be my guest and do it. I donʼt even care.”

“Oh, so now youʼre annoyed at me? Really?” Eddie asks wryly and sets aside the bottle with a little too much force, it almost smashes. Neither of them care anyway. Theyʼre now standing against each other, so close they almost hear each otherʼs heartbeat and they fix each other with a glare.

“Yeah, I am. You act like Iʼve done something wrong, like I wasnʼt supposed to do this and—”

Heʼs cut off by Eddie who lets out a humourless laugh and answers in a higher voice than usual.

“God, do you even listen to yourself? You went to that building all by yourself, you disobeyed Bobbyʼs specific orders to not go there because youʼre you and youʼre above all the orders, right? It doesnʼt matter if Bobby did it because he didnʼt want to risk one of us dying there. But you just couldnʼt listen.”

“Funny thatʼs coming out from the man who cut his rope and almost died in the well.” Buck interjects viciously because heʼs truly angered by now.

Something flashes in Eddieʼs eyes but Buck canʼt name it. He doesnʼt even have the time to think about it because his best friend doesnʼt back out.

“Itʼs not relevant now, weʼre talking about today and your stupid, reckless behaviour. What were you thinking? Or-Or maybe donʼt. You probably werenʼt thinking at all. Obviously. And it almost cost you a life! Your life! How can you be so reckless?!” Eddie shouts and the pain in his voice is very noticeable but Buck pretends to ignore it.

“Iʼm a firefighter. Itʼs kinda in a job description, donʼt you think? Sometimes I have to be a little reckless. Besides, I did save a life and I didnʼt die either, right? Otherwise I wouldnʼt be standing there and listen to you being all pissed.” Buck shrugs like itʼs nothing, like he really doesnʼt care about his life. Itʼs probably another thing he shouldnʼt have said because Eddie straightens up and now, thereʼs almost no space between. For the second Buck thinks Eddie will lash out and just hit him. He kinda wishes he did. But Eddie only sighs heavily and rakes through his hair with frustration.

“God, youʼre driving me crazy, Buckley. Youʼre so dumb and stubborn and you donʼt even stop for a second to think about the consequences of your actions. You donʼt even care what would happen if you actually died, do you?”

Thereʼs something in Eddieʼs voice, something hard to catch and name that stops Buck from responding immediately. His words are ringing in his ears because they are annoyingly true. He didnʼt think about the consequences of his eventual death. He literally just stormed inside the building to find a man despite Bobbyʼs direct order to not go there because it was already too dangerous. He did it anyway, he managed to save a life but he didnʼt manage to get out in time and the whole building just collapsed. He doesnʼt remember much but he certainly remembers being held out by Eddie and his donʼt you dare die here, you dumbass.

It mustʼve been scary, he admits, and he thinks he understands how Eddie mustʼve felt because he also saw his best friend almost dying. But the anger? He still doesnʼt get it.

“Iʼve had a few close calls during the years. Why is it so different now?” He finally asks.

“Because Iʼm in love with you, you asshole!” Eddie cries out. “And you just keep dying on me and I canʼt take it anymore!”

Buckʼs brain short-circuits. He mustʼve died after all, right? There is no real possibility Eddie just told heʼs in love with him. Thereʼs no possibility he may actually reciprocate his feelings. Thereʼs no way itʼs not just his hallucination or some kind of weird dream in his afterlife. But he desperately wants to be the truth, desperately needs validation for his thoughts. So he does the first thing that comes to his mind: he grabs Eddie by the collar of his Henley and crashes their lips together. His friend is definitely surprised, even shocked and for a moment, he does nothing. Buck already starts to panic because he thinks it’s real and he might’ve misheard everything or even projected it and just destroyed their friendship. But then, Eddie suddenly changes position and pushes Buck until he leans against the counter. And when he kisses him, all thoughts and doubts are completely gone from Buckʼs mind. The only things that matter are Eddieʼs lips on his, Eddieʼs hands on his body, Eddie utterly focused on him and that desperate need to fulfil their desire. Buck mightʼve kissed a lot of people in his life; he has had both awkward and amazing kisses but they cannot compete to make out with his best friend. It feels entirely different, maybe because Eddie loves him back. They break apart only for a couple of seconds to take a breath; Buck sits on the counter and brings Eddie closer by the belt. He canʼt take his eyes off him; Eddie looks wonderful with already swollen lips, flushed cheeks and a spark in his eyes. He probably looks no better but he doesnʼt even care.

“I know youʼve probably already noticed but I love you too, asshole.” He says in a teasing voice, inches away from Eddieʼs lips.

“Well, I mightʼve suspected it when you kissed me but itʼs nice to actually hear it. But donʼt even think that you say you love me, bat your eyelashes and kiss me this way and I wonʼt be angry at you.” Eddie warns half-seriously.

