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chucksfavouriteprophet · 2 years

Text

It Should Be You (pt2)

The Winchesters x Reader

Part 1 here

Summary: After a plan goes horrendously wrong, Dean blames you. Distraught and convinced by his words, you turn to some old, toxic coping mechanisms for help. Alone in the bunker, you become out of hand and time is running out for the brothers to stop you.

Warnings: 18+. This one is pretty deep I’m sorry. MAJOR TW for death, suicide, self-harm, addiction, overdose, alcoholism, self-hatred, depression, hospitals etc. Please please please do not read this if you get triggered easily - this is all fiction and doesn’t glamourise anything. If you ever need to talk, my messages are always open.

Word count: 2,384

Tagging requests :) @williamstop @vicmc624

Dean was still riled up. He was mad at himself for letting everyone down, for letting Maggie down. He was mad at himself for upsetting Y/N - he knew it wasn’t your fault, he just needed to get his anger out.

Once the fire had died down, Sam and Dean headed back to the bunker to grab a beer and try distract themselves. They were met with the blaring of your music, which only pissed Dean off even more. “Give her a break, man” Sam came to your defense. “She’s been through it too. Besides, you can’t talk; you play your music waaaay too loud.” Dean shrugged the comment off, grabbing a beer and heading straight to lock himself away in his cave. Meanwhile Sam, being the mother hen he was, turned the other way towards your room.

“Y/N?” He knocked on the door gently, before giving it a harder bang to combat the music. “Hey, how you holding up? Can I come in?” The lack of response worried Sam, which escalated once he tried to open the door but found it was locked. “Y/N? Is everything okay? Look, just let me in, we can talk about this”. Nothing. The music changed track, but there was no sign of movement in the room during the short lull between songs. “Okay Y/N, I’m breaking this lock. You’re being ridiculous”. Sam paused for a second to see if you’d finally cave in and open the door. When you didn’t, he threw his full force at it and the lock popped open.

He rolled his eyes when he saw you sat down the side of the bed, facing away from him, the empty bottles by your side. “You’ve been spending too much time with Dean, Y/N”. He chuckled and shook his head as he walked towards you. “Y/N?” he questioned once again after realising you didn’t react to his dramatic entrance.

Sam walked round the bed to face you. His face paled and he dropped to his knees as he grabbed your face and shook you. “Y/N, hey, wake up. Wake up.” Nothing. You were slouched over, falling floppy into his arms when he moved you. Vomit was dripping from your chin into a puddle on your lap. Your face was ghostly white, eyes rolled into the back of your head. Panicking, Sam glanced around him and spotted the empty pots of pills. “No no no no.” He reached for a pulse and lay you down in front of him.

“DEAN! DEAN!” His voice cracked slightly, but he hoped his brother could hear. Dean did hear, and shouted back “WHAT?”. Sam’s only response was “DEAN, QUICK!”. Dean heard the panic in his voice and jumped off his bed, turning down the corridor to where he heard Sam’s voice. When he realised it was coming from your room, he slowed and groaned. “Seriously Sam, I don’t want some family interven-” He froze as he reached the doorway and saw the sight before him.

Sam turned to his brother, tears streaming down his face. “I - I don’t know what to do, Dean. Help me.”

Dean stumbled forward, collapsing at the sight of your deathly body. “Is she breathing?” It was barely a whisper. “Just” Sam gulped. “Dean, we have to call an ambulance. If she’s overdosed we can’t deal with that.” Sam tried to clear some of the sick out of your mouth to stop you choking while Dean just sat there, staring in shock at you.

“It should be you up on that pyre.” Had he had done this? Had he had driven you to the depth of darkness, to the point of attempting to take your own life? He could hardly breathe, staring down at your unconscious body. He reached out to stroke your hair, plastered across your forehead with sweat. Your eyes pealed open slightly, looking up at him vacantly. “Y/N?” he knew you couldn’t reply, but he couldn’t help himself. All of a sudden you reared up, your head almost colliding with his. Your eyes rolled back as you gasped for air, coughing it back up at the same time. Your body contorted and seized, lashing out in all different directions. The sound that came out of your mouth, a throaty, gurgling sound, made Dean sob. He desperately glanced at Sam, who was already dialling 911. But the bunker was in the middle of nowhere. It could be hours before they reached them. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as he scooted underneath you, pulling your convulsing head onto his lap. “Shhhh, it’s alright, I’ve got you. You stay with me, okay, Y/N? Stay with me, god damn.”

“I can’t lose you, Y/N. Please...please...”

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At some point, the swirling neon of colours around you died down and became a dull, muddy vision. You tried to pull yourself out of it, but nothing was working. You couldn’t move your arms - hell, you couldn’t even see them. Your head felt heavy as a wave of nausea washed over you but you were rendered powerless to fight it off. You felt the warm vomit pour over your numb, heavy body with no ability to react.

At some point, the swirled room took on a face. The face of Sam Winchester, who’s warm hands grabbed your face and shook you. You wanted to fight him off, tell him that you were already boiling and that wasn’t helping. But whatever wirings were going on in your head were far from functioning right, and you weren’t even sure he was actually there.

At this point, your brain was essentially useless. You had no idea where you were, why you were there, if you even existed. You were completely detached from your body, which was just a hot, sticky pile of flesh now. You could just pick up the muffle of voices; no coherent words, just the buzz of something. You desperately tried to see, but you couldn’t quite figure out how to open you eyes. With all your energy you managed the task, to be met with a glossy green pair staring back at you, filled with panic. More hands shook your shoulders and your head lulled. You groaned, trying with all your might to tell these blurred figures know how uncomfortable you were. Not that it worked - at the exact moment, fire flooded your head and your chest tightened. You begged for a breath, only to choke on your own vomit stuck down your bone dry throat. Your whole body felt like pins-and-needles and your heart echoed in your ears. You tried to scream, feeling the pain tear through your head, your heart, your lungs, your stomach, every organ in your damn body. It felt like you were being turned inside out and flipped upside down. The voices had gone now, replaced by piercing white noise. It hurt less not to bother breathing. The fire filled your brain with an overwhelming roar. You were exhausted, the darkness calling you. At this point, it was just easier to submit.

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Dean’s worst nightmare had come true. Almost as quick as your body started seizing, it stopped. Everything stopped. Sam was screaming down the phone, begging for help. But this was what Dean needed to shake him from his shocked state - now he had no choice. He fumbled around for a pulse, with no luck. Suddenly he grabbed your body, flinging himself across it and hovering above your chest. He pounded hard, feeling the ribs crack beneath his knuckles but not caring as long as it got your heart going again. Your chest heaved up and down, slamming into the floor. He could hardly look at your face, it seemed so lifeless already. “Sammy how long?!” He demanded through gritted teeth. “They’re close Dean, they’re close. We have to get her upstairs.” Dean growled. “No Sam. I can’t stop. If I stop, she dies. I can’t stop.” He kept pounding, praying for you to come back, just to take one breath.

