#he’s never gone long stretches without relapsing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peppasstuff · 1 year

Text

One Act Play

Theme: Frustration, Attention, Power

Length:One-act-play

Mode: Comedy

Medium: English

Setting(Time and Place); Late Summer and Living Room

Character/s: Sam, Vincent, Luna and Geo

What will be your name in the play: Vincent

What will you be like?: Wife

Who else can be part on your dream role? Luna, The Maid Ella, A Neighbor Vincent Rivera, The Husband

What will he/they be like?: Maid, Neighbor, Fisherman, Husbańd

Narration: The living room of a typical shore cottage the rented kind; outer door, rear center;

door to kitchen, left; writing desk against wall, right; two or three chairs, cheap stand.

[Curtain discovers Vincent stretched on the couch reading a magazíne, and Sam writing at the desk. Vincent closes the magazine slowly, holds it away from himover the edge of the couch and, with an expression of exhausted hopelessness, lets it fall to the floor. He groans feebly

VINCENT: What's the use? What's the use?

SAM:[tuning a face, sympathetic but preoccupied] Something in the magazine, dear?

SAM: [letting his feet hangover, speaks in a wearied, sing-song voice] The strange woman's

face in the throng- pale, alluring, baffling- with lips like poppy- and that sort of thing. The wind

carving her figure as in warm and sentient marble. Ankles and so on. Perfectly inflamed, our

hero pursues her, careless of the hereafter, reckless of the eyes of the world. Of a sudden, a

vision of his beloved one- at sword sort of thing-and-I didn't read any further. I don't need to. I

know he'll turn around and go home, Sam. Home!

SAM: /still busy with her letter]Fancy!

VINCENT: (starting up with a feverish energy amd kicking the magazine across the floor] They're all the same. That's what's the matter with America! /Relapses on the couch, crosses his arms

over his head and goes on speaking to the ceiling in a tone of musing.] Thank God-er-that is-the gods-nothing like that can ever happen to ás. Isn't it fearful to think of one's spirit cooped up

between four narrow walls like that? [Sam nods, without turning her head.] Now I would have

followed that ankle, wouldn't I? I would have followed it-till it turned to ashes in my-huh-hum-

well, you know. And then, when I came back to you enriched, bringing the spoils of a profound

experience, Saml- you wouldn't mind!

SAM:(looking up now] Mind? Why should I mind, Vincent? Can a thing of that sort tamper with the essential qualities of our relationship? No, No! We've learned better than that, you and I.

VINCENT:[siting p again, with waxing enthusiasm] And you! You'll always feel quite free,too?

You'll never let the silly little inhibitions-

SAM:fenergetically] No, no!

VINCENT: Someday there may be nice chap- I'd rather have it a nice chap-

SAM: Like Ella, Say

VINCENT: [with a slight start] Ella?/Sam 's attention has returned to her letter once more. She folds it, puts it in an envelope and addresses it. Carl,studying her with a light of uneasy speculation, goes on after a moment.] I'm afraid it would raise a bit of the devil in the Painter house, Sam; that's all. You know, Mrs. Ella isn't exactly-our kind. (Sam, still about her business, rises and places the letter among others on top of the desk. Afier another moment, Vincent breaks out in atone of obvious relief.] But he isn't home.you know.

SAM: (turning suddenly to face him] And why isn't he home? Why is he staying away so long?

It's over two months now that he's been away.

VINCENT:[ at a loss] Why-why-I don't know. He probably finds the finishing good down there in Maine, or wherever he is. I-I hadn't thought.

SAM: I had. Vincent l, there's something in the woodpile, I tell you. Mrs.Ella is distinctly evasive. It's all so unnatural. We all came down to this corner of the shore to have a nice, quite summer. And then, of a sudden, he packs up and is gone over night-and no sign of his coming back. There's something behind it, Vincent.

VINCENT: [rising and pacing the floor-petulantl] Pshaw-pshaw! There's the woman cropping out. Pshaw! Why shouldn't he go off fishing and stay as long as he wants to?

SAM: (ignoring the outburst] Iv'e been thinking of nothing for a week but Ella.

VINCENT: [stopping short and staring at her] You have! fafier an instant of confrontation, he sits down weakly on the couch, mops his brow with his handkerchief, and then recovers himself sufficiently to resume in a tone tinctured with venom.] I must say, Sam, this rather sudden interest in one of my oldest friends

SAM: You don't mind?

VINCENT: Mind? (He has the grace to blush.] Oh, m-m-mind? Why? Good heavens, Sam, wh-wh-why should I mind?

SAM: I knew you wouldn't. And, after all, it's his wife I'm concerned about. Poor thing-stranded here all alone.

VINCENT:(more than ever ashamed of himself, mopping his brow vigoroushy] Whew! It's darned hot, I say! I think I'll have a glass of milk, if you'd be so good, Sam. That's a dear.

SAM: (crosses to door at left and calls out.] Luna! Luna!

VOICE OFF-STAGE: Huh?

SAM: Bring Mr. Rivera a glass of milk- right away. And how many times have I told you to say "ma'am" when you speak to me?

VINCENT: (deprecatingly) Why should she say ma’am? After all, my dear, you know she is-

SAM: [turning upon him with some petulance] There are times, Vincent, when your theories-

VINCENT: [quickly] My theories, Frances , are identical with yours; the only point of variance being that I am willing to practice them at home. [Rising, he transfixes his wife with a didactic forefinger. We all talk so largely of the Brotherhood of Man. And yet here is a young girl, a really splendid sort of creature in a way, living close to the throbbing heart of Mother Earth.

SAM: finterrupting] Close to the throbbing heart of the kitchen range, you'd better say. For all your find talk, you don't know any more about her than I do, and that's not a blessed thing-not one single blessed thing, Vincent. For all we know, she may be-oh, for heaven's sake, Vincent, stop looking that way!

VINCENT: [resuming with a heavy, ironical patience] Living close to the throbbing heart of Mother Earth, feeling the life- pulse of the Cosmos-well-damn it all-she's precisely the kind of thing we writ about and talk and make gestures about, the lot of us- you know. Only she is it. She lives it. Shes got something we've lost. Sometimes, you know, my dear, I almost feel-I do feel-in a way.

SAM: (coolly] Yes?

VINCENT: A strange spiritual bon with that creature-something drawing me-irresistibly-like the pull of green things and the damp earth-weird-almost-ah-Pilocene ugh-by the way, you don't mind?

SAM: fwith difficultyy] Mind?

VINCENT: chin in hand] In a way, you know, she's got something or other that we-

[Enter LUNA, carrying a glass of milk on a server]

VINCENT: Ah!

[ With an unwonted energy he moves a small stand beside the couch, half reclines, and waves Luna to deposit the glass on the stand. As she does so he gently captures her hand in his. She endeavors to recover it, profoundly embarrassed, casts a frightened glance at the mistress, then, evidently deciding in her numb and docile brain that this is the accepted thing, remains inert, staring ponderously at her boot-toes.]

VINCENT: [resumes in a tone of dreaming] I wonder if you've ever thought much about yourself, Luna? You wouldn't, though. You wouldn't-that's just the matter with us . No, of course you wouldn't- (Turning to Sam] She wouldn't, would she? [Turning back. ] We've been wondering if you knew how wonderful you are. Luna? Because you are wonderful. You're out of your age. In a world staggering under a Freud, a Trotsky, a Marconi, the Republic of China, and the Imagist Poets you've managed somehow to slip back to the great, all-brooding fundamentals-FoodShelter-Procreatio-

SAM: Vincent!

VINCENT: [mpatiently, to Sam] That, I believe, is the order in which they come. [Lights cigarette.] Or- perhaps I'm wrong. Of course, my deár, if you want to get into philosophics and metaphysics I grant you the old argument does the hen come first and the egg second, or the egg first and the hen

SAM: Vincent! That is a young girl!

[Exit Luna.)

VINCENT: [with an air of hopelessness, shaking his head slowly] Frances, Frances, are we to be always like that? Always slipping back into the old fog-bound superstitions of the mid-Victorian home?

SAM: Oh be quiet, please. It isn't that! You ought to know me well enough by this time. But -but she wouldn't understand. If she could understand-ifit would do her any good-enlarge her life in the least, Vincent-

VINCENT: Understand? Of course she doesn't understand. Do we want her to understand, my dear girl? Enlarge her life? Look, here, my dear, I'm serious. That girl has got something or other that neither you nor I-or any of us in the-the group-could come to in a thousand years of self-centered and spiritual crucifixion-She has got

SAM: [ironically] Exactly what? (Rising)

VINCENT: [inexpressibly shocked at the Philistine question] Why, Sam! Whywhy, she has got she's got-see here, Frances, you know what I mean as well as I do. For heaven's sake, after two years of our talks-our trying to find the the-in our little group, you know-Look here, Sam, you've talked as primitive as anyone. And now you stand here and ask-/Glancing out of the window, he speaks with an air of relief at the diversion.] Oh, here comes Mrs. Ella up the steps.

SAM: fin confusion, extending the half-smoked cigarette] Oh, quick! Take this! [VINCENT starts take it, furtively; then as if bethinking hinself, draws back and confronts her with a grim disapprobation.]

VINCENT: Sam!

SAM: You idiot! [A knock is heard at the door. Sam, wasting no time in further argument, skips about in desperate search for aplace to hide the incriminating object.)

VINCENT: feven more sternly] Frances! Are we to be always that--that kind? (Sam faces him defiantly: then, shamed by his superior sense of honor, puts the cigarette between her lips and pufjs conscientiously. Knocking resumes.] Come in!

(Enter Mrs. Ella]

MRS.ELLA: with a moderate effusivenessto Vincent] Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Rivera. I was just coming up from the beach, you know, and I thought I'd-[ Catching sight of Sam in a cloud of smoke, she gasps, stares desperately at the floor, the ceiling, the desk; then sinks down in a chair.] drop in!

VINCENT: [suavely] Terribly glad. When's mort coming home?

MRS.ELLA: -–he hasn't/Looks from one to the other with a sudden suspicion; then rises

majestically and confronts Sam with an icy accusation.) Mrs. Rivera, your husband asked me that question ten seconds ago, and, if I'm not mistaken, you heard me answered him. (Bursting into tears and stamping her feet.] Oh, oh, oh! I won't stand it! Oh, you're şo mean always pecking at me-

VINCENT: /aghast] Pecking?

SAM: [the same] Pecking at you?

MRS.ELLA: Yes, pecking at me! (She sinks down in the chair, and burying her face in her hands, gives way to uncontrollable grief. The others exchange inquiring glances, shrug their shoulders, and sign with the helpless bewilderment of the falsely accused. By and by Mrs. Ella begins to speak, her cheeks pressed in her palms, eyes fixed vacancy.] I suppose you might as well know. You'll have to, some time. Mor- is-never-coming

SAM: WHAT!

VINCENT: Old mort? Good old mort? For heaven' sake, why not?

MRS.ELLA: You remember the maid we engaged down here the first summer-Abbie Small? Well, she got in trouble. Oh yes, Mort denied it-and denied it and denied it. He would, of course. We got her out of the way immediately; sent her up to the Rescued Magdalene's Home in the city. We couldn't do less. I know the place; it's good and clean and wholesome-not at all like an institution. They have their amusements and things. And--and -[She suffers a momentary relapse into tears. Vincent begins to pace the floor, wrapped in thought. She resumes gravely.] And Mort, when he found at last that the wool would not_ be pulled over my eyes, packed up his things and went away... Perhaps it is best.

VINCENT: [wheeling on her] Best! You can say- Best? My God! [Nothing her look of alarm, in a gentler tone.] You must forgive me, Mrs. Ella. Sitting down on the end of the evangelist.] You say it is best, by your lights. And by my lights, I say it is worse. Worse, because it seems to me you are missing the fundamental significance of life; that you are deliberately shutting the door on life; that you are throwing away an experience! You three! Think of it! How wonderful a thing! Passing together, hand in hand, through the unfolding hours of a miracle! You three!

MRS.ELLA: frecovering the faculty of speech at last Are you crazy? (Appealing to Sam.] Is -is the man-insane?

SAM: with a smile, half sad, half lifted] No, Mrs. Ella. It seems to me he is precisely sane. We have been thinking about it a good deal Vincent and I, and we-

MRS.ELLA: (rising] Mrs. Vera! I can't say how deeply I-Am-LReally, I think I'd better be going.

SAM: (ntercepting her] Now-now! Don't take on so, my dear. Pshaw! You mustn't go off in a huff like this -must she, Vincent? See here; sit down and we' ll have a cup of tea..[Calling Luna! Luna!

VINCENT: Yes, yes-do please sit down. [Calling.] Luna! Luna! Aside.] Where is that girl? [To others.] Wait a second; I'll go hurry her up. (Exit.]

MRS.ELLA: (sobbing genthy into her handkerchief] But my dear, my dear. You couldn't talk that way- either of youif you had been through it yourselvesif you know if you knew the torment of the day-when the girl came to me and told me she wasn't smart?

SAM: [quizzically] Not smart.

MRS.ELLA: Yes. That's the way they put it down here when they are-expecting.

SAM: How quaint! Not smart. Fancy. [Enter Vincent.] Oh, Carl, my dear, Mra.Ella has just been telling me the quaintest thing.

MRS.ELLA: (drawing up and recovering her dignity.] It is a thing I should rather not discuss in-mixed company. Especially with Mr. Rivera

VINCENT: Oh, come now, Mrs. Ella. Don't let's quarrelóver-overabstractions. See here, we'll have some tea and we'll all feel better... Where's that gil? boots.)

(Enter Luna, a dish in one hand, dish-towel in the other. She stands staring gloomily at her

LUNA: Yeh?

SAM: /suggestively] Ma'am?

LUNA: Mom.

SAM: That's better. Now, will you bring the tea thingsquickly!

LUNA: Yeh-mom! (She remains standing there, however.]

SAM: (sharply] Well?

[Luna does not answer. Her lower lip sags; her knees bend a little, and the dish, escaping her

nerveless fingers, crashes on the floor.]

SAM: Good heavens! What is the matter with you? Speak!

LUNA: dully, staring at the floor] I ain't sma't.

MRS.ELLA: favidly] Not smart?

SAM: fweakly, tottering a little and putting her hand to her throat] Not smart?

VINCENT: protesting expansively] Not smart? Dear creature! Oh, you wonderful, simple, primitive creature! Smartness! Pah! [Turning on the others savagely.] Don't sit there looking at

me so-aghast-as if I were uttering heresies. Smart? We are smart -you-and -youand I. And look at us. (Turning back to Luna.] No, no my dear girl. You are not smart, and heaven send you soul something a thousand times more precious than smartness, an element of wisdom-

SAM: Vincent!

MRS. ELLA : [almost screaming] It isn't that, you fool! It isn't that she means by "not smart." Dont you know what it means down here? Why it means that one is in a delicate-

VINCENT: Delicate? You say delicate!" And I say, don't talk to me of delicacy! No, no; look at me as hard as you want to; there's something more priceless in the world than delicacy! We're immersed in it. Yes, rl say it -immersedall the vile little soul stifling inhibitions of soap and tooth-brush, Chinese potteries. I see that I shock you. Well, I am willing to shock you you, Mrs.Ella, and you, my dear Frances. But I tell you that if this girl here this splendid,deep-bosomed, ox-eyed earth-woman, is not delicate, then as for me

MRS.ELLA: [desperately] I didn't say not delicate!" I said in a delicate

VINCENT: [putting his hand to his brow with a sudden new suspicion of light- very weakly] In a delicate what?

MRS.ELLA: Condition!

VINCENT: [sitting down abruptly on the couch and staring into vacancy-after a pause-in a wondering whisper] ConditIon? (TableauLuna staring at her boots; the two women staring at Vincent; Vincent staring at nothing, By and by he turns his head, and starts violently as he meets the accusing yes.] What are you looking at me for? (Seized by a sudden panic, he shakes wild hands at them] Stop looking at me! Stop it, I say! Stop looking at me! Stop stop-stop! The idea-

SAM: Vincent! Oh-Vincent! Vincent!

MRS.ELLA: with a stately sweep to the door] I am afraid I shall have to say Good evening! (Exit in a blaze of glory.]

SAM: with great difficulty-to Luna) You may leave the room.

[Exit Luna, her eyes still on the floor. Carlgazes after her, blank and helpless. As the door closes, Sam sinks on her knees beside the desk, and hiding herface in her hands, shakes with the tumult of her woe, sobbing a muffled "Vincent, Vincent"from time to time. Carsales back and forth rapidly.)

VINCENT: Frances! Ten minutes ago I would have called the man a liar who told me that you, my wife, had a such low-suspicious-mind. Do you hear me? Good God, Sam! [Receiving no

reply, he subsides on the couch and mops his face. Afier a moment he resumes in a harassed soliloqıuy) The world is full of low minds, I suppose-- eternally ready to suspect the worst- licking their lickerish lips for a chance at a man's good name. Pah! [He groans]... Of course, the girl must be gotten away from here immediately. Sam! (Still hearing no answer, he jumps up and move toward her.] See here! Pull yourself together. There are arrangements to make. This poor creature can't be left here to face the sneers of these damned, narrow-souled provincials. She is, in a sense, a-a dependent of ours. It seems to me we can't do less than to send her away to

some place where she will be looked aftercared for. Understood -in the city. Sam, will you listen to me? [Grasping her shoulder, not too gently, he tries to uncover her face. She uncovers it herself.]

SAM: [with suppressed fury] Please don't touch me!

VINCENT: [snapping] Stop it! Stop it, I say!

SAM: Don't touch me!

VINCENT: retreating weakly] But-but I keep telling you-

SAM: Please don't keep telling me anything. I can't comprehend anything now. My brain won't work. I think I am going crazy. (She shivers.]