“I can try.” Buck just smirks and kisses him again. This time, he also quickly unbuckles the belt Eddieʼs wearing and starts to lift his shirt. His friend doesnʼt even protest, he lets him do whatever he wants and thatʼs why his Henley ends up somewhere on the floor. Then, the blonde moves from his lips to his neck and slowly makes his way down, planting kisses on his chest. Itʼs crazy how quickly their anger turned into lust. Now, the tension between them is much better, more exciting, easy to resolve.

Eddie lets out a loud moan when Buck—this sneaky bastard—grabs his ass and squeezes it.

“Youʼre a menace.” He hisses.

“Oh, you should wait with the sweet talk after Iʼm done with you, Diaz.” Buck grins and he doesnʼt stop with the teasing. He unzips Eddieʼs jeans painfully slowly and Eddie almost whines to hurry up. The younger man notices it and winks at him before he adds. “Although Iʼm not sure if youʼll be able to talk at all.”

“So maybe quit talking, Evan, and show me your skills?”

“As you wish, Edmundo.”

#911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buck x eddie #buddie fic #buddie ficlet #911 fic #lucy writes #lucy's attempt to write

63 notes · View notes

to-be-a-dreamer · 2 years

Text

To Be So Loved Ch. 1

Alright so the fic I was working on for April Fool's Day is just not working out and I don't want to rush to get done. I have high hopes for it and I want to take my time to get it right.

But! I want to post some kind of fic today, so I decided to start posting the "prequel" to this Ghost AU I made a couple weeks ago! I was planning on saving this until after the fic itself was finished, but who knows when that will be and maybe this will give me motivation.

It's three chapters, one for each of the ghosts and I'll be updating it as it's finished. The other two have been started and I'll try to get at least one more finished sometime tomorrow! (today?)

Read it on AO3

or under the cut! (roughly 1800 words)

Dying was easy, Race had discovered.

Easy for him, at least. It had been so quick. He had watched as the pure, unbridled rage on his father’s face slipped away into horror and then Race knew no more.

It was an odd sensation, the aftermath of death. He could feel himself moving towards something, though he had no idea where or what it was. All he knew was that it was beyond. There was something out there, but as he tried to get to it, a sharp pull yanked him back, as if he were on a tether keeping him in the land of the living.

“That’s why everyone called him Racer,” a familiar, though slightly-distorted, voice pierced through the inky darkness which had been the entirety of Race’s existence for what simultaneously felt like an eternity and a single moment.

And then suddenly Race was standing in an all-to-familiar bedroom in an all too familiar house. Not his bedroom, no, but over the past few years he’d been spending more time in Albert’s than his own. It had certainly begun to feel like more of a home than the smoke-stained apartment he’d lived in his entire life.

“Antonio Higgins was a lot of things, but first and foremost he was my best friend in the entire world.” Albert was sitting on his bed, clutching a few index cards tightly in his hands and wearing a suit that was a size too big. Race felt his heart (did he have a heart in this… form?) clench at the sight. He looked sad. Sadder than Race had ever seen him look before. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life missing him.”

“Al?” Race knew he was dead. He’d known from the second he felt air underneath his feet instead of the floor that he wasn’t coming back from this one. He must still exist in some form or another, otherwise he wouldn't be here. Wherever "here" was. He wasn’t quite sure how being a ghost worked, or if he was even a ghost at all. Maybe this was some weird form of an afterlife where he watches over his loved ones and makes sure they’re okay. For all he knew, he was in a coma and dreaming all of this up.

But even if he couldn’t do anything, he wanted to. Race wanted nothing more than to pull Albert into his arms and hold him tight until whatever pain that was causing the utterly distraught look on his face went away. “Al, it’s me, I’m right here. Al-“

“Albert…”

Both boys looked up at the sound of Albert’s older brother, Danny, pushing the door open and softly calling out to him. “It’s time to go, bud. Adam and Pop are waiting in the car.”

Albert shook his head lightly and slumped over, letting his face fall into his hands, “I don’t think I can do this. Not with him there.”

“Not this again,” Danny sounded exasperated, but sat next to Albert on the bed, pressing their sides together and forcing his voice to soften. “I know you’re upset and I don’t blame you. I know how much Race meant to you, but it was an accident, alright? Just a horrible, awful accident, that’s all. And when Mr. Higgins comes up to you today you can’t just-“

“You don’t seriously buy his story, do you?” Albert shot to his feet, shaking off Danny’s comforting hand. “That Race fell down the stairs? I know everyone thinks he was just a big dumb idiot, but he wasn’t! …Okay, yeah, he was reckless and kind of absentminded but he wasn’t clumsy. He was a dancer, for crying out loud, he didn’t just fall. And even if he did, he knows how to fall without hurting himself. And you know what his dad’s like, he-”

“Yes, I do know and I hate it just as much as you do,” Danny grabbed Albert’s hands and held him still, forcing his younger brother to look him in the eye. “But you can’t accuse a man of killing his own son based on a couple of bruises. Besides, what could Race have possibly done that was so bad Mr. Higgins would kill him for it?”