Then suddenly he remembered. “Sam, where the hell is that damn nephilim?” Jack had been there just an hour ago, helping them with the pyre. And Cas, as well. Surely he had heard Dean’s desperation.

“It should be you on that pyre.”

“I don’t know.” Sam shook his head in defeat. The thought hadn’t slipped his mind either. “Dean we haven’t heard from Cas in days, and Jack was pretty upset too I think he flew off somewhere...” Tears blurred Sam’s vision as he took in the situation. His friend’s lifeless body, convulsing under his broken brother’s hands. They were two humans, two ordinary humans, with some very unordinary friends who had failed to turn up when they needed them most. What was going on? Where the hell were the angels now?

There was a splutter and a cough, as more vomit projected from your mouth. It helped clear your airway slightly though, and Dean paused once he felt your heart push back at his knuckles. “Lets get her upstairs now.” Dean was already moving, carefully scooping you up in his arms. He hated how hot and floppy you were, shuddering slightly as you tried to inhale.

Time seemed to blur after that. At some point, the paramedics came barging through, shoving the brothers away so they could hook you up to all sorts of machines. Sam took the deep breath he’d been holding the whole time, glad someone else was there to help. He gripped Deans shoulders tight as realisation hit them and they stood there, completely distraught, watching the paramedics work. The drive to the hospital was silent - Dean certainly shouldn’t have been behind the wheel, but Sam wasn’t going to argue and he didn’t think he could manage driving either. They followed the ambulance directly, Dean’s foot flat out on the gas. Not being able to see you tore them apart. All they could do was drive, and pray.

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It was like the weirdest dream, only you weren’t sure it was a dream because you were well aware that you still seemed to be in it. Lights flickered across your eyelids, different tones murmured around you, but you couldn’t do anything. At one point you felt a hand stroke yours, wet tears falling onto it, but you couldn’t place what was going on. Things seemed like that for a while, drifting in and out. Then at one point, the sounds seemed a little clearer, the light a little brighter. You could figure out where your head was now in comparison to your toes, and managed to locate your eyes. Summoning all your energy, you fluttered them open, fighting against the resistance of gunk glueing your lashes together and squinting at the harsh yellow light.

You blinked a few times, making the room emerge slightly clearer than it had at first. Two figures sat on your left; one lying with his head on your bed, holding your hand, the other slouched asleep on a chair behind him. You tried to clear your throat, only to be met by a sharp pain from something stabbing it. You suddenly became aware of the tube jammed down it, and started to panic as you fought against the urge to splutter for your own air against that being pumped into you medically.

The slight coughing attempt was enough to catch the attention of the brothers. Sam shot up first, almost falling off his chair as he jumped on Dean. “Hey, we need a nurse in here!” He yelled as he knelt next to his brother. Dean looked up, grasping your hand even harder than before, tears filling his eyes. “Hey, Y/N, hey.” The boys both took a step back as a nurse entered the room and started moving tubes around, her words direct towards you but still slightly out of reach. As she removed the tube, you spluttered and gasped as you took in a gulp of air that burned your sore throat. The movement tore pain through your chest and you became aware that breathing was not a fun motion, albeit one you kinda had to do. You squeezed Dean’s hand back as Sam lifted your head slightly to offer you some water, which was a struggle but a comforting as the cool liquid spread down your throat.

“He-hey.” You broke a slight smile looking up at the boys. God knows how long they’d been up for, they looked exhausted. And worried. Really, really worried.

Oh shit. It suddenly hit you why you were here, in the hospital. Tears pricked your eyes “I’m s-sorry...” Sam shook his head. “You don’t need to be sorry. We should have been looking out for you, and I’m sorry we didn’t. But I swear, Y/N, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you all the help you need, and we’re going to support you the whole way. Whatever you need, we’re here for you, okay?”

You smiled softly at him, leaning into his hand as he stroked your hair. Sam put a hand round his brother, who tried to hide his tears behind a stone cold poker face. “Don’t you dare ever do that again, Y/N. You scared the life out of us. I never, ever want to have to break your ribs to keep you alive, alright.” You nodded, gulping down your guilt. Dean leaned forward, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I hate myself for what I said. I know I can’t, but if I could take it back I swear I would. I understand if you can’t forgive me.”

You reached a wobbly hand up to his cheek. “I forgive you, Dean. I’m sorry I put you through this, I was being so damn selfish.” You let him go and took one of each brother’s hands in yours. “I love you both so much. Thank you for saving me. I promise, I swear, I will get better.”

“And we’ll be right here to help you, Y/N.” Dean nodded. “Always. We’re not going anywhere.” Sam gave you a soft smile.

It wasn’t going to be easy. But the hard part was over - they knew about your demons now, and they didn’t run for the hills. With time, you knew it would all be okay.

#supernatural #spn #spn x reader #Dean Winchester #sam winchester #sam and dean #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x reader #spn one shot

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keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills.

You’re his only solace.

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often.

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns.

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks.

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves.

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings.

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing.

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent.

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight.

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex. It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows.

It’s grim in its predictability.

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone.

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.”

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.)

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen.

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them—

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand.

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was.

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future.

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.)

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted.

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze.

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings.

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming.

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.”

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest.

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face.

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?”

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t.

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa.

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least.

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind.

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively.

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap.

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?”

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do.

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you.

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible.

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words.

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy—

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none.

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments.

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could.

“Do you see now?”

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch.

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky.

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning—

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.”

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side.

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness.

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.”

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do.

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan.

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see.

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection.

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep. The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue.

It bothers him—

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror.

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while.

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can.

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant.

All the same, the trim feels good.

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back—

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!”

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!”

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him.

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.)

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity.

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning.

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much. The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering.

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with.

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach.

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it.

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree.

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was.

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh.

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.”

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet.

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress.

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely.

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone.

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes.

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile.

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up—

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart.

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later.

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard.

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead.

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too—

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement.

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try.

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered.

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks.

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.)

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business.

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat.

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders.

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—”

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough.

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands.

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night.

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?)

But you’re not in the common room.

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath.

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten.

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard.

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him.

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more.

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone—

...

Keigo leaves the next morning.

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn.

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse.

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died.

All disgusting reminders.

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had.

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he.

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time.

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave.

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes.

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter.

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it.

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears—

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some.

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought.

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?”

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe.

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self.

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #hawks fanfic #hawks imagines #my hero academia #mha x reader #anyways tag wall #enjoy loves #smorch

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nctsjiho · 3 years

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2 AM Healing [Part 2 of ‘2 PM Suffering’]

Click here for Part 1

warnings: explicit language, consumption of alcohol and medication, suggested attempted suicide (overdosing on pills and alcohol), anxiety

era: April 2021

❀ Things seem to take a big turn after Taeyong and Doyoung go check up on JiHo

“Wah~~ I can’t wait to get in my bed.” Haechan sighed dramatically as the 4 boys from the 5th floor were waiting on Taeyong to open the door.