VINCENT: desperately] But I tell youIt-was n't-ME!

SAM: [her shoulders dropping hopelessly] Denials! Denials! I think I might have been spared this.

VINCENT: But it WASN'T, you know!

SAM: (drearily] If you must make a brute of yourself, you might have been a gazelle-not a jackal. [Vincent stares at her a moment, fascinated; then takes a dazed turn about the room. Somewhere in the circuit he discovers a litle spirit of his own.]

VINCENT: But if it had been, Sam-

SAM: in a sarcastic echo] If it had been-

VINCENT: You wouldn't mind, would you?

SAM: (shrinking backa step, as before an unfair blow] M-m-mind? (And then witha terrible gaiety.)

Mind? I? ha-ha-ha-ha

VINCENT: [relieved] Ah, that's better. That's more like my gil. I knew you wouldn't-even if it-if it -had been.

SAM: Ha-ha-ha-ha

VINCENT: That's right. And now let's think. Have we got a time-table in the house, with connections? And, oh yes, about that address! The what-you-may-call-it Magdalenes' Home. We must get it from Mrs. Ella.The girl mustn't stay here for a moment more than is absolutely necessary.

SAM: (sitting down] What are you talking about?

VINCENT: That place in the city. Mrs. Ella thinks well of it.

SAM: What has that got to do with it?

VINCENT: [ blankly] Why Why-

SAM: Of course, the young woman is to rerńain with us.

VINCENT: WHAT!

SAM: [blandly] Naturally. Why, Vincent, how queer you talk! We you and I-are not going to miss the fundamental significance of life, are we? Were not deliberately going to shut the door on life? We three?

VINCENT: [terribly] I must say, my dear girl, this is a poor time for facetiousness.

SAM: [untouched] We three! Passing together, hand in hand, through the unfolding hours of a miracle

VINCENT: (ponderously] Frances, you are very unkind. You will never-understand me.

SAM: Understand you?

VINCENT: Not in the deeper sense. You are a woman, after all. You still cling pathetically to the grammar- school notion that two and two makes four.

SAM: (unmoved] Ah! And that theories are to be put in practice at home?

VINCENT: [haggardly] Theories! My God! Theories! Ideals! Dreams! Ah, if one could but afford to dream! With a heavy wistfulness.] But that is for the angles, and the young. Happy youth, unencumbered, foot-free

SAM: All of which is to say-

VINCENT: Hang take it all. My affairs are in a delicate conditionFlinches at the word.] -er-it's a

confounded precarious period in my career, my dear girl. Another year, who knows, and I may arrive -if nothing happens. After all, we owe a little something to my career.

SAM: Ah! Your career!

VINCENT: And to our own folks-yours and mine. And-andand to your good -name.

SAM: Quite some good name. You are beginning to think even of that.

VINCENT: fin desperation] But I keep telling you-a loud knock is heard at the outer door. Vincent, stepping to the window, cranes out, then, with a look of consternation, runs and sets his back against the door. It's that Painter woman? What are we going to do?

SAM: Do? What should we do, when everything is so sweet and natural?

VINCENT: Sam, are you insane?

SAM: No, I am precisely-sane. [Another knock.] Let her in, please

VINCENT: [n a pleading whisper] Sam! Sam! [A loudef knock.]

SAM: fcalling] Come in!

0 notes

reyescarlos · 3 years

Note

26, 65 or 74? hurt/comfort? i love ur style of writing and i wanna see where you take these 🥺🥰

this is just the sweetest. you’ve really been making me so happy with all your kudos and comments in this collection! thank you so much! this one kind of ran away from me and is a bit heavier than my previous fics. it comes with trigger warnings so... overdose tw, drugs tw

#26 “How did you find me?”

TK sits with his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs as he looks out across the field. To any passerby this wouldn’t be anything remarkable. It’s nothing more than an expanse of dry grass but this particular vacant spot is arguably one of his favorite places in all of Travis County. This is the field where he allowed himself to dive headfirst into something real with Carlos, the two watching an anomaly in the sky above as something organic bloomed between them.

Austin has been leaving its mark on TK, the new memories and bonds forged here almost enough to eclipse all of the bad he’s left behind.

But there are certain aspects of his past that he can’t quite run from, despite his best efforts to. Life enjoyed playing with him too much to allow good times to last long. TK supposes he may be a touch melodramatic but after the last call he and his team were dispatched to, he can’t shake the idea that the universe likes tossing in harsh reminders of a life he’d rather forget.

The scene they were called to was far too similar to a scenario he had personal experience with. A worried mother stood watch for the crew’s arrival outside the door to her daughter’s apartment, tears in her eyes and she begged and pleaded with them to break down the door and get to her child.

The young woman was unresponsive, passed out on her bathroom floor. Beside her was an empty orange vial and two small clear baggies. It was as if seeing an alternate version of his life. Michelle bustled in, Tim and Nancy flanking her as they worked in tandem to save the woman. Narcan passed from Tim straight to Michelle in the blink of an eye, leaving her to administer the dose in almost no time at all.

TK was vaguely aware of his father’s voice but his ears were ringing too loudly to make out any of the words, let alone any other sound coming from the room. He could see Michelle calling out orders, see her team’s lips moving in response. But the dial was turned down to zero; TK was unable to register any of it. He could recall the touch of his father’s hands on his shoulders and hands, urging him away.

But it was all TK could do to stand there, feet planted like a formidable oak as he watched the young woman’s eyes flutter open, to hold his breath as she emptied out her stomach, her body too weak to even move herself away from the mess she’d made.

“TK,” his father had said a bit more forcefully in his ear, a hand on his elbow to take him away from the threshold.

He stumbled backwards as his father pulled him away, his vision of the apartment blurred as tears filled his eyes. The young woman would be okay but the image of her sprawled out against the tiles, TK knew, would always haunt him, never mind the sheer anguish on her mother’s face.

The ride back to the station was painfully quiet, the team—for his sake, more than anything— not saying a single word. But TK didn’t even feel like he was in the truck at all. His mind was somewhere else entirely, a thousand miles back in New York on his living room floor. It all came rushing back in such stunning clarity.

He’d gone through the motions of showering and dressing once they returned, enduring another quiet ride, this time home with his father.

TK had gone straight to his room though Owen tried getting him to open up and talk about what they’d just seen. His room made him feel like a caged animal as he paced the length of it. Before he could fully register what he was doing, TK was fleeing the house without saying a word to his father, hoping to find someplace where he could be alone and hopefully wind up feeling better.

TK’s top pick would have been Carlos’ condo but the last thing TK wanted to do was burden his boyfriend with this. He’s done his best to shield Carlos from the sordid details of his past, so keen he is these days on maintaining a brighter future.

He closes his eyes, listening to the sound of crickets hidden in blades of grass, feeling the soft evening breeze blow across his skin. This was the perfect place to settle on.

The road his mind wants to travel down is a dangerous one and it takes everything within him to keep on a safer path. The silence of the field helps. He tries to mirror it for himself, an open space and an open mind.

Out here with no one around, the noise in his head dies down long enough for him to steady himself and recalibrate.

His peacefulness is broken about twenty minutes later by the sound of tires approaching. TK scrambles to his feet quickly at the sudden intrusion. The car’s headlights make it hard to see much of anything but as the engine is cut and the lights are as well, TK feels his chest tighten at the sight of Carlos’ Camaro.

He stands frozen in his spot as he waits for Carlos to get out. When he does, his boyfriend’s eyes are locked in on him, his expression unreadable as he comes to a stop in front of him. Carlos doesn’t waste time with a preamble, jumping right into things.

“Your dad told me about the call you guys had today,” Carlos says delicately.

TK looks away, cracking his knuckles. His skin feels stretched too tight around his body. It’s a perfectly cool evening and yet he feels like he’s suffocating, his face and neck suddenly feeling hot.

“He was worried when you left and refused to answer his texts and calls. That’s when he reached out to me, hoping that you were at my place. He was worried sick...as was I.”

“I didn’t mean to make you all worry. I just needed...to breathe.”

Carlos frowns. “I know that call must have been horrible for you but you can’t go AWOL like that, TK,” he says, voice still gentle. “If you needed this time on your own, just say that next time, please. When you disappear, we can’t help but to get scared that you’re hurt or—”

“I didn’t do anything stupid. I didn’t, you know,” he concludes lamely, unable to even bring himself to say the word relapse.

“I didn’t think you would but thank you for telling me. I’m glad you’re hanging in there. I tried calling but it kept going straight to voicemail.”

TK’s brows furrow as he takes his phone out of his pocket. He touches the screen but it remains black. He hadn’t even thought to check on his phone, not that it mattered either way given he was practically in the middle of nowhere. It’s then that Carlos’ appearance really sinks in.

“How did you find me?”

For the first time since he arrived, Carlos smiles faintly.

“There’s a reason I still earn a paycheck every two weeks. You may think you’re a mystery but I know you,” he says, reaching for TK’s hands.

TK lets him hold on, realizing now just how cold his fingertips feel once he’s met with Carlos’ warmth. For as much as he wanted to be alone, TK is glad for Carlos’ presence now. It’s a powerful thing to be seen and loved by someone.

“I figured you’d go somewhere you could be by yourself, that’s nice and remote but also someplace that made you feel comforted as if you weren’t actually alone. That night we spent out here came to mind so I thought I’d check it out first.”

TK huffs out a sound similar to a laugh and shakes his head, looking back out across the field. “Impressive work, officer. But as you can see, I’m doing just fine so you don’t have to worry.”

“I wouldn’t call running away and isolating yourself fine, T. Please, can you talk to me about what you’re feeling right now?”

TK can hear traces of panic in his voice though, to Carlos’ credit, he tries to disguise it. But TK can read the strained look in Carlos’ brown eyes and the set of shoulders. This was precisely what TK was hoping to avoid, making someone he cared for so concerned. But he supposes he brought this on himself. Had he just spoken up when it mattered most, Carlos wouldn’t have had to go tracking him down.

Carlos turns and walks back towards his car, sitting on top of the hood. TK watches him for a moment, the man’s hand outstretched in invitation. This takes him back to that glorious night where there didn’t seem to be any limits to how happy and free he could be.

It feels like such a déjà vu. There may not be northern lights above them now but the stars shine so brightly that it’s captivating all the same. Carlos still looks at him with wonder and care in his eyes, just as he’d done months ago. The car is just the same, the spot beside Carlos empty and waiting for him.

But inside TK feels different. Something has monumentally shifted due to that call. So much of this scenario may feel familiar but he feels a long way off from the guy he was that night.

Something in his expression or body language gives him away; he knows Carlos can see his unease. The man lowers his hand and sits cross legged, just staring at him patiently.

It’s just one of the many things TK appreciates in Carlos. He never forces him to speak if he isn’t ready. He’s simply just there and that counts for so much more than TK can even say. It’s more than he deserves, of that he’s certain. But it’s exactly what he needs so he’s grateful.

After another moment, TK’s legs finally begin moving forward, the soles of his shoes crunching against the dried grass. He slides upwards onto the hood of the car, laying back wordlessly against the windshield. Beside him, Carlos follows his lead, reaching for his hand again. He brings it to his lips to kiss each of TK’s knuckles before resting his hand against his chest.

TK stays quiet for a beat, taking just a moment to relish in Carlos’ touch. A conversation is inevitable but before they get underway, he knows he needs to contact his father and attempt to put the man at ease. He dreads the thought alone but it’s the least he owes his dad now for bailing like he did.

“I should probably borrow your phone and give my dad a call. Let him know that I’m okay.”

“I sent him a text before I got out of the car. He knows you’re with me.”

A ghost of a smile plays at TK’s lips at the implication of that last sentence. Being with Carlos amounts to the same thing as safe.

TK pulls in a breath, trying to collect his thoughts but everything in his head is a wreck. He plucks out one thought and goes from there, just needing to get something off his chest so he could breathe a bit easier.

“Being on that call today, seeing that girl’s mom absolutely lose it....,” he trails off, closing his eyes to the memory but the images still flood him anyway. “It just made me think about my dad finding me when he did. If he’d come over to my place even five or ten minutes later, I likely wouldn’t even be sitting here right now.”

He has to stop short there, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat.

“I’ve put him through so much and I don’t ever want to do that again, cause even a fraction of the fear that woman had. Her daughter looked so helpless and all I could think about was ‘what if this girl doesn’t make it?’ Her mom wouldn’t have been able to survive that. And I thought back to New York, my dad being there, saving me. I’ve been doing well now but this thing is always going to be in me, no matter what and I hate that more than anything. One setback could undo everything. It’s happened to me before and I barely made it through that time.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “Sometimes it seems like it’d be safer not to let people in just in case I relapse again. I don’t want to drag anyone else down this road. My dad, you, the family I’ve made here. You all are so important to me and nothing terrifies me more than the thought of losing you guys, one way or another.”

Carlos sits up at this and from his periphery TK can see that his boyfriend is looking at him but TK can’t bear to look back. Instead he keeps his eyes trained on the stars just wishing he could trade places with them now, be light years away from the troubles of this world.

“Hey, no. The people you have in your corner are going to be there for life. We all love you so much and will always stand with you.”

There’s such conviction in his words that leaves no doubt about his sincerity and commitment. TK can’t help the tears that fall from the corners of his eyes and race back to his hairline as he keeps vigilant watch on the sky. He knows that if he looks at Carlos now, the little bit of restraint he’s been clinging to will break. Carlos continues speaking, undeterred, or perhaps motivated, by TK’s silence.

“I’m not in the business of giving up on people. Serve and protect, right? If I can care deeply for perfectly good strangers every day, why on earth wouldn’t I be able to do the same for you, the man I’m so incredibly in love with? You couldn’t push me or anyone else who loves you away. You and I agreed, right on this very spot, months ago that we were a team. I have every intention to hold up my end of that promise.”

TK lowers his gaze, finally letting his eyes land on Carlos. The man’s face is flushed, beautiful brown eyes tinted pink from unshed tears but there’s a fierceness in them despite the sadness.

TK sits up and draws nearer, resting his head against Carlos’ shoulder. TK’s wrapped up in the man’s embrace instantly, those steady hands rubbing soothing circles along his back.

He lets himself be cared for, ignoring how weak he feels now. Carlos, he knows, is strong enough for the both of them at this moment. There’s no judgement or shame to be felt, not with Carlos.

“You’re so much stronger than you even know,” Carlos murmurs against the shell of his ear. “There’s nothing you can’t get through and there’s definitely nothing we can’t do together. You’re so loved, TK. You are so loved and needed. Always.”

#tarlos #carlos reyes #tk strand #tarlos fic #911 lone star #drugs tw #overdose tw #userthai #captainstennerstar #ronenrubinstein #kimmy writes

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readerinsertfanfiction · 3 years

Note

Neeeeeeemo darling❤❤❤! Eeeeeeeep😆😆😆 okay i know i should probs be sleeping buuuut😅😅😅 hehehe yeah😅last spam for the night, else ima kick myself tomorrow for staying up past bedtime 😅😅😅 anyways! 😂😂😂

Could i pretty please with all the candy ontop request a comfort fic with my dearest Theo (hehehe cause no spam would be complete witbout my dearest theodorkus) ❤❤❤❤so basically i loved ya nobu comfort fic so much and like.... my heart melts just as much with fics where the suitors gets comforted and built up🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😳😳😳😳plus i feel like Theo needs one big hug for all the shit he goes through and has gone thru! Plus his work o holiness ❤❤☺😳

😳hehehe love ya to infinity! Hehehe okay i am finally off to bed😅for reals this time😅😅can ya tell i was thinking about that nobu comfort fic you did😅😅😅and then was like u know who else needs cuddles 😂😂//insert that meme of remembering unfinished homework 😂😂❤😳pfffffft whooooops left ya another essay 😅😅😅😳😳😳😳 night darling Nemo❤❤❤❤may u go to bed early and have sweet dreams🍁❤🥺

Zetaaaaa-daaaaarling!!! Y u no sleep? No kicking yourself, only sleeping more and less gym time and more me-time! 😂😂😂

I’m surprised that the comfort the suitor fics are getting popular now, because it isn’t like it is the first time I write them, just the first time I wrote for Nobu, I guess. 😂😂😂

I lub your rambles, Zeta-dearest. They’re so cute and really brightens the mood and makes your requests not so standard as well (and gives me a reason to talk more as well because apparently Tumblr still thinks I’m an oyster 😅😅😅).

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Character: Theodor(k)us van Gogh

Prompt: Some comfort for the dork

When Theo woke up that day he knew that there was something off. The cool of the morning chilled him, his blankets were not enough, and there was an empty space next to him. A space usually occupied by you, but Theo knew that you had to leave early today. Yet, the space was glaring at him, the spot already cool from the heat that had evaporated.

Even the colours of the world seemed a little dimmer, duller. The garden wasn’t as captivating, his brother’s paintings didn’t fill him with the joy and spark he usually felt. And then there was the light throbbing of his scar. It felt sore and tender as the man groaned into his pillow, wondering what the day had planned for him.

"Sorry, they're a little burned," Sebastian had apologised at the breakfast table, horrifying him further. Was this how his entire day was to go? The bottle of maple syrup that Theo was so known to love was also half empty, though in the back of his mind an annoying voice told him to cheer up, followed by your chipper encouraging one;

'Kop op! You can still pour it!'

Theodorus wondered when you would return. He knew that you lived your own life just like he had his own. He even admired you for it, encouraging you to pursue your own path despite the strange times. But without you by his side Theo’s day felt off, strange, and it was the space next to him that he was missing. It felt as if eons had passed since he had felt your warmth, but he knew that he was being dramatic if he were to express it.

'Of all days to be busy…' he thought. A gentle press onto his shoulder followed and the sunny smile of his brother came into view.