Race knew the answer to that question. He’d known the answer long before it had been confirmed and, based on the way he froze like a deer in headlights, Albert knew too.

“Al?” Danny must have picked up on his brother’s panic. “Albert, I hadn’t said anything before ‘cause you already had so much to… think about. But you- you came home looking upset about something the day Race died, even before we got the news. Did something happen?”

“No,” he answered far too quickly for it to be true. “No, I just… I just meant that he could have gotten mad about the usual stuff, like grades or whatever, and taken it too far. That’s… that’s all, but I’m sure you’re right. It was probably just an accident.”

“Albert.” the older boy didn’t sound convinced but Albert brushed passed him and grabbed the blue tie off his desk.

“Come on,” he muttered softly. “I don’t want to be late.”

Race tried to follow them out to the car but something stopped him. It wasn’t quite like hitting a barrier, more like his body felt paralyzed whenever he tried to step over the threshold. As hard as he tried, Race couldn’t bring himself to leave the house.

He was trapped.

And so, he watched. He watched Albert come home from what he could only assume was his own funeral looking one stubbed toe away from a mental breakdown. He watched Albert finish out the school year with worse grades than Race had been getting, which was saying something. He watched Albert get a job over the summer and get taller and get sadder. He watched Albert turn sixteen and learn to drive and pretend to move on with his life.

But behind closed doors, especially after Danny managed to scrape enough money together to go to college, Race watched Albert flip through old photos and cry on their anniversary and stare blankly at the ceiling for hours at a time. It hurt, seeing the boy he loved look so empty, it hurt far more than death ever could.

At first, Race wished Albert could hear him. He wished he could talk to him, let him know he wasn’t really gone, comfort him when he looked so sad the despair practically radiated off of him in waves. He wished he could be there for him for the big life milestones like birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays so Albert wouldn’t spend them looking through old photos and avoiding Finch and Jojo’s calls. He wished he could touch him, hold him tight and run his fingers through his hair like Albert always asked him to do after a long day.

Eventually though, Race just wished Albert would let him go. As the weeks turned to months turned to years, Albert would begin to feel better, he would go out with friends more, his grades would get better, he would sleep through the night without waking up from a new nightmare. But then there would be something that would send Albert into a spiral and the cycle would begin anew. A sequel to a movie they saw together on a date would be announced, a story about the horse races would come up on the nightly news, any little thing would set him off.

Race loved Albert, he always would and probably always had, even before he knew what love was, but nothing made him feel worse than to watch Albert self-destruct his own life because he couldn’t move on. He wished Albert would at least let Finch and Jojo in on the bad days, but the boy just hid away in his room for hours or sometimes even days at a time.

Albert was the reason he was stuck as a ghost, Race had realized. Maybe he hadn’t meant for it to happen, and maybe it wasn’t even Albert’s fault. Maybe it was because Race didn’t want to move on until he knew his friend would be okay. But no matter what the reason, Race knew he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere until Albert let him.

So he waited. He waited for nearly three years as Albert turned seventeen and then eighteen. He watched him barely graduate high school and he watched him half-heartedly apply for a local trade school instead of going off for college like he’d always talked about. And while he knew Albert would be able to get a great job with a trade diploma, Race wasn’t convinced that he would last even one semester.

He never got the chance to find out if he was right, because not even a month after graduation Race saw a For Sale sign in the front yard of the Da Silva house. He was never quite able to figure out why they moved, but it didn’t matter, not really. There wasn’t anything Race could do to stop it, all he could do was watch as the little house where he’d been trapped for the past three years was slowly emptied of all its contents.

On the last day before the move, Race was sat in the middle of the living room and watched everything get moved out into the small U-Haul truck parked in the driveway. He was letting everyone walk through his ghostly form and laughing a bit to himself as they all shuddered at the sudden cold and looked around for the nonexistent draft. It was the only way he’d been able to interact with the living, so he was having his last bit of fun when he heard the back door slam shut, piquing his interest.

Race hopped up on the kitchen counter near the window to the backyard and watched curiously as Albert dug a deep hole in the ground, placed something inside that Race couldn’t quite see, and filled it in. He stood there for a while, just staring at the freshly-filled hole with his shoulders slumped and his hands gripping the shovel so tight his knuckles turned white. Race couldn’t see his face, but he was pretty sure he was crying by the way his whole body shook.

“Albert!” Danny called from the back door. “C’mon bud, we got a long day ahead.”

“Coming!” Albert responded half-heartedly. As he turned to walk back into the house, Race could see that he’d been right about the crying.

They were gone within the hour. And so Race was alone, in an empty house, without the only person who could ever help him escape. He was alone for a week, maybe. And then the new owners moved in.

#cw major character death #cause they're ghosts #saf's ghost au #tag to be updated when it's not past midnight and i'm not tired #feel free to ask questions #or give me suggestions for au names #i'm drawing a blank #newsies fanfiction #ralbert fanfiction #saf writes

9 notes · View notes