The shoot had dragged on for a while, along with some other schedules and now it was a little after 2 at night. Johnny and Haechan had been whining about how tired they were and couldn’t wait to sleep. “At least take a shower first Haechan, you stink.” The older of the two snickered, earning a shocked expression from the smaller boy. “Hey! I don’t-”

“It’s past midnight and we have neighbours. Be quiet already.” Doyoung sounded annoyed which had the two boys shut up quickly. “And you, why are you taking so long.” Doyoung rolled his eyes at the leader who had yet to open the door. Taeyong rolled his eyes as well at the attitude of Doyoung and before he could say anything else, Taeyong pushed the door open.

Meanwhile, inside the dorm, JiHo had curled up into Xiaojun’s side. She had been sleeping for close to 12 hours straight now, the severity of her exhaustion very clear to Xiaojun. The only time JiHo had woken up, was when Xiaojun had gotten up to clean up the food he dropped when first entering her room. He quickly cleaned and went to the bathroom before joining a whiny JiHo back in her bed. He had sung a few more songs for her and decided to go to sleep as well after she had comfortably slotted her body into his side.

Completely forgetting that he had to send updates to Doyoung, Taeyong, or at least Kun about JiHo - partly because his phone was out of battery and otherwise because he physically couldn’t move because of JiHo’s deadly grip on him - he drifted off into his own dream world and hadn’t woken up since.

As the residents of the dorm arrived the first place Doyoung went to was JiHo’s room. His hand had barely made contact with the door handle when Taeyong stopped him from entering. “Is this a good idea? JiHo’s probably sleeping at this time.” Doyoung scoffed at the comment. “We haven’t heard from her since we left, for all we know she’s dead in there and you’re not even going to check.” “Kun said Xiaojun-” “Well Xiaojun hasn’t picked up his fucking phone once!”

The leader hadn’t seen Doyoung this mad before. He knew he was only worried about JiHo, so he could excuse his anger completely. Yet despite that, Taeyong was still taken aback by the amount of poison was spilling from the black-haired man’s lips. “Okay, let’s check.”

Doyoung softly pushed the door open, such a contrast to his earlier tense body language. Upon opening the door the light which came from the hallway illuminated the room, revealing how messy it was.

JiHo wasn’t the tidiest member when it came to her own room, but the visual Doyoung and Taeyong were met with was quite shocking. Pillows and blankets seemed to be thrown off the bed and even to the other side of the room. But among all the mess a certain few items had caught Doyoung’s eye.

Rather confused as to why Doyoung wasn’t commenting on Xiaojun and JiHo comfortably - a bit too comfortable to Taeyong’s liking - sleeping on her bed, Taeyong eyed his dorm mate closely. He watched as Doyoung reached out to a small white container, one he wasn’t familiar with.

Suddenly Doyoung let out a chuckle. Not a friendly-sounding one though. Not friendly at all. “What’s this?!” He suddenly yelled which startled not only Taeyong but also the two sleeping friends. Xiaojun jumped up from beside JiHo as he saw the two older members watching them.

“Doyoung hyung-” “Pills and alcohol?” He sighed in disbelief. JiHo was still laying down in bed, her eyes squinted as she tried not to strain them. “Lim JiHo? Please tell me you didn’t drink.” When JiHo only fell back down in her spot from her previous hoisted up position Doyoung already knew the answer.

He turned to Xiaojun, who was wide-eyed, seemingly terrified about the way he was woken up. “You know how dangerous this is?” Doyoung shook the pill bottle in front of the younger boy’s eyes. “Why didn’t you answer your damn phone?! If you found JiHo drinking and taking pills you should’ve taken her to the hospital!” “I told him I was fine.” The girl mumbled from where she had buried her face into her pillow. “Of course you would tell him that!”

“Or did you give these to her? JiHo normally doesn’t drink or take medication. So did you?” Xiaojun frantically shook his head. He’d never do such a thing and the fact his hyung thought he would, made him feel cornered, not being able to defend himself.

Doyoung’s chest heaved and so many thoughts crossed his mind. “Let’s calm down for a bit okay?” Taeyong carefully took a step closer to the two boys and placed a hand on Doyoung’s shoulder. “Calm down? This kid didn’t do anything after knowing JiHo mixed alcohol and pills and afterwards climbed into bed with her!” “That’s enough!” Johnny yelled from the doorway. “I’m just stating the facts!” “GET OUT!” A higher-pitched yell resonated through the room, followed by a few painful coughs.

All eyes were on JiHo’s heaving figure, as the boys were afraid to say or do anything. Everyone but one. “JiHo-” “Doyoung can you shut up for one goddamn second?!” JiHo yelled, sounding so desperate. “I’m just trying to help.” “You’re not only worsening my headache, but you are also chewing out my friend who has been taking care of me while I was alone. Xiaojun did nothing wrong, so let him be.”

A few seconds of silence followed before Doyoung approached his younger friend. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, but he shouldn’t have let you sit here after taking those pills and drinking. You know how bad this could’ve ended-” “For God’s sake, oppa you don’t get it. You weren’t here, so you don’t know what happened.” She groaned in defeat. Doyoung’s stubbornness wasn’t helping her growing headache, the one she had been able to forget due to her hours of sleep.

“I don’t have to be here to know that mixing these is bad!” “Can you stop?” “Do you want to die?” “YES!” JiHo stood up from her position, staring directly into Doyoung’s eyes with watery eyes. Everyone in the room collectively gasped at the youngest’s answer. Haechan who had joined after hearing the commotion felt his eyes fill with tears as well.

JiHo gulped as she felt the crop in her throat forming and blocking her airways. The two best friends just stared into each other’s eyes not knowing what to say. Doyoung was still processing what had just been said and JiHo was going over all the ways to explain herself, but she couldn’t find the right words.

“Is that why you took these?” Taeyong reached out to grab the bottle from Doyoung’s grip. His question caused the girl to break eye contact with Doyoung and she immediately shook her head. “No. I never thought- That wasn’t my intention. I didn’t even know this was alcohol. I didn’t mean it.” Her voice trailed off.

“How could you say something like that?” Doyoung’s voice was dangerously low and it scared JiHo. “I didn’t mean to. I promise I didn’t.” Doyoung just shook his head in disbelief before facing Xiaojun. In just a split second he had grabbed onto the collar of Xiaojun’s shirt and pushed him against the wall.

“Why didn’t you do anything?!” Doyoung’s voice quivered, tears already threatening to fall. “Why didn’t you take her to a hospital?” Doyoung lifted his right hand, balled into a fist. At the sight, the two older members rushed towards him. Johnny and Taeyong pulled back the yelling man, preventing him from potentially hurting Xiaojun. “WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ANYONE?!” Doyoung had completely lost it. Tears streamed down his face as he felt the great amount of guilt take over him. If only he had been there with JiHo instead of Xiaojun, that’s what he thought.

All the members stood there wordlessly as Doyoung continued to sob. Haechan crying silently in the doorway and the other members being completely lost.