"Goedemorgen Theo," Vincent chirped, but even his beloved brother's winning smile didn't help defrost the chill within. As if the chill he had frozen over instead, holding him hostage in this state of demurity and slight helplessness.

"Are you alright?" Vincent had questioned, those clear blue eyes nothing but sincerity and worry. It made Theo feel even worse who could only grimace back at his older brother and reassure the man that he was, perhaps just a little tired.

“The old chap is missing his darling,” Arthur had beamed up instead, hoping to draw out a reaction from Theo. The silence he was met with and the solemn confirmation within those dark blue eyes of the Dutchman floored even the infamous author, however. This had been a look that Theo hadn’t worn in a long while, at least not since you entered into his life.

Theo wasn’t the type to wear his emotions openly. Guarded as he was he kept them all securely locked away, sometimes even from himself as he didn’t want to be reminded of his own darkness and traumas. It had taken him so long to finally open up to you, and even then he had moments in which he relapsed.

Even the pompous asses of the Académie seemed to have taken note of his solemnity, for once keeping out of his way as they stared after him, striding in and out of the place as chitchats were kept to a bare minimum. A reaction that was for the best, for Theo didn’t feel like barking for once. Not at them, or at anyone.

“A note?”

The folded piece of paper stretched out to him came from a young boy that the two of you had helped. A budding talent, Theo had only needed to see the sand drawings the boy had made with his stick and an apprenticeship later the boy had turned into a little friend.

“I was told to give this one if you’re sad,” the boy explained, earning a quirk from Theo’s brows as he held out his hand, picking the note with his other.

“And if I was not?” he inquired, but the boy didn’t need that many words to understand what the art-dealer wanted;

“Then there was none, other than to tell you to ditch your hat.”

The child was much too witty as well, but the man let it slide as he chuckled, a grin spreading over his face for the first time of the day. With a tip of his hat the male turned away, leaving the last ignored as he unfolded the note;

‘Lonely? Ditch the hat. :) <3’

This earned another chuckle from the man, your familiar hand and the strange symbols that were supposed to mean something lifted something within him. When he looked up from the note the sky seemed a little bluer and the sun a bit brighter.

Adjusting his hat Theo pulled the piece off, looking down at the gray cap that matched his suit so well. “If that would summon you,” he contemplated. He often ignored your jabs at his hat, finding nothing wrong with the piece. But if he had to choose between the two of you his choice would have been easily made. It didn’t matter how attached he pretended to be, there were other hats, but there was only one you.

“Did you ditch it?” your voice popped up, your figure peeking up at him from behind as your face fell at the sight of the hat in his hands, “at least it isn’t on your head,” you pouted, rather disappointed, though grimaced at him all the same as Theo stared at you rather dumbfounded.

“Surprise?” you tell the man with a chuckle as you move your hands in the air, “I just finished, let’s go home together?”

Theo didn’t need to be asked a second time. Nor did he manage to answer in a smart quip or with his usual classics. The hat dropped out of his hand and arms wrapped around you, pulling you in and close as he felt himself defrost against your warmth. An exhale of relief followed after as now the man felt whole once more. A huff from your side filled with mirth ringing in his ears and committed to memory.

“Oh, who is the pup now,” you jovially exclaim, but you pat his back all the same. Comforting the man that would never admit the gloom and doom of the hours spent without you.

#ikevam theo #ikevamp theo #ikemen theo #ikemen vampire theo #ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikevam x reader #ikevamp x reader #ikemen vampire x reader

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cutie1365 · 3 years

Text

Hello Detective Chapter 71

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Word Count: 3k

A/N: This is my first time writing in months oof, but I’ve had these next few chapters outlined for a while so I’m really excited about this idea and where it’s going.

Any and all feedback is appreciated and encouraged!

Masterlist in bio, taglist in reblog.

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

“Wow,” Charles said in shock as he took a sip of his martini. Sitting across from him in a dark secluded corner of the expensive restaurant you explained everything to him and how your life had changed over the last few weeks.

“Are you really surprised? You know how crazy my life is. This can’t be that much of a stretch.” You chuckled. Looking back, shocking things happened to you all the time. Serial killers, faked deaths, assassins.

“I just can’t believe you got married.” He shook his head. You were no longer the cold hearted grieving girl he once knew.

“Actually I’m kind of shocked about that one too. Everything happened so fast.” You gazed off out the window. You’d gone from married to fake broken up so fast that it almost gave you whiplash.

“Are you ok with all of this?” Charles asked with a raised brow, uncertain.

“It’s our jobs, I know it’s never going to be easy. You and I have each done worse for a case.” You tried to convince him, and maybe yourself.

“God I know,” He almost shivered, “Remember Barcelona?”

“Don’t remind me.” You cringed, shaking your head, before looking up and smiling at the man across from you. The two of you sure had some wild adventures.

“So when’s the last time you saw him?” He asked, changing the subject.

“Hm, guess it’s been about three weeks. We texted for the first two, but he told me he’d have to cut off contact. Guess a break in the case. Hopefully this will all be over soon and things can go back to normal.” You said, taking a sip of your wine.

“Our lives are never normal Y/N,” Charles teased, “How’s work been? I mean, obviously can’t be that great, I’m not there.”

“Ask me something else.” You groaned, stabbing at your plate as you pictured Magnussen’s face.

“O come on, do you need me to kill someone for you?” He asked, and you knew he wasn't joking.

“That’s so sweet, Charles, really chivalrous of you.” You smirked, placing a hand over your heart.

“You know I’ll do it darling, drop of a hat.” He sipped his drink once more.

“Oh I know you will. Work’s fine. I like it, I do. I hate the politics of it though.” You shrug.

“We need to get a gun back in your hand and get you back to MI6.” He said.

“What, do you not like your new partner?” You asked with a smirk, knowing he didn’t play well with others. Hence the whole reason you were assigned to work with him in the first place.

“Well they’re not you darling, so obviously.” He flattered you.

“Do you want a desk job at MI5?” You teased.

“Oh shoot me.” He scoffed, causing you to laugh.

You’d missed this, the shenanigans you two got into. Of course you were happy to be catching up with him again, you just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances. You were thankful to have someone to confide in though.

“Why don’t you come see the office tomorrow, I’m free in the morning. Take a break from the River House.” You suggested, tempting him with your puppy dog eyes.

“I might...” He smiled, knowing he could never say no to you. His voice trailed off as you noticed your waiter approaching your table.

“Are you ready for the check, sir?” The waiter asked, only making eye contact with Charles, not even acknowledging you.

“Yes please.” Charles took the leather booklet from the man who promptly turned and left. You reached across the table to snatch it out of his hand but he pulled away out of your reach.

“A gentleman never lets a lady pay.” He shook his head.

“Well we both know you’re not a gentleman. And this lady promised you dinner, for you know, saving the entire country from a nuclear explosion.” You argued.

“If you insist.” He smirked, bringing the check closer, now within your reach.

“I do.” You snatched it, slipping your card in without even looking at the price. Perks of the new job. Hell if Mycroft had told you how much you were gonna make you would have gone off to work with him a long time ago.

As Charles walked you back to your flat, you slipped your arm under his as you noticed the photographer on the other side of the street. They seemed to be camped out with a direct view of your house. Of course you pretended not to notice them.

“What do you say Gregson, gonna invite me up for old times sake?” Charles smirked as you’d made it to your front door.

“I say, we’ve got eyes on us at your six and my husband needs the world thinking we broke up. So you’re going to kiss me on the cheek and then I will invite you inside.” You smiled sweetly, you had to make these photos look convincing. Surely they’d be on the front page come tomorrow morning.

“Have you always been this bossy?” He smiled, rolling his eyes and slowly moving in to kiss you on the cheek, giving the photographer time to make sure he got a shot.

“Of course I have.” You whispered back with a chuckle.

“Happy?” He smiled, pulling away.

“Come on, my couch misses you sleeping on it. And I’ve got some Glenlivet 25 with your name on it.” You slipped your arm around his back and pulled him into the flat, no doubt giving the photographers a couple more shots.

“Oh Gregson, you know me so well.” He smirked.

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

The next morning you were giving Charles the grand tour of the Thames House, MI5 HQ. You were hoping for a calm, quiet, peaceful morning. Of course in your world that was never likely.

As you’d made it to the top floor of the building and stepped into your corner office Charles immediately strode in like he owned the place.

“So this is your office, hmm, I could get used to this.” He smirked as he plopped himself down into your desk chair and spun to face the windows. They were floor to ceiling and made up the whole wall. Of course they were bullet proof for security purposes.

“You wouldn’t last a week.” You joked as you approached the window and admired your beautiful view of the river.

Suddenly, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket, you were pulling it out as you turned back to Charles and chuckled at his behavior.

Who knew a world class assassin could be won over by a cover office and a swivel chair. Your face went pale as you glanced at the text that lit up your lock screen.

911 Barts

-JW

“Oh my god,” You muttered.

“What is it?” Charles asked, he knew it was serious from the look on your face.

“911 Barts Hospital.” You turned the phone so he could see as you snatched your purse off of your desk.

“Come on, I’ll drive.” Bass jumped into action, leading you out the door and down to the garage as your mind wandered. Something was wrong. John wouldn’t have texted you if it wasn’t. Was it Mrs. Hudson? Was it Sherlock?

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

As you burst into the lab that the receptionist had directed you towards you heard the hard slap of flesh on flesh as Molly’s hand came down onto Sherlock’s face. He was alive, hell he looked like shit but he was alive. He’d told you this case would take a physical toll on him, you knew it could mean a relapse.

“Oo, can I go next?” You ask, annoyed as you stood in the doorway, Charles lingering behind you.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Sherlock spat, matching your energy, making sure to hold up his end of the charade. You saw his head tilt to view the man standing behind you. He almost looked intimidated for a moment, as his face flashed in a “That’s Charles?” sort of manner.

“John texted me ‘911’, I thought it would be important, I was on a date. Clearly I can see we’ve wasted our time.” You retorted, crossing your arms as you stepped into the room. This was as close as you’ve gotten to Sherlock in nearly a month.

“I’m confused.” John chimed in, furrowing his brows as he looked between you and Sherlock.

“We broke up.” Sherlock explained with an eye roll, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“You’re joking.” John almost laughed, not thinking he was serious. The hint of laughter left his lips as he looked back at you and Charles, “You’re not joking. So you two...”

You nodded as Charles stepped to your side to introduce himself.

“Charles Bass,” He shook John’s hand with a smirk. For an extra touch he slipped his hand to the small of your back.

“Right.” John nodded, still confused as to how so much had happened while he was away on his honeymoon. To him it seemed like his whole world had turned upside down.

“Maybe one more slap for good measure, Molly.” You smiled at the girl who looked just as shocked as John at the news of the break up. Glancing down you noticed the missing ring on her ringer, and hoped she wouldn’t get any ideas.

“If you were anywhere near this kind of thing again you could have called, you could have talked to me.” John moved towards Sherlock, obviously he wasn’t clean. Rock bottom always meant a certain 7% solution. You hated how it always came back to this.

“Oh, please, do relax. This is all for a case.” Sherlock rolled his eyes at John’s scolding.

“Isn’t it always. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that one.” You scoffed.

“What kind of case would need you doing this?” John asked, still not amused.

“I might as well ask you why you’ve started cycling to work?” Sherlock said to John, trying to change the subject as you glanced at the wrinkles in John’s shirt and followed his deduction.

“No, we’re not playing this game.” John shook his head.

“I drove all the way here for this?” You raised a brow, annoyed.

Sherlock looked to you as John had his back turned. A smirk lingered on his lips, he was enjoying this little game. That or he was still high. You had to admit, it almost was fun, and a bit like role playing. The smirk dropped as he put back on his mask and turned to John.

“Quite recently, I’d say, you’re very determined about it.” He just loved to get under John’s skin.

“Not interested.” John said, and you nodded in agreement as you turned to walk back towards the door.

“I am. Ow!” You recognized a voice coming from behind Sherlock and turned around at the sound of his yelp. You tilted your head to see around him, your eyes landing on a familiar face.

“Wiggins? What’re you doing here?” You asked, your brows furrowed in genuine confusion.

“How do you know him?” Sherlock asked with hostility, but something in his voice told you he was scared. He didn’t like not knowing things, and he couldn’t comprehend how you could possibly know this man. You weren’t supposed to know him, this wasn’t part of the ruse.

“We’re old friends,” You said sarcastically, rolling your eyes, “What do you think?”. His eyes widened in realization. Well there’s anothering thing the two of you had in common, same dealer. Although for you it was more of a one time thing.

“Is it his shirt?” Wiggins butt in, changing the subject and breaking the unintentional staring contest you and Sherlock were having.

“I’m sorry?” Sherlock turned back to Wiggins.

“Well, it’s the creases, innit?” Wiggins said, “The two creases down the front? It’s been recently folded but it's not new. You must have dressed in a hurry this morning. So all your shirts must be kept like that. But why? Maybe ‘cause you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there, and then dress in the clothes you brought with you. You keep your shirts folded, ready to pack.” He said, shocking nearly everyone in the room.

John and Mary were so focused on Wiggins that you and Sherlock were able to share a quick smile, almost a laugh. It quickly faded to ensure no one else noticed.

“Not bad...” Sherlock said.

“There you go, a new toy to play with. Have fun,” You scowled at Sherlock as you made your way towards the door once more, “Molly, Watsons, Wiggins, it’s been a pleasure.” You nodded at the rest of them, ignoring Sherlock as you left the room.

As you walked down the hall, you weren’t sure whether to feel angry or happy that you at least got to see your husband and know that he’s alive.

“Well that was unexpected.” Charles said, breaking your train of thought as you walked back to the car.

“Welcome to my world.” You scoffed, a ‘quiet morning’ was unheard of for you.

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

Just as you began the drive back to your office your phone lit up with a call from Mycroft, causing you to roll your eyes.

“My brother’s drug habit is about to hit the newspaper. Did you know about this?” He asked, and if you didn’t know any better it sounded like an accusation.

“Well that’s not really my problem anymore is it?” You retorted.

You’d spent the last few weeks convincing him that you and Sherlock had broken up. Making sure to mention plans with Charles more in his presence to really sell it. Luckily after some initial shock and a brief conversation with his brother, he believed you. But surely he wouldn’t think you would leak a relapse to the press for some sort of petty revenge.

“Did you know?” He asked once more, more forcefully.

“No, I just found out. He’s at Saint Barts, John texted me.” You explained, rolling your eyes once more.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to block all of these articles. Will you meet me at Baker Street, I may need back up.” He asked, but you knew it wasn’t really a question. You tapped Charles on the shoulder and mouthed ‘Baker Street’ to him and spun your finger to instruct him to turn the car around. He nodded and complied.

“Should I bring my gun?” You asked sarcastically. What kind of back up did he think he was going to need, it’s his baby brother for christ sake.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” He said, unamused.

“Well if you’re not wanting me to crack any skulls I’m not sure why I have to tag along.” You said, you had a very certain skill set and if he wasn’t looking to utilize it, there was really no point beyond moral support.

“Don’t make me order you.” He threatened and you scoffed, as if he could.

“Mycroft, I don’t want to have to see him. Surely you can understand why. It’s not my job to look after him anymore.” You pleaded.

“No, but it is mine. So you will be there.” He said sternly, and you sighed and hung up.

Of course you had already instructed Charles to turn around and head to Baker Street, you just wanted to push back against Mycroft a little to make this whole break up seem more convincing.

When you pulled up Mycroft was waiting outside. Charles got out and made his way around the car to open the door for you. You leaned back against the closed door as you smiled sadly at Charles.

“Thank you, sorry your tour gott cut short.” You smiled, making sure to keep your voice at a whisper so Mycroft didn’t overhear anything.

“Oh my morning was much more interesting, you’re one hell of an actress darling.” He whispered back with a smirk, placing one hand next to you on the car and leaning closer casually.

“You’re just figuring that out? By the way, we have a very important audience right now.” You informed him.

“That the brother?” He asked, and you nodded.

“Then we’ll just have to be convincing,” Bass said, leaning down to leave a chaste kiss on your lips. It wasn’t the first time you’d kissed for a case, public displays of affection make people uncomfortable and tend to prove very useful in spywork.

“I’ll call you later.” He waved with a wink as you walked towards Mycroft. You smiled and waved back with a nod.

Mycroft raised a brow, his face in its usual look of disgust.

“Well that was unpleasant to watch.” He said once you were now standing in front of him.

“I told you I was busy and I don’t want to be here, you don’t get to judge.” You scolded, raising your finger at him. You turned to face the famous black door of 221 Baker Street, realizing how long it’s been since you’d been here.

“No, but I do get to say I was right.” He smirked, causing you to furrow your brows and turn back to him.

“About what?” You asked, genuinely confused.

“I always knew there was more between you and 007.” He said, with the tilt of his head, as if he took pleasure in being right. Of course he wasn’t really right.

“Spare me, Mycroft. Let's just get this over with.” You rolled your eyes and crossed the threshold into 221B, an eerie feeling starting to settle in. Your gut told you not to walk up those seventeen steps, it warned you, it screamed ‘Danger Ahead”, but of course you didn’t listen. You never did.

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Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged.

TAGLIST IN REBLOG

Comment or reblog, and like to stay on my taglist.

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psychedellic-phase · 4 years

Text

Fifteen (pt 13)

(gif by me! I use the iphone app momento)

tw: language, angst, mentions of drug use (relapse), mentions of miscarriage

word count: 7.3k (im sorry)

masterlist

series masterlist

Spencer got up from the cold tile floor, fuzzy unicorn in hand, and faced the window above the kitchen sink. He stared out of it, admiring the snow that was still falling lightly, wondering if it was raining in Seattle. His memory flashed to the last time he stood in the rain with you, but he tried to shake the images away. Instead he watched the snowflakes hit his windowpanes and melt. He hoped that maybe you were somewhere staring out of a window, admiring the dreary weather, and thinking of him too.