Not being able to take it anymore, knowing that her members were making assumptions in their heads about why she took those pills, JiHo decided to explain the whole situation. From why she took the pills and drank the alcoholic beverage, to how Xiaojun had ended up sleeping next to her and why he hadn’t messaged anyone.

“The alcohol helped my anxiety and the pills helped my headache for a split second before it came back worse. I didn’t take many, I’m fine.” “How can tell us you’re fine when you’re suffering like this. Alone.” Doyoung stood up from where he fell to his knees earlier. The sobbing had stopped, but he was still very emotional. “Because I didn’t want to worry you guys, I’m already being a big inconvenience.” The girl explained sadly.

“You’re not an inconvenience to us JiHo.” Johnny said. JiHo just sighed, thinking of how the boys weren’t allowed to talk to her publicly, how they had to be careful around her afraid to ask something she couldn’t talk about, how they always worried about her even if she told them they shouldn’t. No matter what the boys said, JiHo felt like such a burden these past weeks.

JiHo fell back down into her bed and pulled her knees to her chest. “I didn’t mean it when I said I wanted to die. That wasn’t why I took the pills. I haven’t slept in days because of these headaches and I was desperate to get some sleep. I didn’t even know that juice was alcoholic, but it helped me calm down. It was the first time in days I started to feel a bit more relaxed. It’s not that I want to die. It’s just that, some days, I rather feel nothing than feel the shitty way I’m feeling almost daily.”

Haechan who had been standing in the same spot this entire time walked up to JiHo and sat down next to her, pulling her into his side. “You should’ve just told us.” He watched as his tears fell onto JiHo’s shoulder and got absorbed by her grey tee.

“We can’t help you if you don’t talk to us.” Taeyong had grabbed her hand and let his thumb draw random patterns on the back of her hand. JiHo nodded, wordlessly telling him she understood.

Doyoung cleared his throat causing everyone to look at him. “I’m sorry Xiaojun. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You were only taking care of JiHo.” “Hyung, it’s okay.” Xiaojun directly said, but Doyoung shook his head. “No, it’s not okay. I acted and said things before I thought and I didn’t even hear you guys out. I’m also sorry towards you JiHo.” JiHo just nodded in acceptance of the apology.

He then settled down on the bed next to JiHo. “Please stop keeping things like this to yourself. I know you might not like talking to us about it and I know with the way I acted right now, that you might never want to talk to me about these kinds of things first. But if you’re ever suffering like this, you can talk to any one of the boys okay? So if you don’t want to talk to me.” Doyoung turned to face Xiaojun. “ I completely trust Xiaojun to listen to you and be able to take care of you.” Xiaojun nodded firmly which caused JiHo to smile.

As JiHo felt the love of her members intensify, she let herself melt into Haechan’s embrace, feeling her headache subside until it was almost gone. Johnny pulled Xiaojun in a side hug to comfort him after all the commotion that went on. Suddenly JiHo noticed something in the doorway. A head of hair seemingly floating from one side of the door. “Mark?”

At the mention of his name Mark popped his head from behind the wall, the boy wide-eyed. “What are you?” “Haechan messaged us saying Doyoung and Xiaojun were fighting.” Yuta explained as he unexpectedly walked into the room. Doyoung and Taeyong both glared at Haechan, disappointed that he felt the need to make the other members worry. “I’m sorry, I panicked.” The boy pouted which caused the older two to soften.

After Yuta had walked in, Mark, Jungwoo, Taeil and Jaehyun followed. “How long have you guys been out there?” JiHo asked worried, hoping they hadn’t picked up on everything that happened. “A few minutes.” Jungwoo smiled sadly and the girl sighed. “Listen, Doyoung is right. You have 23 guys ready to hear you out. Don’t be afraid to talk to us.” Taeil sat down on the bed. JiHo nodded and looked around the room meeting all the boys’ eyes and seeing the amount of love and care in them. “Thank you guys.”

“Group hug!” Haechan yelled to which both Yuta and Jungwoo repeated the words and suddenly JiHo was suffocating because of the 10 guys who had thrown themselves on top of her. Luckily her bed was just a thick mattress on the floor or otherwise it had broken for sure.

And even though she could barely breathe beneath the pressure of 10 bodies on top of her, she basked in the love she was receiving and felt all her stress and anxiety leave her body for once. For once she knew for certain that she was going to have fewer sleepless nights ahead of her.

---

Side note: I hyped myself up this morning to write a good part 2 only for it to end up like this? jk, I love the story and the little fluff at the end, I just imagined it to pan out way differently (more angsty). It’s definitely not the most exciting thing to read but if you’ve made it this far, first of all thank you <3 and secondly I think this just gives closure to part 1.

Thx to anon for suggesting this though and if there is anything that has been mentioned before that you want to get some extra information on or just things/scenarios you want to read, let me know! My inbox is open so feel free to send me anything <3

#jiho.writings #nct 24th member #nct addition #nct angst #wayv angst #nct scenarios #nct imagines #wayv imagines #nct doyoung imagines #nct doyoung angst #doyoung angst #xiaojun imagines #xiaojun angst #nct fluff #nct female member #nct extra member #nct additional member #kpop!addition #kpop!oc

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capaimagines · 3 years

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choi soobin - misfortune pt.2

Pairing: Choi Soobin x Reader | Genre: angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, best friend to lovers | Warnings: hints at sexual assault, alcohol consumption, reader is a bit of a bitch at times, swearing, mentions of suicide attempt, themes of depression, mental health struggles | WC: 3.4k

part one, part two, part three

Five years later

Not going to lie, it had taken you some time to recover from everything that had happened to you. For the first year after Soobin’s departure, you had so much self-hate, self-loathing and guilt that built up inside of you. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave the house or let anyone in. You couldn’t bring yourself to talk about it with anyone.

You hauled yourself away in your room. You scrubbed yourself in the shower every night, most times until your skin was red, raw and bleeding. You felt sick physically and eating had become a hard task to take on everyday and one night, you had felt the lowest you had ever felt since the incident, well in your life.

Your best friend was gone, living his dream. You had wanted to reach out, to talk to him, to apologize for how terrible of a friend you had been before he left. For not seeing him off and not giving him any explanation as to what had happened to change your personality. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to reach out. You owed him that, but you couldn’t do it, you truly felt like he was better off without you.

Like everyone was.

So that night, you locked yourself in the bathroom and swallowed the bottle of pills and waited till sleep seemed inviting, waiting for it all to end. However, your mother had found you and rushed you to the hospital. They had saved you physically, but mentally you were still gone. You had spent another year in and out of different programs aimed to help you get through the trauma that had happened.

Little by little, you found yourself opening up more and more. Once you started it was like you couldn’t stop. You had found a home in a group of people that had experienced similar trauma, people that could relate to everything you were feeling. People that once felt as hopeless and as much hatred that you did. Little by little, you slowly found yourself healing.

It began with you being able to leave the house more. Even picking up a job to help you save up money and go to school like you wanted too before everything. You found yourself studying harder to get your GED and you found yourself realizing that this event didn’t have to alter your life forever. It happened and it was now a part of you that you had to grow from and move forward. You realized that. But it didn’t have to change everything you had once hoped and dreamed for.

A year after that, you found yourself moving out of your childhood home with your mom to a town in Seoul, alone, to attend a small university there. You were cautious and still had trouble trusting others, but you made more of an effort to be social. Thankfully, that had gotten a great group of friends on your small campus. Now you even shared a dorm with one of them: Jisoo.

While you would go out with your friends and enjoy yourself, you still preferred to be at home where it was safe and no one could harm you. You still thought about Soobin every now and then and the guilt was still there. You honestly had resigned to the fact that you would never see nor talk to him again. Every night before you would sleep you would pray the brown-eyed boy from your childhood and teenage years was doing okay and living the life he always wanted.

“Oh, Y/N!” Jisoo sing-songed as you came home from your part-time job. You groaned, knowing that her tone of voice meant she wanted you to go somewhere with her. It was the tone of voice she used when she would ask you to come to the club with the rest of your friends.

“No,” Was all you said as you made your way to the kitchen.

She pouted, following behind you, “But I didn’t even ask anything yet!”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “But you were going to and I don’t want to go.”

She huffed, glaring at you as you just smiled at her, “It’s just a concert, Y/N.”

Faintly, in the back of your mind, you thought of Soobin. If you were still friends now, would you have been able to see his concerts? You knew he debuted. It was all over the internet how BigHit, the home of BTS, was debuting a new boy group and you followed as they announced the members.

It was bittersweet when Soobin was announced as one of the debuting members. You were so happy for him because you knew that it was what he wanted. Yet, you were still upset and guilty because you should have been able to celebrate that with him. To call him and tell him how proud you were and listen to him gush about how excited and nervous he was, but you weren’t able to do that.

To spare yourself the overwhelming guilt, you stopped following the group. You hadn’t heard a single one of their songs, you avoided any articles about them, even going as far as to block their social media and YouTube channel. It was so long ago that you didn’t remember the name of the group. You had just pushed it all to the back of your mind and locked it away.

“What concert?” You sighed and Jisoo squealed in excitement.

“Tomorrow By Together! They’re an idol group that’s been gaining popularity! And they’re all just so cute. They’re close to our age too!” You rolled your eyes at her.

Jisoo was a wonderful friend and an amazing human, but she was what one would call a fangirl. Rationally, Jisoo knew she probably would never meet any of them and have a love story, but she liked to pretend.

“Fine, fine. When is it?” You sighed as Jisoo jumped up and down in excitement.

“You’ll really come?! Because we actually do get to meet them! I paid extra for the tickets for a HiTouch!” You pinched the bridge of your nose. She knew you didn’t like meeting strangers, let alone celebrities.

“Do I have to do that part? Can’t I just wait for you inside?” You questioned anxiously.

Your friend pouted, wrapping herself around your arm and staring up at you, “But I paid so much for these tickets. It’d be a shame for me to meet them alone and waste all that other money. It can’t be refunded,” You groaned at the girl, reluctantly agreeing to experience it all with her. It was just a hi-five, how bad could it really be?

A few days later you stood in line with an overly-excited Jisoo as you waited to meet the idols. You hadn’t really been paying attention as you two got closer to approaching them. Too focused on keeping Jisoo from absolutely losing her mind and all the people around you. When it was finally your turn, you followed behind her, putting on your best smile and making your way down the line.

You froze at the last member. His hair might be pink now, but you knew those eyes anywhere. You knew that face and that smile. You knew that voice. He seemed to notice too because he looked absolutely shocked when his eyes landed on you. The guard had pushed you along, urging you to hurry up as you gave him a hi-five.

The rest of the concert was a blur. You honestly couldn’t remember much of it. Jisoo probably broke your eardrum because of how loud she was screaming, you remember that much. But you had tunnel vision. Your only focus was Soobin. He had really made it; he had really accomplished his goal. His voice had matured and him singing was hypnotizing to you. Seeing him, in the flesh and bone, had also brought back up the large feelings of guilt.

“That was so fun! Soobin seemed to really like you. Did you see him stare at you when we were at the line?!” Jisoo said and you only chuckled nervously. She didn’t know that you two had once been friends. Once shared kisses and held hands and had sleepovers as well as shared snacks.

“I-I’m sure it was nothing. I’m so short that it probably shocked him,” It was the best excuse you could think of as you two walked back towards your shared home. He did seem to have gotten even taller.

Back at the arena, Soobin was still in shock and disbelief, “What is wrong with you tonight?” Yeonjun said as he snapped his fingers in front of Soobin’s face.

Soobin blinked twice before glaring up at him, “It’s nothing,” He muttered and Beomgyu chuckled, wiggling his phone in the air.

“Hyung saw a pretty girl earlier! That’s what it is, I bet. It’s trending all over Twitter.”

Soobin jumped up and snatched Beomgyu’s phone before he could even breathe, “Yah!” Soobin only told him to shut up, scrolling through the Twitter feed. Indeed, there were pictures of you two, frozen at the point you had met eyes. Though it wasn’t love that all fans were claiming it to be. Well, Soobin didn’t think it was for you. He still loved you.

There were numerous times over the year where he wanted to reach out to you. To call you or message you. To make sure you were okay. To tell he missed you and apologize for not being able to be there to help you with whatever was going on. Was he a little hurt that you hadn’t come sprinting into the train station the day he left? Yeah, he was. You hadn’t even said goodbye. But if what he thought was true was true, then he could understand.

But then a schedule or four would pop up or they’d start preparing a new album or have to be on a variety show and he would forget or not have the time. He, too, had resigned to the fact that he was probably never going to see you again and that he would be too chicken to actually reach out to you. As he stared at the photo taken by the fan,, he made up his mind. He was going to at least message you tonight. He had too, he needed the closure. Or maybe it would be an opening to start over again.

When they returned back to the dorm that night, Soobin sent the message. He felt stupid afterwards. You probably didn’t even have the same number anymore. Checking his phone every five minutes to see if you—or whoever the number belonged to now—had responded. But there was nothing. Not even a notification had been read. He groaned again, feeling even more stupid for getting his hopes up. Why would you want to talk to him? Sleep did not come easy that night.

Back at your apartment, Jisoo had finally crashed from her concert high and was now sleeping soundly in her bedroom. You had showered to get the sweat off of you and clear your head. You laid in your bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling the guilt build up. You should have something, you should have just smiled at him. But you were in such shock that you hadn’t managed to do anything but lightly brush his hand as you scurried away.

You rubbed your hands over your face and sighed. At least he seemed happy, truly. You were sure you would still be able to tell if the smile he wore wasn’t genuine. You had known him since preschool after all. You turned over, hoping that sleep would soon come and pull into a comfortable slumber. Your phone lit up in your dark room, meaning you had a notification of some sort.