He found his place against the dishwasher again, sliding down as his mismatched socks gave way so he could stretch his long legs out fully. He pulled the nearly empty box onto his lap and appreciated the light weight of it, as he continued with his twelfth letter and thirteenth item. Thirteen, a number whose history of unluckiness stems all the way back to the thirteen attendees of the Last Supper, and tracks through the number of steps leading up to the gallows, all the way to the number of letters in the names of some of the most infamous criminals.

Thirteen was a haunted number, which rightly accompanied a haunting letter.

“This one’s long. It’s a month of tarnished memories packed into a few pieces of paper. So far I’ve gone through half of a college-ruled one subject notebook and I’ve had to change pens twice. It’s nearing 2:30, and the wine is finally hitting my empty stomach. Sorry in advance for the way my handwriting will be. I’ll try to make this make as much sense as I can.

If you look at your thirteenth item it is the notepad I stole from that resort in Florida. There isn’t much around to signify this letter. You don’t keep mementos from one of the saddest days of your life, but for some reason I took this useless paper and shoved it in my purse on my way out. Good thing I did, or you’d have no item to attach to these memories. Though I suppose that might be better.

The resort was where we were going to be at for our ‘babymoon,’ whatever that is. What a dumb idea, I’m still mad at myself for letting Garcia talk us into one. She just made it sound so appealing.

Once everyone knew I was pregnant, Hotch pretty much sat me in Quantico with Penelope. There were a few local cases where I was lucky enough to go visit the ME’s office, but usually I kicked my feet up in her lair while you were out in the field.

“A what?” I said one day as she ran DNA through CODIS. The two of us were drinking herbal tea, and I was barely 16 weeks. I just looked like I had a big lunch in my stomach, not a baby the size of an avocado.

“A babymoon. It’s like a honeymoon, but you go when you’re pregnant. It’s one last trip for mommy and daddy to go on and spend quality time together. How many trips have you and Dad-Wonder even been on?”

I shrugged. We didn’t travel much for pleasure. We traveled for work, so on our rare days off we liked to be at home.

“I mean we’ve gone to Vegas and Connecticut a few times.”

She rolled her eyes, “Visiting family, my dear, is not a vacation! I was thinking you two would go to the beach. You guys relax and wade in the ocean and Spencer can build sandcastles that defy every law of physics!”

I laughed at that. You and the beach? It just didn’t feel natural to me. Probably because you aren’t capable of actually relaxing.

“That does sound fun,” I said and I spoke to my barely there stomach, “And it would make daddy take a few days off.”

Penelope squealed and started clicking at her computer, “I’ll find a resort online right now! Okay so how about Marco Island? It’s gorgeous and in Florida, so it’ll be like eighty and sunny, even in the beginning of December.”

“I’ll have to talk to Spence about it. I mean I know it would be fun and all but we really should be saving money for a crib, and car seat, and bassinet, and high chair, and a rocking chair, and a baby swing, and a—“

Garcia stopped me from spiraling out of control, “That is why you throw a huge baby shower! People buy those things for you.”

I rubbed my tummy again, “Oh no, Daddy is very particular about what things are bought.”

“That’s why you have a registry, Momma Bear. Now, no more excuses.”

Before I could even call you, she had put in both of our requests for days off and we had a week long reservation at this fancy resort that you see listed at the top of this notepad, the “Crystal Cove”.

I was only slightly mortified that she did all this without me asking you. Mostly, I was happy. I was afraid you wouldn’t say yes, but if PG already booked it, you kind of had to agree. And to my surprise, you did.

When you got back from that case we were at home, you eating something I had poorly made from a random cookbook on a shelf. I had decided to start cooking more, so I could make homemade meals. I wanted to be that mom who cuts sandwiches into flower shapes and always has fresh baked bread and cookies laying around. I wanted us to be those parents; the ones who are so sickeningly in love that their kids roll their eyes every time they kiss. We were those parents, kind of, if we could even be considered ‘parents.’ At that point, I don’t think we were. But we were definitely in tooth-rotting, sickeningly sweet love.

“So, I have a surprise for you,” I said, coming up behind you and rustling your hair.

“Hm?” You said, stuffing your face like you hadn’t eaten in days. You probably hadn’t. You’re the king of forgetting to eat. Maybe that’s how you stay so skinny.

“I booked a trip, well I guess technically Garcia did.”

“A trip?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, a trip, to the beach. Penelope called it a ‘babymoon.’”

You laughed, “A babymoon? I’m not familiar."

I smiled and sat across from you, “It’s like a honeymoon, except it's just me and you relaxing and spending quality time together before this lil dude makes his appearance.”

You smiled, “I’m telling you, it’s a girl.”

I rolled my eyes, “It’s definitely a boy, but stop ignoring my offer.”

“Well, it’s not really an offer so much as it is you telling me that we’re doing this.”

“Okay, yes Garcia helped me book it already, and yes she put in our requests for days off, but you can say no.”

You did your little nose twitch scrunch thing, “I’d never say no to quality time with you, Love.”

You leaned over and kissed me, and I squealed, “I’m so excited! I have to buy maternity bathing suits now! Oh and a sunhat!””

Spencer smiled fondly, recounting that day. He was thrilled to go, minus the part where he’d have to wear shorts, and flip flops. Something about the piece that goes between your toes makes him squeamish. He was looking for the right opportunity to use something special he had bought for you, and you had just given him it. A week on a beautiful beach with the love of his life? That would be the perfect time to ask you what he had been waiting to ask you since JJ’s wedding. He was going to take Hotch’s advice; stop waiting, start doing, and get down on one knee with a blue velvet box.

He never got the chance to. The trip was supposed to be in the beginning of December, around your week twenty-four. You never got that far.

He got up from the ground, immediately digging around in a drawer full of pencils and compasses and rulers, finding the blue box in a corner. It was covered in pencil shavings and dust. He hadn’t looked at it in months. He held it delicately in his hands before opening it.

It was plain, but he remembered you said that was what you wanted.

“Oval, of course and silver,” You had explained to Penelope and JJ at a night out years ago. Derek and Spencer sat on the opposite side of the table, but his ears perked up at the mention of rings.

“I like just the band,” JJ said, admiring her own ring, “And I have Henry’s birthstone, the citrine, so I didn’t need another one.”

“What kind of stone Y/N? I’d love a pink diamond! Or a ruby! Imagine!” Penelope gushed.

You shook your head, “I’d take cubic zirconia, if it was coming from the right guy.”

Both Penelope and JJ stuck their tongues out, “Nuh-uh!” Garcia said, grabbing her phone to scroll through more pinterest photos.

“Spence will be getting you a diamond.”

You rolled your eyes and whispered, “Don’t jinx it JJ! And I don’t want a diamond.”

Her mouth dropped, “No diamond? Really.”

“Diamonds aren’t ethically sourced.”

“Lab grown! Get lab grown!” PG piped it, showing you a picture of a ring, just an oval in a plain silver setting.

“That! That’s the one!” You said and Garcia giggled, going on a rant about her dream wedding.

Spencer had gotten that exact ring. Lab grown, oval, classic, beautiful. It was what you wanted, and you deserved everything you ever wanted.

Spencer looked at the notepad. He could tell you had a hard time picking an item for this letter. He knows this letter is the end, the other two are the epilogue of a story he wishes you kept writing. Crystal Cove is the place where he had planned on asking you to marry him, but it ended up being the place where your love story ended. He tossed the notebook to the side and decided that the souvenir for this letter was now going to be this ring. This ring that sparkled and shined, even in the dull incandescent lights of his kitchen. This ring that belonged on your finger, and not in the back of a drawer. This ring that you didn’t even know existed, but if you had, maybe you’d still be together.

“I did buy three maternity bathing suits, and you bought shorts. Spencer Reid in shorts. It was going to be the best trip ever. We were going to snorkel and look at sea turtles and sunbathe and drink virgin piña coladas by the ocean. We were going to get couples massages and spend every moment loving and appreciating each other.

The actual trip? Much different than the one we had planned on paper, but let’s first discuss that time between the hospital and the trip.

It was four weeks. Four weeks of me sitting at home while you were off at work. Four weeks of the door opening and Derek walking through, not you. And on the odd chance that it was you opening the door, you’d be appearing at odd hours of the night to grab a new suit or a file or a snack and then getting back in your shitty car and going to your apartment. Each time I heard that comforting sound of your satchel hitting the floor, I’d crawl out of the cave of blankets I was in to find you, and you’d act like I wasn’t even there.

For the first few days, you asked me how I was and if I was feeling better, then you’d check your phone and wave goodbye. After that, I was lucky if you’d say hello, then I was lucky if I even got a glimpse of you. You never held me. You never kissed me. You never told me you loved me.

I got all my information about you from Derek. Every day I texted you, “Have a good day at work! Talk soon?” And everyday you didn’t answer, so I’d ask Derek if you were okay. He’d always tell me what you were doing. Usually you would take a stack of files of cases to a dark room and make preliminary profiles to send back to the departments, alone. I’d tell him thank you, and the next day would be the same nonsense.

Those four weeks dragged. It was like every minute was an hour and everyday was a year. I was healing, even without you, everyday I felt better and better. But that’s relative to the day before. I haven’t felt ‘good’ yet. I haven’t felt ‘happiness’ yet. But I will. And I’m counting on that.

My mandatory leave was four weeks, and at the end of that Hotch called me in for a ‘mandatory psychological evaluation.’ I didn’t tell you about it because you weren’t speaking to me, and even when you did you were angry and snappy and rude.

I didn’t pass the evaluation. Even though the BAU wrote those damn questions, I still didn’t pass. When my four weeks were up, you were expecting me at work, and I never showed. You didn’t notice how not okay I was because you were too busy handling your own feelings, which I understand. You have to take care of yourself first, deal with your own trauma before touching anyone else’s. So, your trauma was none of my business, a concept you should've applied to my healing process.

I was supposed to come back on a Monday and when I didn’t show you came to the house. You opened the door and yelled my name. It was a sound I hadn’t heard in weeks, and it felt good. I thought you had finally come home. I thought you were finally ready to heal with me, but you weren’t. You were there to judge me.

I think I ran to where you were, a smile on my face that I didn’t think I was capable of making, “Hey!”

You looked so put together in a neatly pressed suit, but your eyes exposed you. They were bloodshot and the bags were so large they almost reached the end of your nose. I had on one of your shirts; it was comforting at the time. Not so much anymore.

You looked me up and down, a small scowl forming on your face, “Where were you today?”

I took a deep breath, and I lied, because lying to you felt easier than telling you the truth. The truth that I was not deemed stable enough to come back, even though I wanted to. I needed to be distracted. I was ashamed, scared, confused.

“I-I didn’t go.”

“Didn’t go? You’ll get fired Y/N.”

I sighed, “No, my leave got extended.”

I could feel the way your eyes bore into my skull as I dodged eye contact.

“Extended?! It’s been four weeks.”

“I’m not ready!” I desperately wanted you to see through it. I thought I was ready, but the papers disagreed.

“Hotch let you do that?” Your voice was increasing and I found myself inching away from you.

“He encouraged it!” Another lie. He didn’t ‘encourage’ it. He forced me.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag and opening the door again.

“You’re leaving? Spencer c’mon I-”

You cut me off by slamming that door in my face.

That’s when I started closing myself off. I started dreading the sound of your feet against the floor at three am. I started to put my own walls up, but they would dull in comparison to the Great Wall of Spencer you built around yourself to keep me out.”

Spencer was always good at putting walls up. In fact, you were the only person to ever get him to take (almost) all of them down. There’s a side of him he doesn’t show anyone, a side of him that he reserves for himself, and when something happens, that’s where he goes. He goes to the corner of his brain where he feels safe, and the walls come up to protect him.

And in those last four weeks, he did just that. He put the walls up, shut you out, and decided that was better. Except it wasn’t better, it just was easier. It was easier for him to bypass you and find a new outfit for work tomorrow. It was easier for him to disappear in the office until the odd hours of the morning. It was easier for him to hide away from you, because when he’s exposed he always gets hurt. It was easier to act like everything was fine, even though everything was the opposite of fine.

He never needed to go to the house, part of him was drawn there like a moth to a lantern. He was drawn to you. As much as he didn’t want to see those four walls, he still needed to check on you. He just did it in his own damaged way. He’d get a glimpse of you in old sweats and a shirt with a hole in it, hair a mess and mascara from two weeks ago adding to your eye bags and he’d be reminded that he couldn’t be there for you. He would never be enough, and he’d retreat into the comfort of solitude.

He was so preoccupied with being hurt, that he didn’t realize just how much he hurt you too.

“I had forgotten about the stupid trip, and so had you. You were too preoccupied with work and not speaking to me and I was preoccupied with crying and trying to speak to you. I only remembered the trip when I got an email from the airline about the flight, they had to move our seats or something stupid. I decided that was a reason for you to actually need to speak to me like I was a person, so I took advantage of it.

I intercepted you at home one day. I had been sitting in the kitchen waiting for you. You came home at two am.

“Hey,” I said, immediately as you walked through the door. You looked surprised that I was up.

“Hi, I’m just gonna—“

“Spencer, stop. We have to talk.”

You crossed your arms, not leaving the threshold of the door, “No. I told you a million times Y/N, I don’t want to talk.”

“Not about...” I couldn’t find the words and you started up the stairs.

“Are we going on this damn trip or not?” I said, my voice cracking from lack of use.

You stopped, looking over the banister at me, “You didn’t cancel it?”

“I didn’t think of it until now. We’re supposed to leave in two days.”

You groaned, “Why didn’t you cancel it?”

I threw my hands up. As if all of this was my responsibility?

“I was preoccupied! Did you cancel your days off?”

You shook your head, rubbing your face, “No, God. Can we still get a refund?”

I was hurt that you didn’t want to go, but not surprised. As I stared at the front door from my spot at the kitchen table I decided that I was going to go no matter what. It was going to be refreshing to look at the ocean instead of an empty nursery. That would be my distraction.

“I-I’m going. I’ll pay for your half, but I’m going. I’m losing my mind here, Spence.”

You looked at me again, still contemplating your options.

“I get it, okay? You can’t be in this house, but neither can I. Maybe we can talk and stuff on neutral ground. I-I just want you there with me, the way it was supposed to be.”

Then you took me by surprise, you nodded, “Yeah, yeah we’ll go.”

I’m sure I lit up like Rockefeller Center at Christmas, “Really?”

You rubbed your eyes, “Yeah, we can go Y/N.”

I was feeling lucky, so I pushed it, too hard, “Are you staying tonight?”

Your voice went from sleepy to sour, “No.”

And you vanished up the stairs, taking all my hope in us with you.

I knew deep down it wouldn’t end well. I knew it was going to be fighting and yelling and arguing, but any time with you was good time with you at that point. And I favored the little bit of serotonin and dopamine you flood my brain with as opposed to staring at the gray walls of the kitchen alone.”

Spencer only agreed to go because he thought he was getting there. Everyday he felt a little better when he’d walk through the door, but he still wasn’t ready. He thought a week of no work and no one to talk to except you would bring the walls down. This would finally be the catalyst in a reaction that was taking far too long to complete. He also couldn’t stand the thought of you flying and spending a week alone. He felt better about you being alone here because you weren’t really alone. You had Derek visiting, Garcia dropping off baskets, phone calls from Emily, the odd visit from Rossi, and apparently phone calls to Hotch, but on that island you’d really be alone, and he was worried about how you’d handle it.

“So two days later we got on a three hour flight to Miami, and I drove our rental car to this resort. We didn’t talk much the whole time, besides some small talk about the flight and other odd comments. It was painfully awkward, and I regretted even coming.

We didn’t speak until I used the keycard to open the door, and we stared at the one king sized bed in the room.

“Oh,” was all you said when you realized you’d have to share with me.

“What?”

“There’s only one bed.”

I rolled my eyes, “Spencer, we’ve shared a bed for three years.”

You just stood at the door with your hands fidgeting on the handle of the suitcase, “I’ll call down and ask for a cot to be brought up.”

“A cot? Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe you, “Why come if you wouldn’t even share a bed with me? I said I’d be fine alone.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but changed your mind.

“Great communication skills Spence. Really, I’m impressed.” You rolled your eyes and finally started to unpack your bag, “I came because I was worried about what you’d do here all alone.”

Part of me was happy you were worried, but a bigger part was annoyed, “I’ve been handling being alone fine, thanks.”

You scoffed, “Yeah. That’s why you need Derek to bring you food everyday, because you’re doing so well.”

I bit my tongue and tried to speak calmly, “Well at least someone checks on me everyday.”

That shut you right up.

The three days you were there went as follows: we slept as far apart from each other as we could, despite how badly I wanted to cuddle into your arms. We’d get up in silence, eat breakfast in silence, walk to the beach and read in silence, eat lunch and dinner in silence, and each night we’d yell at each other until we fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed.

Remember what I said to trigger the fight on December third, your last day there? How could you forget? It’s the fight that broke us up.

“So, I was thinking of going to a counselor,” I said, staring at the waves lap the sand from the balcony of our room. The air felt cold for eighty degrees. But maybe that was just because the air between me and you had been cold for weeks.

You were sitting next to me, but I could tell you were worlds away.

“Spence,” I nudged, trying to snap you out of your daydream.

“Hm? What?”

“I said I’m going to go to a counselor.”

You twisted your face, “A counselor? What for?”

I shrugged, “I-I think it’d be good for me. It’s a grief counselor.”

You turned to look at me, your brow covered in sweat and your eyes watery. You were incessantly bouncing your left leg, rubbing at your nose, and you seemed disinterested in every single thing I was saying or doing. In fact, you’d been acting that way since the first day you disappeared to your apartment.