You picked it up off the bedside table without a thought, mouth dropping open at the name on your screen and the short message under it. You were surprised he still had your number, but you were more surprised that he actually wanted to talk to you. The three words hurt your heart in a good and bad way.

[ 12:07 am ] I’ve missed you

It took you two days to respond. And when you did, you two had agreed to meet up at a small café that not many people knew about two weeks later. So, two weeks later, here you were, checking yourself over in your mirror. You were nervous for many reasons. One being he was an idol with immense popularity. The idea of him getting caught hanging out alone with a female could ruin a lot of things for him and you.

Two, you weren’t sure what to say. You hadn’t seen him in years or spoken to him. You honestly still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he actually wanted to meet up with you. That he actually wanted to talk to you. Thirdly, you weren’t sure how to act. Did you hug him when you saw him? Did you just shake his hand? You shook your head, deciding you looked good enough and went to leave.

You were grateful Jisoo was working the morning shift today because you didn’t want to explain why you were dressed up more than normal. Or why you were so anxious. Your anxiety only increased once you neared the café. Once it was in sight, you truly thought about just turning and running back to the safety of your apartment. You weren’t sure you could do this.

You sucked it up. Whether you could do it or not didn’t matter. Soobin at least deserved an explanation and that’s what you were going to give him. The dinging of the small bell on the door when you opened it made you jump a little and you internally chastised yourself. You closed your eyes for a moment and took in a few deep breaths, just like you had practiced before in therapy when your anxiety would get bad.

Opening your eyes it wasn’t hard to spot Soobin in the back corner of the small café. While he had tried to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible, he stood out painfully. One, he was a giant and he only seemed to have grown taller since the last time you saw him. Two, he was wearing all black, with a bucket hat that was way too big for his head and covering his eyes. The black mask covering the bottom half of his face only made him look like he was about to rob the place. That brought a smile to your face.

You hesitantly made your way over to the back table and cleared your throat. He jumped, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Y-you really came,” He breathed out and you chuckled a little, feeling awkward.

“Did you not think I would?” He only shrugged and nodded to the empty seat across from him. You slid in and stared down at the table. There was a painfully awkward silence for at least five minutes before he cleared his throat to speak.

“I meant it when I said I’ve missed you,” You finally met his gaze and felt all the guilt you had been pushing down rear up in full force.

“I missed you too, Soo, more than you can imagine,” You said quietly, “But I also owe you an explanation.”

He shook his head almost immediately, “You don’t owe me anything. I mean, I’d like to know and I sort of already have an idea, but you don’t have to tell me. I don’t need to know everything.”

You felt more guilt well up inside of you as he used the same words you had used all those years ago, “I know I don’t have too, but you deserve to know and because I treated you so terribly. I didn’t even give you a proper send off,” He smiled sadly at you and just nodded his head. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. It was now or never.

You proceeded to tell him everything from that night at the party. What happened with your ex, why you were so irritated and angry and hurt, especially that night. Why you acted like a complete bitch for the remaining weeks you two had together. How you absolutely broke down and lost it after you had finally brought yourself to read the letter he had dropped off to your mom. How broken and guilty you felt when you pulled your butterfly clip out from the envelope.

You told him about your suicide attempt and you saw the way he tensed up, but he kept his lips closed and let you continue on. He heard all about how you were in and out of therapy and different treatment centers for a few years before you had finally found the right one. How the healing process was tough and long and still ongoing, but that you were in a much better place mentally now than you were.

You told him how you had thought about contacting him a million times. How you would type out a message then delete it. How you would hover your finger over his contact but could never bring yourself to actually push the call button. How you had seen when he was announced as a member of the new debuting group and how proud you felt but also how guilty and sad you felt that you couldn’t celebrate that with him.

“I-I know it doesn’t make up for anything,” You said shakily, raising your hand to brush your fingers through your hair, “But you deserved to know why I just turned into an absolute ass. And I don’t even know how to begin to say I’m sorry. But I am so sorry. So truly, utterly sorry. You didn’t deserve that. You were my best friend.”

He stared at you for a few moments, noticing the light bounce off something on your head. He smiled a little, you were wearing the butterfly clip. He reached over, gently taking it out of your hair and running his fingers over it. You stared at him, feeling embarrassed that you had decided to wear it today. But when he had first messaged you, you had dug it out of the box hidden way under your bed.

“I’m sorry you were going through all that and I wasn’t there with you. That I couldn’t drop my pride down for just a second to see how badly you were hurting. But I am so proud of you, Y/N,” He said, his brown eyes boring into yours. You felt your cheeks heat up a little and your eyes well up with tears.

“I would like to be friends again. Maybe even best friends again one day, but I still want to be in your life. If you’ll have me.”

You let a single tear drop and he chuckled, handing you a napkin, “You were always a crybaby,” He teased and you rolled your eyes, dabbing your cheek.

“I think that was you because I rarely cried,” He teased back as he threw his head back in laughter.

“Not quite how I remember it, but we can agree to disagree,” You smiled at him, feeling relief that he still wanted to talk to you. That he even still wanted to be friends.

“I’m truly sorry, Soobin,” You said again and he sighed, placing his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. He flipped your butterfly clip around in his fingers.

“I guess I’ll just have to hang on to this,” You raised a brow and he slipped the clip into his coat pocket, “When you get it back it means your apology has been fully accepted,” He was only teasing and you knew that, but you were more than happy for that to be the case.

“Deal.”

Back at home in your bed, you couldn’t keep the subtle smile off your face. It was going to take time to get back to where you two were, but you felt hopeful. You were so grateful for the chance meeting, for fate bringing you two together again. Your phone vibrated beside you and you smiled widely at Soobin’s name popping up on your screen.

[ 14: 37 pm ] I really did miss you.

You quickly responded back, fingers flying across the screen.

[ 14:38 pm ] Well you have me back now, and I’m not going anywhere.

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sixofpomegranates · 3 years

Text

Rain in California - Act 1 - Fame

🥀Mini Series “Rain in California” Act 1 - Part 3 - Fame🥀

✨My Main Masterlist✨ | 18+ | AO3 | Wattpad

🥀Soundtrack🥀 | ✨Aestethic Trailer✨ | 🥀Masterlist🥀 | Words: 6.4k

🥀click here for the previous chapter🥀

TW: ANGST (LIKE REALLY), mention of loss/death/addiction/sobriety/murder/abortion/miscarriage, suicidal thoughts/tendencies, depression, addiction, substance abuse, drugs, alcohol, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, mentions of OD, PTSD, Self-Harm/Cutting, religious trauma, past physical/psychological abuse on child/teen, abusive parents, teen pregnancy, murder, injustice, withdrawal symptoms,

Songs in this Chapter:

Heartbeat - Don Johnson

Seven hours and a Gastric Suction later, [y/n] felt like hell.

Her throat hurt and the medication they´d given her didn’t work. Now she laid in her hospital room, in her uncomfortable bed and was mostly angry at herself. [y/n] didn’t know why she had acted so stupid…well, probably because she had been high as hell. Not feeling able to control herself, when taken more than usual.

She didn’t want to be so erratic, but when she was high, it just all seemed so easy. Saying the things she thought, doing things she normally would never even dare thinking of, not being hurt by others...On drugs she felt free. Herself.

Although she didn’t even know who she was anymore.

When Spencer was holding her in the bathroom?

That was the first time somebody had said something to her about her addictions, except for ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’, ’It´s not that bad.’, ‘We´re here once you´re ready.’ and ’She´s just having a rough time.’.

It was the first time somebody really seemed to see through her and literally forced her to look at herself in the mirror. To care for her enough to show her tough love. Leroy, Hank and Tom had tried it, but given up on her, sure they supported and cared for her still, but for them she was already too far gone. And they were probably right about it.

But the dog? He still had wanted to help her, even after she tried being her ugliest.

She had gone too far, still remembering his face, the terror in it, when she cut her wrist, when she had taken all her pills at once. [y/n] had wanted to hurt him like that, her mind, her stupid junkie mind, had her convinced, that doing it would be a great way to get back at him.

Because she felt hurt, being rejected by him.

Most likely she had scarred him for life. And now he hadn’t come in, since she was allowed to have visitors, and probably would never come back.

She has successfully driven away the only one that had still cared enough.

Now, mostly sober, she felt like a monster, aware that she was a wreck beyond repair.

Of course she had, in the beginning, thought about stopping. But the drugs were the smaller evil to her, since they calmed her mind and made her forget the pain. She would stay alone forever, unworthy other people´s love, her mind should at least be allowed to be numb.

*****

“I came as fast as I could. What happened?”, Philip handed Spencer a duffle bag, filled with [y/n]´s clothing. He had asked him to bring it, since Spencer didn’t know how long she would stay.

“They pumped her stomach and had to stitch the wound on her wrist.”, he stated, making the short manager´s eyes go wide.

“Are you insane? What if they hurt her vocal cords?”, the tall one tried to remain calm, but had to really force himself to not hit Philip.

Why was that a priority?

“I didn’t wanna let her die. She could´ve OD´d. What would you have done?”, Spencer asked slightly aggravated.

“Carry her to the bathroom and force her to throw up, until nothing´s in her stomach anymore. Then I usually take her to bed and give her water every hour and feed her soup until she´s better.”, the manager explained and Spencer felt like that had to be a joke.

“That has happened before?”, he asked baffled and Philip nodded. “Yeah, a couple of times, but she always either took something or cut herself. Never both at the same time. Where you two fighting again?”, he asked reproachful and Spencer felt the guilt sink into his heart. “See, agent Prentiss? This is why I said, [y/n] didn’t need a bodyguard.”

“I´m sorry, but I don’t think that this is the result of having a bodyguard. It´s much more one to them not getting along and [y/n] being highly addicted to a couple of substances.”, Emily stepped in for Spencer.

The manager just ignored the her obvious insinuation of the rockstars declining mental help, before going into [y/n]´s room. The agents then just looked at each other before going in too.

*****

This was the first time Spencer saw [y/n], since they got here. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to be alone with her before. She was laying in her bed, bandage on her left wrist, looking directly at him when he came in. They had taken of her make-up, making Spencer realize, that she was prettier without it. Her jet black, dark hair in a ponytail. To him she looked calmer and softer like this. The real girl behind the façade. Philip was already all over her.

“[y/n], you look awful.”, he said, shaking up the pillow as she got up a little, to sit.

“Feel like it too.”, her voice sounded a little raspy.

“Poor girl. How is your voice? Do you need anything?” “Fine. My throat´s just a little sore. Can you check me out of here? The faster, the better. That way I can go home without the media knowing.”, Spencer and Emily shared a look.

“The paparazzies showed up an hour ago.”, Emily stated, making [y/n] nod.

She leaned further back in her pillow and looked at Spencer, like she wanted to say something.

“C-Can you still check me out, Philly?”, Philip nodded.

“Of course. I´ll be back asap and then we´ll take you home so you can pack.”, he walked outside and [y/n] looked at Emily.

“Can – I don’t know – you maybe go with him?”, she asked her friendly.

The dark haired woman shared a look with Spencer, who nodded at her. Signaling, that he was okay being alone with the singer again. Emily then nodded and walked after Philip, closing the door on her way out. For a second Spencer thought about leaving the room too. To, no longer, have this black-haired demon take hits against his sanity, but then her voice cut into the silence of the room.

“I´m sorry.”, she said and Spencer wondered, if she was being honest.

“For almost killing yourself?”, he asked her sarcastically and she shook her head.

“For how I treated you.”

“I´ve been through worse. You´d need to be trying way harder, if you want me to break.”, he answered her cold and she began looking at her hands.

“I´m sorry, I tried pressuring you, to take drugs.”, Spencer shrugged at that. “You were high. If I didn’t relapse after the love of my life was killed or when I was put wrongfully into prison, I won´t relapse because a pretty girl is offering me drugs.” “Doesn’t make it better or okay. I saw the token in your room, when I was looking for my pills. I knew and still did it. You must really hate me.”, [y/n]´s voice sounded like she was about to cry.

“I don’t hate you.”, he said gently, sitting down on her bed. [y/n] let out a self-degrading laugh and looked at him, tears filling her eyes. “No, it´s okay. I deserve it.”, she looked over to her IV drip bag, filled with clear liquid, and hit it slightly. “That stuff makes me sentimental.”, she tried saying jokingly, but sounded just sad.

Spencer looked at her for a while, thinking about what he could say. He hadn’t thought she would apologize for how she acted and he had meant what he had told her. He didn’t hate her. Yes, she was emotionally draining to be around, it wasn’t all bad though.

Spencer remembered Philip and how he had talked about the two sides of people.

“That´s no medication, [y/n].”, she looked at him confused. “You lost a lot of water so…Yeah. What you´re feeling is the drugs wearing off.”, he cooed, holding himself back with the rambling. “Nice. That´s what every junkie loves to hear.”, both chuckled a little. “Hey, I give you ten thousand dollar, if you get me some pills, my head hurts like hell.”, she said it in a joking manner, making Spencer chuckle and shake his head.

“No chance. I´m not bribable.”

“Makes you one of few in Hollywood.”, the sound of rain made [y/n] look to the window. “Can you open it?”, he nodded and got up. “Thanks. I love the sound of rain. People always portrait it to be so sad when it rains, but I think it´s nice…cleansing.”

He opened the window and sat next to her bed on the chair. They listened to the sound of raindrops hitting the streets for a while, when he decided to take the shot and ask [y/n], what had been on his mind for the last hours.

“Why are you doing it?”, she looked at Spencer, making a questioning noise. “Cutting yourself, taking drugs.”

“The pain makes you feel alive and the drugs help you hide the side effects of being it.”, Spencer chuckled a little.

“So melodramatic.”

High, she would have probably devoured him, but now she only smirked and rolled her eyes. By now a certain realness tried finding its way in both their voices.