“Counselor? Yeah,” You were fidgeting, barely making eye contact.

A feeling I can only describe as pure dread formed in my stomach. I thought I might puke, but I swallowed the feeling and kept talking, “I got a recommendation from Hotch. He said he went to Dr. Stevens after Haley died. He said it really helped.”

You were still not listening.

“I think it’d be good if we went together.”

That finally got your undivided attention. “Together?” You snapped, “No.”

“Why not?” I said it with an air of exhaustion and despair. I was tired of this. So fucking tired of it.

“I’m not going to a damn therapist, Y/N,” You seethed, your metal deck chair scraping against the concrete as you stood in front of me.

The sky looked stormy, palm trees whipping in the wind as you came before me. The bags under your eyes looked like bruises, and you had on sleeves. It was eighty and you had on sleeves.

“Okay, I’ll go alone then. I think he could really help us though.”

I was giving up on fighting. I didn’t understand how when I was at my absolute low you could just keep kicking me while I was down. All I wanted was for you to go to someone and talk about it. That’s it. You were acting like I’d asked you to move a mountain for me, which, might I add, at one point you would have done.

“He? You really think a male therapist is going to help? You lost a baby, Y/N—“

“WE,” I clarified, for what felt like the fiftieth time, “We lost a baby.”

You rolled your eyes and ignored me, “You lost a baby. How does a male therapist help you through that?”

I was angry now. It was bubbling up to the top and I thought I might explode.

“He’s a grief counselor! He’ll help me through my GRIEF! And I think you should go because clearly you have a lot going on. You always have! You should’ve been seeing someone for years.”

“Oh, I have a lot going on?” You sneered, “Of course I have a lot going on! I go to work everyday to bring you home a paycheck so you can sit around all day and do nothing.”

I stood up, got close to your face, “I’m on leave.”

“Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that.”

You bypassed me and went inside, and my hot anger turned into wet anger and fat tears were rolling down my cheeks.

“Do you know how traumatic this was on my body? Do you? Everything hurts and you were supposed to be there! You were supposed to take four weeks off too! You were supposed to be there for me!”

“Yeah and who’s there for me!” You yelled, louder than I think you ever had; at me at least. You had thrown your suitcase on the bed, haphazardly grabbing your clothes from the drawers and shoving them in.

“I would’ve been,” I said softly, coming up behind you to grab your arm lightly, “If you had let me.”

You pulled back, “Don’t touch me!”

I reached up to wipe my eyes and crossed my arms in front of myself defensively, “I want to be there for you, Spencer. I do. Why won’t you let me?”

You didn’t answer, because even you didn’t know why. You just stood over the suitcase, one arm on either side of it, hair matted to your sweaty face, panting and panting.

The facts I had chosen to ignore were staring me in the face again. Or maybe I was just that oblivious.

“I’ve never seen you like this. This isn’t you, Love,” I tried to say in my most soothing voice. The dread had clawed its way back up to the back of my throat.

“Or maybe this is me,” you said softly, and I swear you were crying. Or maybe I hoped you were, that way we were both sobbing. That’s as close to togetherness as we could get.

“Maybe this is who I am now, or who I’ve been all along.”

I reached out for you again, but stopped myself, “No, Spencer. The real you isn’t this angry, and bitter, and mean.”

You slammed your hands against the bed, “Yes it is!”

“Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?” I said sadly, shaky breaths between words, “Is that what you’ve been going to your apartment and doing?”

You turned around, skin sweaty and eyes red, “What? What are you talking about now? God, do you ever stop talking?”

I snapped, ignoring your last jab there, “Are you using?”

Your face contorted into a sour expression, “Am I using?”

“Yeah, Spencer! Are you? Because I can’t see any other reason for why you’re so irritable and sweaty and out of it! So I’ll ask you again, are you going through withdrawal?”

You looked like I had literally punched you in the gut, and I kind of had. It was a low blow, I’ll admit it, but I was seriously worried about you. If an event would trigger you, this would’ve been it.

“What? No!”

I wasn’t sure whether or not I should believe you, but I knew I had to support you either way. I love you, even when you’re angry at me, I still love you. Even when you throw clothes and seethe at me through gritted teeth, I still love you. That’s my fatal flaw. No matter how many reasons you give me to stop loving you, I never will.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, lower lip pinched between his teeth. Was he really that terrible? He didn’t remember being so spiteful. Reading it back, he understood why you thought he was high, and he had thought about it more than he cared to admit. But he hadn’t touched the stuff in seven years, and he wasn’t about to start again now.

‘No matter how many reasons you give me to stop loving you, I never will.’

That line made him want to cry, hands clenching the ring box as if it were a stress ball. That line simultaneously felt like a stab in the gut and a breath of fresh air. He had given you so many reasons to walk away, and the one reason to stay was there in his palm, unused.

““It’s okay if you are. I understand this is a... hard time. I’ll support you through this,” I put my hands out to touch your chest.

“I’m not high and haven’t been in years!” You swatted my hands down.

“Then what the hell is going on!?”

“I’m angry and I’m sad and I’m heartbroken!” You yelled, going back out onto the balcony to stand in the rain that had started pouring down in sheets.

“Spencer! Stop!” I followed you out, tears mixing with rain to the point that I didn’t know which was which.

“I’m just confused! It’s hard to see the point in all this anymore. Maybe it’s just not worth it,” You said, yelling at the ocean not at me. Rain soaked our clothes instantly. Part of me was hoping this scene would end like the ‘notebook’ we’d kiss and you’d spin me around. I guess this is kind of like the notebook, it’s a story to help you remember us. Except you don’t have Alzheimer’s and I wrote 15 letters, not 365.

“Maybe what’s not worth it?” I was yelling too, just so you could hear me over the sound of the wind and the rain.

“This!” You gestured between us. I felt like you knocked the air out of me, my whole body stinging.

“But I love you!”

“All of this has made me realize that love isn’t everything! I love you too but we need more than that!”

That was the first time I’d heard you say ‘I love you’ in a month, but it was a double edged sword. I bit my lip so hard I think I started bleeding, “Love isn’t enough? Are you kidding me, Spencer?”

You swallowed thickly, “No! I’m not kidding. I’ve never been more serious!”

“So what? That’s it?” I said it quietly, but I wanted to scream at you. I wanted to scream that you were being an idiot. You were being ridiculous. You were being unnecessarily cruel. But I didn’t. I was tired and water logged. I had finally given up.

You ran your hands through your hair, “No–it’s–we we aren’t over Y/N. I’m just saying that it’s gonna take more than love to fix us.”

“Well maybe if you were ever home, we could actually try. But you aren’t. You’re always gone! So explain to me how we’re going to fix this. What’s it gonna take Spencer? What do you want from me?”

You took a deep breath, uttering words I was so sick of hearing, “We need space and time.”

“Space? Time? It’s been a month Spencer! I let you go to work. I let you spend every day at your damn apartment. I stopped calling. I stopped checking in. How much more space and time do you want?”

“Thirty-four days,” you mumbled, just so I could barely hear. The thunder rolled, mostly drowning it out.

“What was that?”

“It’s been THIRTY-FOUR days, Y/N. Thirty-four. I don’t know how you expect me to be okay after only thirty-four days.”

“I don’t expect you to be fine! I expect you to speak to me! To look at me! I want to go to bed crying and have you there next to me. I want to be there for you when you’re crying. The only way we get better is if we do this TOGETHER!”

The anger looked like it melted off of you, and I took that as my opportunity to approach. I threw my arms around your soaked body as you shook with sobs into my shoulder. I held you like my life depended on it, because in a way it did. You wrapped your arms around me too, and everything felt okay. We were standing in the pouring rain, holding each other as we cried, and somehow I felt more okay than I had in the thirty-four days prior. It felt like maybe you were coming back to me.

You weren’t.

We stood like that for what felt like hours, and eventually I pulled you inside. I wish I didn’t. I wish we stayed there, holding each other in the rain until the sun came up and dried us off. I foolishly thought the rain washed our sins away.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said, my head on your shoulder as we wrapped ourselves in towels, “I promise.”

You shrugged me off of you, going back to packing your bag.

“Spencer, stop packing, please,” I begged, grabbing the items you were putting in and taking them back out.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you said plainly, taking a shirt and putting it back in.

“I-I thought—“

“Thought what, Y/N? That because I cried to you and told you I loved you that we were magically okay?”

I stammered, “No. No! But I thought it meant we were in this together now.”

“You just accused me of relapsing an hour ago.”

“And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but that’s not a reason you should go,” I pleaded, reaching for you again. I thought if you walked away I’d never see you again.

“You don’t trust me,” your voice cracked.

“No, Love, I—“

“Don’t call me that.”

The pain in my chest bloomed, sending a wave of heartache through my entire body. A heartache I still haven’t been able to shake. It’s still there. Some days it's a thunder crack and sometimes it's a low grumble, but it’s always there. The rain hasn't stopped.

I hadn’t even realized that you were completely packed until you zipped the suitcase shut.

“You’re really leaving?”

You stopped at the door, hand on the handle, to turn and face me. I didn’t need to use my profiling skills to see how much pain you were in, and my pain doubled at the sight. I’ve always been an empath when it comes to you, feeling what you feel like it’s my own.

“I am.”

I crossed the room and threw my arms around you, sobbing into your chest. To my surprise, you wrapped your arms around me lightly.

“I understand,” I said, looking into your eyes, “We can’t be there for each other the way we need to.”

You nodded into my shoulder, “Stay. When you get home from this we’ll talk. I just need a few more days.”

I shook my head, finally coming to the realization that we didn’t work anymore. We weren’t healthy anymore.

“Don’t bother. The writing’s on the wall, Spence,” my voice wavered, and I regretted every word as they left my mouth, “I’ve been waiting for that person from the hospital to come home to me. I’ve been waiting for the Spencer who lends me his shirts and fact dumps and eats IHOP and ice cream with me to come home.”

I felt your breath stop under my arms, “But that Spencer, the Spencer I love, isn’t here anymore. We need to be alone.”

I felt you shake with tears under me, and that triggered mine, “We have to break up.”

I wish I never said it. I wish I gave you those few days, but we both know those few days would’ve turned into weeks and months and we would’ve ended up here anyway. I wish you didn’t let me say them. I wish you kissed me to shut me up and told me I was being stupid. I wish I didn’t watch you go down that elevator, tears on your cheeks. I wish I didn’t spend the other four days in an empty king sized bed, crying for you.

I realize now that you changed. I did too. Instead of wishing for the old you, I should’ve learned to love the new you. I think I would’ve, if I had given it a chance. Actually, I know I would’ve. I think I’d fall in love with every version of you that could ever exist or has ever existed. You and I, we’re meant to be together.

I know you probably don’t believe in it, but I like to think that we’re twin flames; we’re two halves of one soul that somehow ended up in two bodies and constantly pull to find each other again. I’ve read a lot about them recently. Twin flames don’t necessarily end up together. They can even just be two people with an intense friendship. They’re people who help each other grow, even if that means they’re only in your life for a short time. I like to think that we are that case, and that in some parallel universe I’m with you and we have our daughter and we’re happy. I just wish that I was in that universe now.

I know it’s for the best that we went to the damn Crystal Cove and broke up. I’m sure someday in the future I’ll be pleased with that decision, but for now, I still regret it.”

Spencer stared at the notepad, eyes flicking between that in his left hand and the ring box in his right. He took the ring out and admired it in the light. It glinted and glimmered, delicately refracting light onto the cabinets. He slid it halfway down his ring finger because that’s as far as it would go. He imagined it was on your slender, perfectly manicured hand instead of his, but an ache formed where his heart was when he realized it’d never end up here.

Spencer grabbed the notebook. It was unlined and the paper felt flimsy and thin. He got up from the floor to find a pencil in the drawer the ring had been hidden in, and took it out to scrawl his own letter to go with his own memento. A sixteenth letter for a sixteenth item you had no idea even existed.

“Y/N,

I’d like to consider this letter sixteen, to go with the engagement ring that’s in my palm. I bought this ring the day after we ate dinner at Rossi’s and showed everyone tiny FBI onesies. I have your perfect ring here in my hand, a plain silver band with a lab-grown diamond in a four-prong setting in the center, just like you told Garcia you wanted. I should’ve given it to you the day I bought it, but I waited until the perfect opportunity presented itself.

What you didn’t know about the trip to the Crystal Cove was that I was going to propose to you there. I was going to get down on one knee in the sand at sunset after dinner. I even had a whole speech planned. I was going to tell you that I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you, or that anyone would ever love me the way that you do. I was going to say that it amazes me how everyday, I wake up and love you more than I did the night before. And everyday I think it’s be impossible to love you and our daughter more than I do right now. I wanted to tell you that I want to wake up every morning and feel that for the rest of my life. I want the good, the bad, the ugly, I want it all. I want Korean film festivals and IHOP breakfasts and to talk to the moon. I want tubs of ice cream and overly sentimental flowers hanging from the wall. Most of all I wanted to say that I want to spend every day of my life making you happy.

That speech still applies today. I still love you enough to ask you, but I don’t think you love me enough to say yes.

It’s okay. It really is. I haven’t decided what to do yet, but if you do read this, just know that it’s okay. I promise you, it’s okay. I’m not the bitter, angry man I was at the Crystal Cove anymore. I changed again, and I hope you’re right. I hope we are twin flames and your soul will come looking for mine, and I hope it happens in this universe, not the infinite parallels that may or may not exist. I miss you and I want nothing more than for you to come back. Come home, Love, please come home.

-SR”

He stared at the notebook page, before tearing it off and folding it in half, placing it in his pocket for safekeeping. He went on his computer and bought the cheapest one-way ticket to Seattle that he could find. He needed to see you. He needed you to see this letter, see this ring. He needed to make this right.

The flight was a red eye, leaving at midnight, so he’d get to the Seattle field office by eight. He looked at the leather watch and saw that it was nearly nine. He decided had to finish, and he had to finish now, as he grabbed letter #14.

PART 14

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

Taglist!

@l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings @ajwantsapancake @andiebeaword @boiled-onionrings @frnks-stuff @icantevenanymore1 @mellifluouswildbluebells @rottenearly @sammypotato67 @blushingwueen @peaxhyjaes @justanotherfangurlz @juniorgman187 @mbowles23-blog @blameitonthenight21 @goldentournesol @rainsong01 @thelifeofadumbbitch @swimmingtrashwobblersludge @youre-a-wallflower-charlie @eldahae

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer x you #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #cm #matthew gray gubler #mgg #dr spencer reid

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rpf-bat · 4 years

Text

Scream Out ‘What Will Save Us?’

Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 15. Prompt: “Catharsis.”

Your band just broke up, and you’re trying to force yourself be okay with that. But, when you visit Frank, at his home in New Jersey, he advises you to be honest with your feelings. You find that he has some things to get off his chest, too.

It had been six months now, since My Chemical Romance broke up. You hadn’t done much since then, except move back to your house in New Jersey, and….sit there. For the last eleven years of your life, you’d drummed for a living, and life had moved to a frenetic pace. There was always another city to travel to, another show to play. But, now? Life was suddenly at a standstill.

You didn’t have to do anything for a living now, you supposed. The royalties alone, could probably sustain you, for years to come. Perhaps a millionaire like yourself, had no right to complain. Bullets You would, after all, kill to have Current You’s problems.

But, having lived at both extremes, you found that being functionally homeless, in a dirty van with your four best friends, was more enjoyable, than being all alone, in this spotless mansion. You hadn’t joined My Chemical Romance to make money. There were other things that mattered more - the joy of spending time with friends, who slowly became more like family. The creative fulfillment, of writing a piece of music, and then having ten thousand fans sing along with the tune. These were the things, that made your life meaningful.

These were the things, that you had now lost.

The Way brothers - who, up until recently, had felt like your own brothers - were still residing in Los Angeles. Ray, too, had stayed on the West Coast. You hadn’t seen them since the decision was made, to disband. You weren’t sure that you even wanted to.

But Frank - good, old, loyal Frank, who had known you longer than any of them - was merely a few miles down the road. Perhaps today was a good day to pay him a visit.

You called him on your cell, and he answered the phone, almost immediately. Like you, he probably had nothing better to do.

“Hey, Y/N,” Frank said in a tired voice. “How are you doing?”

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Just bored, I guess. How are you?”

“Not so good,” Frank confessed. “I’ve been having, like, the worst stomachaches.”

“Oh, no,” you said sympathetically. “Do you want me to bring you some medicine?”

“The doc says I have a bacterial overgrowth of the small intestine,” Frank explained.

“What does that mean?” you asked.

“It means your drug-store Pepto ain’t gonna do shit for me,” Frank chuckled bitterly. “I got prescription pills for it, but it still hurts like a bitch. Some company might take my mind off the pain, though.”

“So...I can come over?” you asked hopefully.

“Please do,” Frank agreed. “It’ll at least give me a reason, to get out of bed.”

You chose not to mention that, at two o’clock in the afternoon, you had yet to find a reason to get out of bed yourself.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Frank’s house was nowhere near the main road. You had to drive through nearly half a mile of trees, just to reach his front door. He had selected this property partially because he loved nature - and partially because hated people.

You supposed you couldn’t blame him, for trying to avoid having nosy fans show up on his doorstep. The only person who always seemed welcome on his doorstep, no matter the hour, was you.

You found him sitting on his front steps, his acoustic guitar in his hands. The melody he was playing drifted over the air, as you got out of the car, and approached him.

“Is that...Disenchanted?” you recognized instantly.

“,,,..Yeah,” Frank sighed, his inked hands ceasing their strumming. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi, Frankie,” you frowned. “What made you decide to play that one today?”

“I don’t know,” Frank said sadly. “Doesn’t it feel strange to you? Knowing that we’re never going to play that song onstage again?”

“Or any of them,” you noted. “If I had known that set at Bamboozle would be the last gig we ever played, I would have tried harder, to make it count.”

“You and me both,” Frank said wistfully. “But, anyway….it’s a nice day. Do you want to take a walk with me?”

“Sure,” you nodded, extending your hand to help him up. “As long as you’re feeling up to it.”

“I’ll be fine,” Frank assured you, groaning as he stood. “C’mon.”

You followed him, around the house, through his backyard, and from there, into the woods, that sat behind his home. The trees were beginning to lose their leaves, and the sky has turned overcast, and grey. Summer, you supposed, was just another thing that wouldn’t last.

“Careful,” Frank warned, “there’s a brook up ahead.”

You saw that was what he said was true. The small body of water separated the hill from the valley, in the same way that a garotte wire separated a head from a neck.

“Take my hand,” Frank offered. “I don’t want you to fall.”

You found yourself blushing, as his calloused fingers, intertwined with your own. He pulled you up onto a rock, in the center of the brook.

“Are we going to have to jump?” you guessed.

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” Frank said softly, “I got you.”

He leapt from the rock, to the other side of the brook. Still holding hands, you leapt with him. Just as he’d promised, you made it to the other side safely.

“It’s just a little further now,” Frank assured you.

“What is?” you wondered.

“You’ll see,” he replied cryptically. He could have let go of your hand, but instead, he kept it held tightly in his own. You didn’t mind.

“....Whoa,” you gasped, as you realized, that you’d arrived at your destination. You were at the top of a cliff. From here, you could see the whole city, stretched out before you.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Frank admired.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Thank you for bringing up here! The view was totally worth the hike.”

“I’m lucky as hell, to have a hidden gem like this, on my property,” Frank confessed. “I like to come up here sometimes, when I need to think.”

“....What have you been thinking about lately?” you asked, sitting down on a boulder.

“What happened with the band, of course,” Frank admitted, sitting down beside you. “I just….I don’t know. Gerard’s decision felt so sudden. It was like having the wind knocked out of me.”

“Yeah,” you recalled. “It was like….it wasn’t fun anymore to him, so he just….dropped it. Like it was nothing.”

“I’m not gonna pretend, that being in My Chem, was sunshine and roses all the time,” Frank acknowledged. “Sometimes, touring sucked.”

“It did,” you admitted. “I hated the early bus calls, and the jet lag, that never seemed to go away. But, I don’t know. It was worth it, to go through all that, if it meant I would end my day, on a stage with you.”

“I guess it wasn’t worth it to him anymore,” Frank frowned. “But, what can you do? You can’t continue a band, without its frontman.”

“I guess our time was just up,” you shrugged. “All we can do, is move on.”

“I know it was messing up his mental health, trying to write the new record,” Frank said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “It’s not right for us to ask him to keep doing something that’s hurting him.”

“You’re right,” you sighed. “It’s not fair, to risk causing him another relapse, or something, just because we thought the album could’ve gone somewhere.”

“But now, you and me?” Frank grumbled, lighting a cigarette, and taking a drag. “We’re not gonna go fucking anywhere.”

“We’re right back where we started,” you realized. “Stuck in the same little town in New Jersey, where it all began.”

You and Frank, had been in another local band, called Pencey Prep. That band had broken up, and then Gerard, had asked you two, to join My Chemical Romance. Even before you’d become a member, you’d known just from listening to the demos, that this band would be something special. They’d captivated every soul, in the shitty dive bar, where you’d gone to see them play.

After you and Frank joined their ranks, things began to pick up speed so quickly. Local bars, turned into clubs on the other side of the state. And then you’d attracted the interest of a major label. And then, the next thing you knew, you were playing in fucking Japan. Clubs turned into arenas. Obscurity turned into infamy. You’d done things, you never thought, you would have an opportunity to do. It was a wild ride. And it was….over now.

“It makes me want to scream sometimes,” you said honestly.

“So, do it,” Frank said, exhaling smoke.

“....What?” you blinked, staring back at him.

“Go on and scream,” he suggested. “I mean, we’re in the middle of nowhere. Nobody’s going to hear you, except for me.”

“You’re serious?” you gaped.

“Yeah,” Frank nodded. “Honestly? I think it would be cathartic.”

He had a point - you’d been trying to hold a lot of emotions inside you, since everything went down. Maybe what you really needed, was to let them out.

You went and stood, on the edge of the cliff, and looked out, onto the horizon. You took a deep breath, and tilted your head back.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” you cried.

You turned back, and saw that Frank was laughing.

“....Did that feel good?” he grinned.

“....Honestly, yeah, it did!” you admitted. It felt even better, to see a smile on his face, for the first time today.

“You should just...feel what you feel, Y/N,” Frank advised. “You say we’re supposed to move on, and maybe that’s the narrative the fans want to hear. Like, they’re sad that they’ll never hear their favorite band live again. And it makes them feel better, to think, well, the band members did this, because it’s what made them the happiest.”

“But, we don’t feel happy,” you argued. “At least, not all of us do.”

“What do you feel?” Frank asked seriously.

“I feel….lost,” you described. “Like, I don’t know what my next move is supposed to be. The whole world knew me as My Chemical Romance’s drummer, for pretty much all of my twenties. Now, I’m hitting my thirties and...I don’t know who I am. I don’t know where we go from here.”

“Well, I know that I want to keep making music,” Frank decided. “Even if nobody else wants to hear it, I’ll play it for myself.”

“I want to hear it,” you said seriously. “Did you write something recently?”

“Yeah,” Frank said shyly, stubbing his cigarette out into the dirt. “I actually did start writing a song, the other day.”

“Play it for me,” you pleaded.

“I don’t know,” Frank blushed. “I wrote some lyrics, but….you know I don’t have the gift for singing, that Gerard does.”

“You sang in Pencey,” you reminded him.

“Yeah, that was twelve years ago!” Frank scoffed. “Who knows if I even remember how?”

“I know you can do it,” you encouraged him.

“The lyrics, they’re not all that nice,” Frank warned. “I didn’t write them to be radio friendly. I just wrote them, because I needed to get the thoughts out of my head.”

“You needed your catharsis,” you nodded understandingly.

“Yeah,” Frank sighed. “But….if you really want to hear it, Y/N, I’ll play it for you.”

He took out his guitar, and set it on his lap. Hesitant fingers plucked the strings. You listened, with rapt attention, as he began to sing:

Some things change but they don't get better

I'm so sick and so tired of trying to tell them that

I'll never do it, no I'll never make it alone

But pay no mind, it fades in time

Don't we all?

Someone I love threw me away

But I don't mind, no I don't mind at all

“That’s bullshit, Frank,” you interrupted. “You do mind.”

“.....Of course I fucking mind,” Frank snapped. He looked up from his guitar, and you realized, that he had tears in his eyes.

You moved over to where he sat, and pulled him into a hug.

“It’s okay,” you told him gently.

“It’s not,” Frank shook his head. “I gave my blood, sweat, and tears….my heart and my soul, to that band. I thought you and I were going to be in My Chemical Romance for the rest of our lives.”

“What, like Mick Jagger?” you tried to smile. “Rocking out, even in his sixties?”

“I don’t know,” Frank said, burying his face in his hands. “Maybe I’m the stupid one, for thinking that something like that, could last forever.”

“You’re not stupid,” you said softly. “The truth is….I wanted it to last forever, too. It was the best thing I’d ever done. And now, I don’t know what else I can do with the rest of my life, that could even come close.”

“If I decided to play that song, in front of other people, someday,” Frank asked, “would you play the drums for me?”

“Of course,” you promised. “Frank, I’d jump at the chance to get onstage with you again. You should know that.”

“I feel like I don’t know anything anymore!” Frank said vulnerably. “Everything I thought I could count on, is slipping through my fingers. I feel lost. Just like you said. And I’m aching all the time, Y/N. What if you’re the next thing, that I lose?”

“I’ll never leave you, Frank,” you vowed. “It’s been you and me, from the very beginning. I couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t have you in it….in one way, or another.”

“You met me when you joined Pencey. But now, for the first time in my entire life, you’re not my band mate anymore,” Frank choked. “So…what am I to you?”

“You’re my best friend,” you whispered, pulling him close. “And you could be more than that, if you wanted to.”

“Wh-What are you saying?” Frank gasped.

“Frank….,” you took a deep breath. “The truth is, that I always wanted you. I never told you how I felt, because I thought, if we got into a relationship, and broke up, it would destroy our ability to work together. But….you’re right. We’re not bandmates anymore. So, I have nothing left to lose. I...I love you.”

“You….love me?” Frank repeated, eyes wide.

“Yes.” You put it all out there. “Yes, Frank, you’re the one I love. And if you would have me, I swear to you, I would never throw you away.”

Frank surged forward, grabbing you by the collar, and pulling you in for a passionate kiss. Your startled mouth was suddenly full of his tongue. It felt so good.

“....Frankie!” you gasped, pulling away. “You...you actually want me back?”

“Of course I do,” Frank breathed. “It drives me absolutely fucking crazy, that we’ve both been burying our feelings this whole time, to protect a career, that no longer exists.”

“...Then at least I still have you,” you whispered, and pulled him in again. He tasted like smoke and desperation.

His body pressed against yours as he kissed you harder, pushing you down, against the hard rocks. His hands found the buttons of your blouse.

“....Frank,” you stopped him. “We should go back down, to your house, if we’re going to do this.”

“You’re right,” he chuckled. “My bed is a lot softer.”

“Take me there,” you begged, laying your lips on him again.

“Oh,” Frank promised, “I’ll take you all night.”

#frank iero x reader #frank iero imagine #gothtober #band member reader

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wouldpollyapprove · 4 years

Text

Edge of London

Request: Hello there! Can i request a sean wallace x reader, where the reader is billy’s friend and one day she takes him back hom cuz he was high so that’s when sean meets her and the family is quiet surprised seeing that she’s so shy and delicate, sean tries to win her but she is insecure and thinks that sean is just too “good” for her, fluffy at the end

Requested by Anonymous

Sean Wallace x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: drugs

A/n: I am kinda in love with this. This was supposed to be longer but once I wrote what I have for this part, I knew there had to be more than one part, so I decided to turn it into a series. I already have part two written and it’ll be up tomorrow. I hope y’all like this and I do have more Sean fics in the works.

Part Two / Part Three

Masterlist

Putting the car in park, Y/n couldn’t help but be intimidated by the townhouse she pulled up to. It wasn’t like it was going to eat her, but it reminded her of all she didn’t have. She’d grown up in a small house at the edge of London that only knew how to fall apart. Her family never had the money to repair much and moving was never an option. Dirt poor, Y/n lived with what she was given, but like everyone, she had always wished for more.

A grumble from the passenger seat brought her gaze back to the man beside her. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes at her friend who was half asleep.

Thirty minutes before parking in front of the brick townhouse, Y/n was woken up by Billy. Normally, she won’t have minded him calling her, the two would often have long conversations about god knows what. But this time was different. It was one in the morning and Y/n had just gotten into bed after getting off work. Working in a pub meant she was always on her feet and with it being a saturday, that meant the place was packed. There was no rest, no moment of peace until she got home.

She wanted to savor what peace she was given, drift off to sleep, and wake up refreshed in the morning. That was impossible when her phone rang, casting the room in light. Picking up it up, she placed it by her ear. “What?”

“I…” Billy drifted off.

Y/n didn’t need him to say much else. There were many times before his family made him get clean that he would call her, high off his ass. It was always her that he called, always her that brought him to her house so he could sleep it off. Never once had she taken him to his house. It was always because of his dad and brother. They were hard on him, that’s what Billy said. They didn’t understand the pressure of being in a family that yearned for success no matter the costs.

“Where are you, Billy?” she asked, throwing off the blankets and searching her room for warm clothes. Through his incoherent grumbles, Y/n was able to make out the address and was on her way.

If this were before he had gotten clean, Y/n would have let Billy sleep on the sofa at her place, but she knew that after his dad died, he needed his family. There was no way his family could understand him now if he never let them in. From what she knew, they weren’t the most understand, believed he was nothing but sick. But her friend couldn’t get better without the support of his family, she wished for him to get clean, but he needed more than just her support.

Opening her door, the chilly air ruffled her hair as she walked around to the other side of the car. “Come on, Billy,” she mumbled and opened his door. She helped him up, grabbing his arm and throwing it over her shoulder. With little help from him, they slowly made it to the front steps of the house. He was muttering on about some cat he’d seen at a sushi bar as Y/n tried to get him up the small set of stairs. It was a challenge but they finally made it to the door. Hesitantly, her fingers formed a fist and tapped her knuckles against the hardwood.

If Billy was in his right mind, he probably would have laughed at her for being so nervous, tell her to go right in. But she couldn’t do that. Not when his family knew nothing about her. Y/n was aware the Wallaces trusted few and knew it wouldn’t look good to find a stranger in their house after what happened to Finn. So, there she stood, struggling to keep dead weight standing, waiting for someone to answer the door. It was an ungodly hour, but there had to be someone who would answer.

After a few persistent knocks and Billy telling her to knock the door down, footsteps could be heard from the stairs. The door swung open, a man in sweats, chest bare, stood before her. Angered from being woken up, he looked ready to kill before his eyes landed on hers and, instantly, softened. Y/n gave him a weak smile and nudged Billy forward. “I didn’t mean to wake you, but, um, Billy called me and I didn’t know where else to take him.

For the first time, the man, who Y/n assumed to be Sean, her friend’s brother, noticed his brother. Lips turning down in a frown, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Billy had been clean for so long, he should have known he would relapse after their father’s death. “I’ll take him,” he offered, opening the door further.

With the weight off her shoulders, Y/n followed behind and closed the door. Sean walked them into the living room, guiding his brother onto the couch. He turned back to Y/n and motioned for a blanket draped over a chair behind her. In silence, she handed it to him. Taking the material, he draped it over his now sleeping brother.

Once Billy was comfortable, Sean gestured towards the dining room as not to disturb his brother. He came to a stop next to the liquor cabinet. Looking at the woman before him, he could see her hands shake from nerves. He hadn’t noticed before, but she was pale in the face, maybe from the late hour or her obvious nerves. There was something about her jitters that made his tough exterior soften, there weren’t many people in his life that aired their anxiety at all. “Thank you,” he smiled.

She shook her head, wringing her fingers together, “There’s no need to thank me. It’s not the first time I’ve had to do this.”

Sean glanced back at his brother than to her, face scrunched up in confusion. “Are you two…?” He raised a brow.

A shake of the head answered his question. “No, I’m just the friend who lets him crash on my couch.” A quick glance at her phone told her it was best to leave. She wanted to stay longer, even with her jitters. Sean wasn’t too horrible to talk to or look at for that matter. But remembering the hour brought back all the excuses as to why she couldn’t. He was a rich man’s son and could have any woman in the world. She was Cinderella before the fairy godmother arrived and didn’t need to get her hopes up by believing he would choose her at the end of the story. “I-I should get going,” she met his eye only to tear hers away. “I can show myself out.”

Barely out of the room, Sean called back to her, “I didn’t catch your name?”

She stopped and turned on her heels, “It’s Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he repeated. Mouth open to say something more, he cut himself off when his brother’s friend headed towards the door. He let her leave, the door open and close. Grateful that she brought his brother home safe, he wished she had stayed longer. Not one to show many emotions, he was intrigued. There was something about the woman that pulled him in. Perhaps it was the fact that she was eager to leave or that she didn’t act like anything special.

Sean couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but he knew he had to see her again. Hopefully, with his brother’s help, that could happen.

*~~*~~*

The next morning, unaware of his surroundings, Billy woke up. There were few memories of the night before, but all of them told him he should have been on Y/n’s couch. He remembered calling her, the poor girl helping him into her car, and a slow walk to a door. In his mind, he believed that was her door, but sitting up, he was mistaken.

She had taken him home.

A snicker came from the opposite side of the room. He turned, frowning when his eyes landed on Sean, who was leaning against the door frame. “Rough night?” his brother teased.

Billy rolled his eyes, stretching his arms above his head. “Don’t bother with the lecture, I don’t wanna hear it.”

With a shrug, Sean pushed himself off the frame, “Wasn’t going to give one,” he stated and walked out of the room.

That was bullshit. With their father gone, Sean had taken his place when it came to dealing with Billy. Though he didn’t give the same lectures word for word, they all held the same meaning: he wasn’t good enough.

Billy pushed himself off the couch and followed his brother’s footsteps to their dad’s old office. Stopping in the door way, he watched his brother’s every move. “Why aren’t you lecturing me?”

“I think you already know what I’ll say, that should be enough.” He scuffed at his brother’s words.

Folding his arms across his chest, he knew something was amiss. “Yes, because Sean Wallace believes everyone already knows what he’s going to say. Please,” Billy spat. “What do you want?”

Looking up from the paperwork he was searching through, Sean let out a sigh. Of course, his brother knew him well enough to know it was only an act. “Y/n, who is she to you?”

“She’s a friend, why?”

His brother nodded, going back to the task at hand. “She’s not the one supplying you drugs? Is she?”

Running a hand over his face, Billy couldn’t believe what his brother. Stepping in place of their father, Sean could only ever see the worst in people, believe they were hiding behind lies. “No! Hell fuckin’ no! She doesn’t touch alcohol, Sean.” That earned yet another nod. “Why do you ask?” Sean may have been hard to read at times, but he was an open book around his brother. His intentions could be seen when he tensed at the question. “You don’t even know her and you already like her, don’t you? That’s why you’re not yelling, uh? Need me to give my blessing and take you to her?” By the last question, his laughs bounced off the office walls.

“Well?” Sean asked, brow raised.

A grin spread across his face, his brother nodded. “Why not?” He shrugged and turned out of the office. From down the hall, he said, “But I doubt you’ll win her over, she doesn’t like pricks.

*~~*~~*

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sp00kworm · 3 years

Text

2388 - Start Log

Pairings: None

Warnings: Murder, Animal Death, Child Death.

---

A/N: This is based on some very vague headcanons I have about Revenant’s past and I wanted to write in a new kind of style.

---

Revenant held the small recording in his hand, his metal fingers stretching at the alloy as he looked at the unmarked, thin chip. It was black and sleek, tiny in the scale of things, but somehow untouched out on that dust bowl planet. His burning orange eyes shifted to focus on it again before he stood from the chair and slammed open the door to the lounge room, leaving with a grumble towards Elliott who was on his way in. The man jumped out of his way with a high-pitched screech and watched him stalk down the hall. Revenant made sure to hunch his plated shoulders before he climbed the stairs and stalked down the hallways of the dorm area, making sure that none of the others were following him before he opened his room and closed the door. It was dark and dusty, but the Simulacrum was quick to pull open his drawers to find the one item he really wanted. The chip reader. He pulled the old technology from the drawer and opened the small insertion plate with a claw. The hole cover popped open and he placed the chip inside and flicked the holoscreen display up. The blue light was dull with age, but it flickered to life before displaying a blurry image and the option to play.

In front of him sat himself. He had relatively short, blond hair pulled back with a fine toothed, ivory comb he remembered buying from a group of hunters. He reached to his chest pockets subconsciously. He always kept it in his breast pocket. With a growl he swiped at the play button and heard it click. For a moment it was quiet as the ghost of himself looked to the high window in the metal wall. He rolled his blue eyes and leaned back in the chair as the sound of a giant, heavy loader holo-vehicle roared. The engines seared the microphone for a moment before the assassin sighed and reached to undo another button of his shirt. There was a discarded head scarf and cloak on the chair behind him as he played with a knife along his fingers. The audio crackled and popped before synching properly and pausing. Revenant hit play again when it was finished and listened.

“Start Log. 2388. It’s been twenty-eight hours since I eliminated the target and counting. I’m in a safe house by the delivery routes back into the city. Shit hole of a back water place. Its barely a city, more of a god forsaken dustbowl. A place like this for a mafia causing so much trouble.” The blond man scoffed at the screen before the sound of a pistol chamber snapping came through the static. He raised the pistol before unscrewing the silencer and pulling the magazine free with a practiced movement, “One bullet to the back of the skull. Executioner style. I capped him in front of his latest little conquest. She screamed a lot. I got blood on my boot covers. They’re camel skin. I better get reimbursed for those.” He took apart the gun with practiced ease, the pieces set along the table in a neat, perfect line, from start to finish, “Anyway. Targets dead and I’m waiting for transport back. Hammond have left me high and dry again, for the third time this year. I wonder what I could do to get some more special treatment from them.” Kaleb grinned with white, perfect teeth, his cheek bones cutting an impressive figure before he reached to touch the scruff along his jaw. He scoffed at it and reached into his waistcoat for a long, thin shaving blade.

The blade slid open and was brandished like a weapon, the metal flashing before he raised it to his cheeks and dragged it over the new stubble, brushing it away onto a small tissue he also had, but it didn’t stop him from continuing to talk around the blade. Revenant reached for his face and ran his fingers over the scratches in his metal cheek bones. He relapsed often into his human habits, not that he would ever admit it.

“I would get it if these guys were some big-league assholes, but they’re barely an issue. I’ve seen worse, but I suppose this is what stealing weapons will get you out here. The Outlands have never been fuckin’ kind.” He threw the slip blade on the table in front of the camera, “I’d know that better than most.” Kaleb looked the camera in the lens, and Revenant wondered if he had been speaking to someone in that moment as his lips twisted in contemplation, “Fuck it. It’s not like anyone will ever find this.” He leaned back in his seat and started to pick up each piece of the pistol, looking them over before he screwed them back together in slow, precise movements of his wrist

“The Outlands is a shit hole. It always has been since Mister Hammond decided to colonize it. Sand, shit and people killing each other. Its always been the same, despite what they all say. Murder, homicide and genocide.” He paused putting together the gun in order to open a small satchel, and pulled free a packet of tobacco and rollers, Kaleb continued to talk as he took the leaves and placed them into a white paper, “Even this shit was fought over. Hybrid tobacco with no tar. Cartels killed villages over it.” The paper crinkled quietly as he put the filter in and rolled it up, tapping the end against the table before he snapped open a metal lighter and lit it, puffing for a moment before he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth, “The Outlands are a cess pit, that’s what I’m saying.”

His old self smoked for a while before he held the cigarette in his lips and squinted, getting back to work on fixing the last pieces of the pistol back together with a little grease from another bottle from the satchel, “But its where literally everyone was born now. Earth’s been dead for a long, long time. Including, yes you might have guessed, me.” Kaleb span his pistol and cocked the chamber before he slid the magazine in again and pulled a bullet up into the chamber, “I was born to some power plant family, or so the Matron said. Six months old and they threw me on the doorstep before the plant went bust and blew. I’m not surprised somehow, but the orphanage wasn’t derelict. It was funded for by Hammond. They took kids into the programs there. I wasn’t an exception. I was scouted at fifteen into the special ops program.” A haunting smile spread across his face, “I killed a captain at fourteen, that’s what got me enlisted. It got better though, guns were much easier to use than knives from the kitchen and Matron never did like me taking knives and running with ‘em.” He took his cigarette from his mouth and flicked ash off the end, “Kaleb where has the neighbours dog gone?!” He screeched, “Always nag, nag, nag that woman.” He grumbled as he took another drag, “She probably meant well in the end. Too bad what happened to her as well. I put a pillow over her face when I got enlisted. No survivors allowed. The rest died in the fire.”

The ash was building up in the clear glass ash tray now, “The Matron wanted me to go anyway, its not like she ever loved us or any of that stupid holo-film shit.” He scoffed and played with his cigarette end, “I used to like animals…well, like was a strong word. I used to test them. There was a hundred stray dogs near us, so I used to take pieces of my dinner and see which would come and take it from me. Whichever dog came close, if they could do a trick, then I gave it ‘em. If they followed me, well I used to like knives, you can guess the rest. They’re easy to trick. Cats though, cats were much better fun. I could never get one to come near me. It’s like they knew I had a knife somehow. One came close once, but it got away, screaming, and biting me before it got up a tree. It stayed there the whole day sleeping until I got bored. I didn’t see it again, but I started taking rats and mice from the kitchen for them. They liked the chase I think, just like I did…Or maybe they just liked me killing the dogs, huh?” He let out a long, raspy, dark chuckle before he stubbed out his cigarette and looked at the lens again, “Why the fuck am I spilling my guts to a recording? I’ll be dead if anyone finds this…well, maybe I just want that challenge.”

His finger appeared before he chuckled again and pushed his fingers together, “The days at the academy were boring in comparison. I wasn’t allowed out of the facility. I wasn’t allowed knives. I wasn’t allowed to do anything that I wanted. I choked a boy to death on the mat. The prick decided I was a ‘country bumpkin’, so I decided he wasn’t worth the air he breathed. He was purple when they found him. I was careful, I bleach wiped his neck and my hands. They never knew it was me, but I got harsher training for it. They suspected it was me, but there was no evidence.” Kaleb rolled another cigarette before he rummaged for a can in his bag. He pulled out an all-in-one shake from the pack and drank it down without so much as a minor twitch. Revenant remembered them. They tasted like milk and iron, “Otherwise. I do this because I’m good at it. I always have been good at it. Best in the business. I do the dirty jobs that others won’t because of morals.” He reached for the button, “And that’s about it. End log.” The recording ended as he blew more smoke out of the side of his mouth.

Revenant looked at the black screen for a moment, orange and black optics spinning to adjust, magnifying in and out before he snapped open the port again and tore the chip free, anger burning his chest. He growled and crushed the chip between two clawed fingers. His processors saved the data and he sat back on a chair in order to move and hide the data from those responsible for uploading him. He didn’t need anyone knowing these things. The chip sat in his palm in tiny, crushed pieces of plastic and metal.

“The past is dead.” He muttered before he unlocked the window and threw the pieces out of it, “Its best it stayed buried.” Revenant growled again before he moved to his charging port and slid the wire up into his chasis.

#revenant #kaleb cross #revenant apex legends #apex legends revenant #apex legends #apex #fanfic #character study #my writing #fanfiction

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awedbynature · 4 years

Text

A Christmas Debt

Characters: Loki x Reader

Category: Chaptered Story

Genre: Romance/ Friendship/ Love

Synopsis: The reader renders a great service to Loki unknowingly. Not used to being in anyone's debt, our favourite God of Mischief offers a strange favour in return. Will the reader trust him enough to take up the offer?

Previous Chapters: Chapter One

P. C. Pinterest

A/N: Thor's story, as recounted by Loki in this chapter, is an actual tale recorded in the Norse Mythology.

Also,

There's kind of a gift hidden within the chapter. Click the coloured text below to find out!

______________________Loki_____________________

Chapter Two

'He did what?’

You try to shush Natasha the best you can. She is incredulous at the news. ‘Y/N, this is Loki. He has a million wiles. I don’t want you falling victim to any one of them.’

‘I know,' you sigh. ‘But it is such a tempting offer.’

Nat rolls her eyes. She has never fully trusted Loki, not even after all the missions they have served together. Loki had been vital to some of the crucial operations the Avengers have been to, and most of them have given him their grudging trust. Not her. But that’s how she is.

You take another sip of coffee. It’s almost midnight and most of the others are lounging around, stuffed with cookies and fudges and in most cases some amount of Tony's prized liquor collection. Loki is not there. Probably in his room.

Just as you're taking another sip, savouring the aroma of the richly baked beans, Wanda saunters up to the counter. She is new to all this but looks like she’s enjoying every bit of it. Wanda is closer to you in age than Pepper and Natasha. She is more like a best friend to you than a sister, unlike Nat and Pepper.

She pours herself a cup of coffee and casually throws a hand around your waist, leaning against the counter and taking in the scene before her.

‘I saw Loki go after you,' she frowns. ‘What was that about?’

At your nod, Nat tells her everything.

Her eyes widen at the mention of the offer. ‘Did he really say that?!’

You nod wearily.

Wanda puts down her cup with a decisive thump and turns to you. ‘Well, I, for one, am totally in for it!’

'Really?!’ you can see Nat rolling her eyes again.

‘Of course,' continues Wanda. ‘What’s the harm? You don’t have to worry about your siblings ribbing you at dinner anymore! Isn’t that a huge plus?’

'B-but what if they ask for details? How we met and all?’

‘Then you make up some shit. Tell them you two met on a mission, or something. It’s not like you’ve to lie to them forever. It’s just one day!’

You heave a sigh, torn between taking up and declining the offer. But the prospect of being made the butt of jokes at the dinner table holds less appeal than blatant lying on your part. In the end, Wanda wins. You give a tiny nod of acquiescence.

‘I don’t like the idea,' Nat grumbles.

Wanda huffs, rolling her eyes. ‘She’s going to be fine. Now c’mon and show me what you’re going to wear tomorrow. We need to work on that first.’

You let her drag you off to your room, all the while thinking how best to approach Loki without appearing pathetic and pitiable. It’s just for one evening, you convince yourself. After all what do you have to lose?

***

You should not have listened to Wanda. You should not have let your depressed, lonely heart dictate your decisions. With so many things happening last night, you have hardly had a moment to think if you’d be alright with this entire charade. But now, cooped up in the cab and speeding towards a possible disaster, you feel a familiar dread creeping up your limbs and settling in your stomach. All of a sudden, being the object of pity and mild ridicule seems much more bearable. You give an involuntary shiver.

‘Are you alright?’ Loki casts a concerned glance your way.

'Mmhmmm,' you choke out, hugging your arms and giving them a rub.

Loki arches an eyebrow. ‘Pardon me, Ms Y/SN, but you most definitely do not sound alright.’’

'I'm fine.’

You relapse into silence. The cab has left the city and is speeding down a suburban road now.

Your morose thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a chuckle. You turn to find Loki laughing quietly to himself. Somehow the sight of him being so relaxed and graceful irritates you.

‘Do you find this funny?’

‘No. You just suddenly reminded me of my brother,' he says, passing a hand over his face to wipe away the remnants of his grin. ‘I had that feeling of—what do you Midgardians call it—something that seems to have happened before?’

‘Deja vu?’’

'Yes. It was the only time I had seen him nervous. More nervous than a bride on her wedding day. How fitting since he was actually in a wedding dress.’

What!

He chuckles some more, as an image of his hulking brother in a short wedding dress flashes across your eyes. Despite yourself, you snort, feeling the prick of curiosity.

'Why was he dressed as a—’

‘As a bride?’ He finishes for you. ‘It’s a hilarious story.'

‘It begins with my oaf of a brother having his precious Mjollnir stolen from him. Under mysterious circumstances.’ He winks and folds his hands behind his head.

'This happened when we were barely adults but considered ourselves grown up enough to venture out in search of adventures. One day, Thor woke up and found his hammer gone. Thor being Thor, immediately suspected me. Not that I’m saying I stole it. There was not enough evidence and so he discarded the idea eventually. But his hammer was truly gone and he was feeling helpless without it. Fearing the Allfather's wrath, he came to me for a hasty and discreet solution. I used all in my power to locate the hammer. At last we received news that the king of the ogres had stolen it and was demanding Freyja's hand in marriage as ransom.’’

'Who's Freyja?’

‘She is one like us. A goddess. She was considered the most beautiful among the Aesir for her golden hair and her deportment.’ His eyes take a faraway look, perhaps remembering his childhood friend.

'Anyway. So the ogre king was demanding something absolutely impossible for us to grant, yet the stakes were too high. What do we do? We decided to take the advice of the Gatekeeper of the Realm, wise Heimdall. He thought long and hard and decided that someone should dress up as the bride and go and retrieve the hammer. But none were brave enough to volunteer. So it finally fell on Thor to be the bride. ‘But my beard, and my figure!’ he exclaimed incredulously. Nobody heard him, poor thing. They decked him up in the finest bridal clothes and jewellery and wove flowers into his hair and put a veil over his disgruntled face—beard and all. You would not have found a more reluctant bride in the nine realms, nor a more muscular one. I was to dress as his handmaid, but that was not difficult. I could easily shapeshift into a young maid.’

By now, you are wheezing, clutching at the driver’s seat to keep yourself from toppling over. Loki cocks his head, observing you with eyes dancing with mirth, a smirk playing on his lips. He is definitely enjoying telling the story as much as you are enjoying listening to it.

'What happened next?’

'The ogres were foolish enough to believe us. They led us to the wedding banquet where Thor polished off most of the food without any help. His exuberant eating did raise suspicion and quite a few eyebrows but I managed to quell them before it got out of hand.’

'When their king announced that it was time for the wedding, they brought in Mjollnir and placed it in Thor’s lap. And the rest is history. I can assure you, none of the ogres lived long enough to tell the tale.’

Both of you dissolve into hearty chuckles. Loki heaves a sigh and instantly turns serious, ‘Please don’t tell Thor I told you this story. He’ll have my head in a platter if he finds out.’ There is a twinkle in his eyes but his face has gone back to that expressionless mask that all are used to seeing.

'You have my word,’ you reply, suddenly remembering with whom you’ve been acting chummy.

The scene outside is rapidly changing. Clusters of suburban houses and complexes have given way to long stretches of greenery. Which means you’ll be arriving any moment.

With a jolt, you realise that you had completely forgotten about your anxiety and apprehension. You feel more relaxed now, more yourself. Because of Loki. He was looking out for you. He knew you were nervous and wanted to put you at ease.

For the first time, you look at Loki in a different light. He is very much the roguish, evil, beguiling demigod that once almost destroyed an entire city, but somewhere underneath all the barbs and untruths lies a heart that still cares.

'I'm not sure this is a good idea,' you finally voice your anxiety. ‘What if they find out that this is all a lie, a pretence?’

Loki lazily crosses his legs and regards you with a piercing gaze. ‘Ms Y/Sn, perhaps you’re forgetting whom you are with. I have lied our way out of far more life-threatening situations numerous times. Thor lives because of my lies. This is nothing.’

‘What if they ask how we met and our answers do not match! I’ve watched too any sitcoms to know where that’ll lead.’

‘Then tell them the truth.’

‘Of course not! How am I supposed to tell my family that I met my apparent boyfriend after he was captured and imprisoned for masterminding the destruction of a whole city! They would rather watch me die single.’

‘Fine,’ he concedes. ‘Tell them we met during an operation.’

You fiddle with the hem of your dress, not fully convinced. Wanda had insisted on your dressing elegantly, and you had ended up borrowing one of Pepper’s gowns. If anything, it only makes you more nervous. You feel like you’re dressed in borrowed feathers.

‘Don’t fret, alskling,’ he says after some time. ‘The main trick of telling a lie is confidence. People are more likely to believe a bald-faced lie over a stammering truth.’

The cab finally rolls to a stop. Heart in your throat, you look at the familiar house, the neat lawn in front now decked with Christmas decorations, the old whitewashed fence and the ancient sycamore with the tire swing still hanging. Nothing much has changed around here.

‘Allow me,' the soft, crisp words bring you back to the present. You turn to find Loki coming round to your side to hold the door open. His face has taken a softer expression, the perfect look of a man in love and happily so. Slipping in and out of façades comes to him as easily as breathing. No wonder they call him the God of Lies.

He holds out his hand, his lips drawn into a smile. ‘Come, Ms Y/Sn. Let us show them.’

Well, here goes nothing, you take a deep breath, and step out of the cab.

To be continued...

Chapter Three available now

Tags: @lucywrites02 @lilyofthesword @country-cowgirl-101 @benji-booxx @loki-hiddlestoner3024 @outlawangel2020 @thefallenbibliophilequote @idontknowstudios @just-the-hiddles @myraiswack @noturningbacknow @natandersonnla @twhiddlestonsstuff

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holland-mitchell · 3 years

Text

Six months. To the day. Six months to the hour, to the minute, to the second she found out. 9:36 PM, New York time. She’d checked the time just before her phone lit up with a call from L.A. County General, a call that would both bring her home and take away all that was familiar to her.

Holland was miserable. She’d been miserable for days. She couldn’t stop thinking about her father, about how big and noticeable his absence was, especially this time of year. Hank Mitchell was a sucker for the holidays. He loved a good party, loved a good feast, loved drunkenly playing the piano for a solid twenty-four hours come Christmas Eve. Even when he wasn’t in Holland’s life -- not physically, at least, not in person -- Holland would still receive punny Christmas cards. Messages. She’d get little bits and pieces of Hank’s festive spirit, even without asking for it. Even when she didn’t deserve it.

Now he was gone. For exactly six months, he’d been gone. And Holland missed him. More than ever. She missed him so much it hurt, missed him so much it left her paralyzed most of the day, staring blankly at her cast and crew like she was the ghost. But as sad as she was, it wasn’t sadness that paralyzed Holland. It was resentment. Guilt. Loathing. It was anger so aggressive Holland thought it might never dissipate, anger directed at herself.

She should have been there. For his last Christmas, for his last ten Christmases, she should have been there. She should have been there six months ago, the day he died. She should have been there every single day, but she wasn’t. Holland was in New York. She missed the last ten years of her father’s life. For no fucking reason. And now -- now she missed him. So she was sad, yes, but Holland was fucking angry, too. She couldn’t forgive herself for what she’d missed. Never would.

With Hank gone, it would be Holland’s first Christmas alone. Really, truly, completely alone. Without her father, without her mother, without a majority of her closest friends -- alone.

Save for one person. Jimmy.

He was the one person she did have, the one person she always had. And he was gone, too. He was there, sitting in her living room as he had been all weekend, but he was gone. Something had happened on Friday. Holland didn’t know what. Something. Something happened that led Jimmy to break his month long sobriety streak, something that landed him right back in a casino, stretching forty dollars into two hundred, and Holland only knew the most basic details.

Jimmy didn’t want to talk about it, at least not yet. He needed time. Space. To process. To grieve his month long streak. Holland understood that, and she was trying her best to give Jimmy what he needed. So for the last few days, while Jimmy worked through his pain, while he processed whatever it was that had led to his relapse, Holland had been holding it all in -- her guilt, her anxiety, her sadness, all of it. Her misery existed in secrecy, growing bigger and uglier while she grew quieter.

9:36 came and went, but the struggle remained. Holland couldn’t swallow down her sadness, she couldn’t blink back the wetness in her eyes, she couldn’t count to sixty and move past this, like she could the time on her clock. It wouldn’t cease, no matter how long she sat in her car and waited. She would have to go inside like this -- her throat tight, her eyes wet, her cheeks red, her heart pounding. Holland only hoped she could sneak past Jimmy, that she could get upstairs and away from prying, sad, big blue eyes before the waterworks hit her.

She tried her best.

Holland closed the front door behind herself. She dropped her keys on the table in the hall and abandoned her shoes at its feet, peeking around the corner to spot Jimmy in the living room. She didn’t go in. She didn’t want to. Holland kept her distance, well aware that Jimmy would see right through her, if he saw her. “Hi,” she said, as strong as she could. “I’m uh -- I’m going to go have a shower. Get changed. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

@jimmyshore

#jimmyshore #jimmy 018 #( closed. )#loss tw #death mention tw #addiction tw #sdkjghsdkgh this was SUPPOSED TO BE YESTERDAY BUT YALL DISTRACTED ME

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dabis-azure-songstress · 4 years

Text

Dabi x SelfHarm!/Depressed Reader

Alright, Love Bugs...here’s the one I have been working extremely hard on. I’m a recovering self harmer and I just wanted to give other people like me and how I used to be some extra love. I hope this helps just one person and I will feel like posting this was worth it. Dabi is himself one this, but he’s actually trying to comfort the reader. When I was cutting, sometimes all I wanted was just someone to talk to and a friend. I’ve had people get mad at me for going to them and literally voicing how ashamed they were. This creation stems from that and I hope it helps. If you really need help, please reach out for it. @kericacathouse I hope you don’t mind me tagging you, I know you wanted to read it. And please let me know as a fellow person that has had trouble.

Pairing: Dabi x SelfHarm!/Depressed Reader

TRIGGERS: Self harm in the form of cutting is described explicitly and the feelings I have felt related to it are described. This may seriously trigger you and I don’t want anyone to have a relapse, please. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! I’m trying to help, not make it worse!

WARNING: Self-Harm, Depression, somewhat soft Dabi

The cold metal of a razor blade shakes in your hand as you stare at it. An extreme concoction of buried feelings, long stifled, is bubbling up and you can’t bear to swallow them down anymore. Embarrassment, shame, anger, hatred, disgust, sadness, loneliness, wanting to be alone/wanting someone to just be with you, wanting to end it, and just wanting to live your best. Your inner voice ranges from bitter “failure”s, “stupid”s, “no one cares”, “they’ll be happy you’re gone, you’re nothing” to “just one more cut...then I’ll stop” and “it’ll feel so good”. You can feel the bile rising into your throat slightly. Your hand slowly moves and the cold metal is biting into the delicate skin of your thigh or wrist with precise force behind it. You suddenly jerk it quickly and finish the new addition (and rapidly a few more, it never seems to stop with just one), breath shakily leaving your lips and head slightly falling back. Shame, relief, pleasure, and the familiar stinging floods up along with the crimson liquid rising to the newborn slices. Questions also begin to infiltrate through the haziness of your mind. Why did I do that? Why do I hurt myself? Why does it feel so damn good every single time I possibly might just kill myself? It’s such a thrill and utterly relieving simultaneously. People could have their alcohol, crack, heroine. This was your drug of choice. Your sweet, yet utterly terrifying addiction.

You’re still slightly rolling on endorphins when the door to the bathroom pushes open and familiar beautiful and glowing turquoise eyes fall on you. Your partner had needed to relieve himself and was about to tell you to “piss off” before he put two and two together. “What are you doing?” Heat floods up your spine and then freezes ice cold. You hadn’t thought of being caught, only thought of your medicine for dealing with the world. You thought he was mad at first, but the expression on his face was relaxed and he was just normal/usual Dabi, though his eyes seemed to hold a softer gleam.

He moves and plops down against the wall beside you, head tilted back against it with one knee pulled up and his arm resting on it while the other leg stretches out in front of him. Dabi grabs the razor from the floor and glances at you and the metal languidly. “You shouldn’t do this.” His tone still isn’t angry and he’s not freaking out an ounce. “I know...Aren’t you mad at me?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad? Why would I make your pain any worse? You probably feel upset and ashamed enough for the both of us.” You felt the tears well up in your eyes and shook under the weight of your heaving sobs. He actually understands? Dabi frowns and carefully drapes an arm around you. “Don’t cry, baby doll. I don’t like the water works.” He’s not being mean and his tone stays quite soft.

You try to reel yourself in and it’s quiet for a moment before he finally speaks up again. “I’m sorry your pain runs this deep. Someone like you should never feel like this is the only answer. I get it though. Once you get started it’s hard to stop and you cling to the relief it gives you.”

“Y-you...”

Dabi releases a long sigh before he’s using the arm not around you to point carefully to certain scars under his large ones that you can still see if you look closely enough. “I get it. I really do. But...please don’t do this to yourself anymore. A doll face like you should be smiling all the time. You deserve to be happy. And these feelings you feel now are valid too. I get you can’t be happy and smiling all the time. This place can be super fucked up, but...if you need someone to rely on and talk to, if you feel like you have no one, I am standing right beside you.”

You glance at him to see he’s already looking at you and staring directly into your eyes. “D-Dabi...”

“C’mon, don’t get all gushy on me now,” he teases. “I’m serious though, doll. If you feel like this again, come find me. Call me. Anything. You will never bother me. Fight those demons and live for me. It’d be a hell of a lot more dull without someone as bright as you around. So, fight it. If you slip up every once in a while, that’s ok too. It happens. You can tell me that too. I’m not going to tear into you for it. It’s absolutely okay to not be okay. You’ll get there. You can recover. Promise me.”

“I...I promise...” It felt as if some heavy weight had been completely pushed off your shoulders. “Good. Now let’s get those cleaned up and get some bandages on you. Then you’re really going to have to get out of here because I have really got to pee. You can go wait in my room or something.” You chuckled softly as he grabbed a few things from the medicine cabinet. He cleaned you up and got you all set before he finally ushered you out of the bathroom and pointed to his room.

There you went and waited. You never thought you’d ever have a best friend like you did in Dabi. He was extremely easy to talk to and always listened to what you had to say. He had even managed to give you a few tight hugs to let you cry it out to him. He always acknowledged how you felt, no matter how fucked up you thought you were for it. He made you feel completely normal and like nothing was wrong. You didn’t feel alone. And you actually fit in somewhere. You weren’t some freak just because of how you were feeling. And slowly with him, you started to get better and conquer yourself. Sometimes it really is okay to not be okay.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #warningthisistriggering #depressedreader #itgetsbetter #itsokaytonotbeokay #dabi imagines

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godzawa · 4 years

Text

≥ Burnout

Pairing: Kirishima Eijirou x Bakugou Katsuki

Rating: T (language)

Length: 1723

Summary: Kirishima has a bad habit of putting his work before himself. (aka Bakugou gives the best fucking massages, thank you very much)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27277441

When Kirishima walks through the door of his apartment, his body sags. He slips off his shoes, just barely careful enough to line them up properly so Bakugou doesn’t yell at him for being untidy, and then drags himself over to the couch, every step feeling like a weight dragging him down.

As he nears the long black couch, his body topples over into it, face first into the cushion and his feet just barely hanging off. Back when they got their own place, he and Bakugou had tried painstakingly to find a couch long enough for their tall, broad bodies to be able to lay on them completely, and this one had been the closest they could find.

It’s silent for a long few minutes, no noise but the soft sound of Kirishima trying to breathe with his face pressed against a soft cushion and the whirl of the ceiling fan above him.

Eventually he barely picks out the soft patter of foot steps, someone leaving one of the two bedrooms and walking out into the living area.

He knows that Bakugou has seen him when he hears a deep sigh, something between annoyance and exasperation.

“You over did it again, didn’t you shitty hair?” His boyfriend states more than asks. Even though he can’t see him, Kirishima can just imagine Bakugou looking down on him, hands on his hips.

Unable to really manage words, Kirishima just nods against the cushion. That small movement alone makes the muscles in his neck and shoulders scream in pain, making him regret moving altogether.

It’s silent for a few more seconds, Kirishima back to being a limp corpse and Bakugou just watching him with his (beautiful) sharp red eyes.

Eventually Bakugou moves, his footsteps leaving Kirishima and going off somewhere, back towards the hallways he guesses from the sounds of it.

Kirishima thinks for a moment that Bakugou might have gone back to their bedroom. It’s sort of a touchy subject between them, how far Kirishima pushes himself. Ever since they left UA last year and started as sidekicks in different agencies, Kirishima has been stretching himself thin to try and stand out. He’s been there, every call or need of an extra hand, he volunteers because he loves what he does and he wants to be there to help save as many people as he can.

It wasn’t too much of an issue at first, but then it started to go too far. Nights without sleep, days of barely being home for more than a few hours.

It took Bakugou nearly leaving him to wake Kirishima up and really make him start focusing on taking care of himself.

“You need to put yourself first sometimes, idiot. Even I know that.”

Seeing Bakugou cry out of frustration and pain is something Kirishima would rather die than see again.

He got better, he started taking time off when he needed it and only volunteering when he knew it wouldn’t be too much. He was doing so much better.

The past two days had been him slip up, the small relapse. He overdid it again. Fatgum was away and they were shortstaffed, so Kirishima stayed on call at the agency building. The plan had been to just stay there and relax as back up if it was needed, but then a call came in for a serious situation and he had to head out. The entire ordeal took ten hours of brutal work.

It wouldn’t surprise him if this slip up pissed off his boyfriend. Hell, he could lose him over something like this.

Kirishima’s thoughts turned on him, slowly draining down into darkness. The fear of Bakugou being upset with him clenched his chest, but he was too tired to even deal with that. He guessed that if Bakugou was upset he’d have to beg for forgiveness later because his body was too broken to even think of getting up.

He sat there and kept spiralling in his own head, body unmovable and anxiety clawing up his insides. He was so wrapped up in his own worries that he didn’t even notice the soft sounds of Bakugou returning to the living room. He also didn’t notice said boyfriend approaching him until he felt a leg slide against his side right side, between him and the couch.

A butt sat tenderly on his own and he realized that Bakugou was gently straddling his back.

“Babe?” He grumbled into the cushion, trying to turn his head in confusion.

“Just shut up and down move dumb ass.” The blonde barked back, stilling Kirishima.

His heart sped up a little as he tried to figure out what was going on, but he wasn’t left guessing for long.

He felt his tank top tug up, hands moving his arms out of the holes and causing Kirishima to wince a little as it was pulled off his head and tossed away. Soon warm fingers were pressing lightly into his skin, lotion gliding them easily over his scarred up skin.

Bakugou slowly started working the lotion into his skin, his touch feather light and putting just enough pressure for Kirishima to let out a long groan of satisfaction. The lotion felt so nice, both cold and hot, seeping into his skin and into the tender muscles. His boyfriend’s hands were nice too, callused but so careful in their movements.

Kirishima was effectively melting into the couch, his back finally relaxing after a long day of over using his body and his quirk.

“Idiot.” Bakugou muttered angrily, with a bite of emotion.

“M’sorry-” Kirishima tried to mutter out, but was quickly silenced by Bakugou with a (light) smack to the back of his head.

“Just shut up and let me rub this shit in alright.”

The blonde was very meticulous about his work. He made sure Kirishima’s back was thoroughly covered before moving on to other parts of his body, the neck and arms. After he got off of Kirishima and pulled off his red shorts, leaving the large man with only his boxer briefs on. He covered his hips, thighs, calves, even his feet were treated with a massage good enough to have Kirishima moaning in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with the tension leaving his muscles.

All this while, he felt like his thoughts were sliding through honey while he laid there. Getting treatment like this from Bakugou was something to treasure, the little moments where he felt so utterly encompassed by his love for the fiery man.

It always bothered him how people viewed his lover, like he was some sort of unfeeling asshole all of the time. Kirishima knew the truth, even from the first few weeks of their friendship. Bakugou has a heart bigger than anyone else he knew.

“I need you to roll over so I can get the other side.” The sharp orders invaded his thoughts.

Kirishima took a moment to take a deep breath, then carefully twisted his body, a few grunts of pain escaping his mouth as he did so. Bakugou watched to the side, waiting for Kirishima to settle onto his back before he straddled the red haired man again.

This time when Bakugou started pressing the cooling medicated lotion into his skin, Kirishima watched him. He didn’t watch the hands, but Bakugou’s face scrunched up between concentration and a scowl. He didn’t even try to say anything as he watched, the silence heavy between them. Eventually Kirishima couldn’t even keep his eyes open anymore as he slipped into ease, Bakugou’s fingers bringing his mind into sludge and his vision blurring.

“I’m not mad at you”

His eyes tried their best to open. “What?”

“I was at first,” Bakugou explained, his face the picture of unease, “I wanted to fucking explode your dumb ass, but I knew this was bound to happen eventually. It takes effort to kick a bad habit. You’re a pain in my ass though you know that?” He grumbled.

“I know.” he muttered softly.

Bakugou’s hand’s stilled. He finally, finally moved his crimson eyes away from Kirishima’s body and looked into his eyes. “But your my pain in the ass got it? I wouldn’t put up with your dumb ass if I didn’t think it was worth it Eijirou, so stop looking at me like a kicked puppy before I actually explode your damn face.”

The barest hint of a smile quirked up Kirishima’s lips.

“That’s better.” He grumbled before going back to focus on his task at hand.

Silence returned and Bakugou finished up his task, completely covering arms and legs in the lotion. When he finished he capped the bottle and placed it on the coffee table.

Kirishima reached a hand out for Bakugou’s shirt, lightly tugging at it. When those red eyes returned to him he asked, “lay with me for a while?”

Although he would never tell this to anyone (for fear of his life if a certain hot blonde ever found out), Bakugou’s pout was about the cutest damn thing ever. He had that pout pointed towards Kirishima at that moment, clearly caving into his boyfriend in a rare show of weakness.

“You want my heavy ass to lay on you?”

Kirishima nodded, his smile widening. Bakugou tsked and sighed.

“Idiot.”

He slid down on top of Kirishima though, his body covering his lover’s and his head slotting onto Kirishima’s shoulder as a pillow.

They laid like that, silent and holding each other for an amount of time neither of them could discern. It felt so nice, just to hold Bakugou and enjoy his presence, even if the blonde’s massive body made his already aching body ache more.

“Next time I’ll kick your ass first before the bomb ass massage.” Bakugou mumbled into his shoulder sleepily.

Kirishima grinned, moving his head slightly to press the barest kiss into Bakugou’s cheek. “I’m going to work hard to make sure there isn’t a next time.”

“Good.”

When they woke up on the couch the next morning, Bakugou proceeded to complain about his body being fucked up from sleeping on the couch, all while Kirishima watched him cooking in the kitchen, a stupid fond look coloring his expression while his boyfriend bitched and whined. He wouldn’t have any other way.

#kiribaku #bnha #mha #bnha fanfic #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #listen I have a thing for Bakugou pampering Kirishima #this isn't edited sorry not sorry #this is the first thing I've actually written for bnha in like two whole ass years so mayhaps its bad sue me

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