“What was your reason for taking them then?”, she asked, leaning in his direction.

Spencer thought a second, honesty was earned and he wanted her to be honest with him. So he gave her a trust bonus, reviling a bit of his darkness.

“I wasn’t giving the chance of choosing to take them. I was kidnapped and my tormentor, at least one of his personalities, thought he would help me handling the pain.”

He could´ve sworn to see empathy in her eyes, but instead of showing it or whispering words of condolences, like so many others would do in this situation, she just smiled.

“And there I was, thinking you´re just a hypocrite.”, he shrugged. “Well…I am one.” “How?”, [y/n] asked, a little frown appearing on her forehead. “Because you were right. I think you are attractive and maybe my motive wasn’t all just about protecting you at the concert.”, he could feel himself blush.

“I´m sorry for acting out, after…you know.”

“It´s okay. Would you feel better, knowing that I really hated making the decision, to not sleep with you?”, she nodded.

“A little.” “Good. Cause it was. But it was the right thing to do.”, she smiled a little and began focusing on her hands again.

“You see, I get it now and I´m glad, at least one of us, has made a right decision tonight but…I don’t know how I´ll be to you, when I´m high again.”, her concerned voice made him take her hand. Being afraid of your own mind, no longer being able to control it, was something he was very familiar with. “Then don’t be. We could get you into rehab.”

[y/n] chuckled and took his hand with both of hers, caressing it with her thumbs. She seemed to be thinking. Making Spencer believe she may be taking his offer. But the longer she thought, the more obvious it became, that she was losing to something dark inside her head.

“Would be a waste of time.”, she whispered, her playfulness gone, as if reality just slapped her into the face.

“But if you continue like this, you´ll be dead soon.”, [y/n] gave him a gentle smile.

“You always say that, like I don’t plan on dying with twenty-seven.”

For a second he tried reading her, hoping she was joking, having made those suicidal jokes a little to often in the last days. When he didn’t like the answer, he prepared himself to hear it from her.

“Do you?”, she nodded. “I´m going to join ‘Club 27’ and then drift into oblivion. My songs and everything I did, only becoming an relic from the past.”

The way she said it, made it sound like she had already made peace with that decision. It frightened Spencer, making him think of how to make her re-think it.

“What about your friends?”

“There´s only the band…and I started pushing them away from me, a long time ago. I saw how it will end for me and decided not to have it hurt them, like it hurt me, when I found my mom.”, he shook his head. He refused to accept this as an answer.

“And what about yourself? You can’t just feel like dying is the only option.” “It´s not. But it´s the most relieving one.”

The calmness in her voice and body language showed him so much. What had driven her into that state? A state were death was seen as a relieve, because everything else hurt too much. Depression. She showed signs of it. Many people with addicted use it to cope with their mental problems. What had happened to her? His mind traveled back to the day before, to the only moments when she had let her façade slip.

To the silver bullet that would kill her.

“What happened to your baby?”, he asked her stern and she looked at him defeated.

“Oh, I see…I´ve been profiled. What do you think happened?”

“You lost it.”, she nodded, but he continued, carefully watching her body language. He wanted answers, but would stop when she would get too uncomfortable. “Probably because of your abusive father.”, she nodded again, seeming a little numb to his words. “Was he religious?”, the black-haired girl chuckled and answered him a little sarcastic.

“Depends on how religious you´d call a reverend. Why?”

“Religious trauma or trying to shock people. Your music, I mean.”

For a second [y/n] let go of his hand, making him rest in her lap. Spencer refused to pull it away, if she would start talking, he wanted her to know that he was still there. He had, by now, enough pieces of the puzzle, showing him a dark picture of her past. A reason, why she tried to be high so often.

Reality was a sharp knife and its cuts couldn’t hurt so bad, when you numb yourself.

“My father was always hitting my mom, but when she then took off, there was only me and him. He forced me into the mold of the perfect, religious daughter and when I wasn’t as obedient as he would´ve liked, he´d make me read the bible for hours and beat me senseless.”, she started gesturing to her stomach and chest area. “Of course only hitting me in places, nobody would see the bruises. When I was fifteen, I got caught trying to smoke for the first time, by a teacher. As they notified my father, he locked me into the dark broom closet for a week. Out of spite, I then started smoking regularly and met a boy through it, Daniel.”

Spencer watched [y/n]´s face light up for a second. She looked like JJ or Rossi, when they were talking about Will and Krystall. Like he probably did, when he was thinking about Maeve.

“He went to the same school as I and his abusive parents were addicts, like my mom had been. We kinda bonded over that and would sneak out at night, spending hours together, talking about the stupidest things. Thinking we were so deep and intellectual. He, at one point, started stealing his parents weed, so we could get high together. Made getting beaten easier. The time with Daniel was the first and last time I ever felt those butterflies. You know? This childish feeling of love?”

She smiled at him as he nodded, remembering those butterflies too, but then the smile darkened and she took Spencer’s hand again. As if to try and hold onto him, shielding herself from the dark memories creeping up.

“I got pregnant with sixteen. A shame. I managed to hide it for a few weeks and Daniel and I came up with the childish idea of running away together. We thought, we could just get jobs somewhere else, buy a home and become a family…Like foolish kids.”, her self-degrading laugh broke Spencer’s heart, as she tried swallowing her tears.

“And it didn’t work.”, he whispered and she only laughed, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Of course it didn’t. A woman from church had overheard us talking and the rumor of me being pregnant was already out there, since I threw up so often at school. So she thought she would help me, if she told my father.”, Spencer squeezed her hand a little. “You wanna know what he did?”, he shook his head.

“What?”

“He waited for us to meet at night. As I crawled out of the window, he stormed outside with his shotgun and confronted us. After I admitted to being pregnant he hit me, making Daniel step between us and start fighting with my dad to protect me and the baby…and my dad- he-…he then just shot him. In-…In cold blood, just pulled the fucking trigger.”, [y/n] voice was filled with disbelieve. Like she still wasn’t able to believe what she had seen.

“My father then grabbed me by the hair and tried getting me to go back into the house. I, obviously shocked about him just shooting my boyfriend, refused to and so he started beating and kicking me, till I stopped fighting back…Needless to say, I lost the baby after that.”

As a few tear ran down her face, she let go of Spencer´s hand and wiped them away. Letting a cynical laugh follow.

“That’s not even the best part of the story. Nothing happened.”, Spencer looked at her frowning.

“What do you mean with ‘Noting happened’. He shoot a teenager. Weren’t there any repercussions?”, she shook her head.

“No. Because he told the police, that he came outside to me screaming, because Daniel was beating me. Angry at me, for being pregnant. He stated that he just did what he had to do, to protect me.”, he shook his head in disbelieve.

“Weren’t you questioned? Didn’t you tell them what really happened?”

“I would try telling, but nobody believed it. Because the reverend, a pillar of our community, would never do such thing. They thought I was just lashing out and framing my father, because I was high and angry at him for shooting my boyfriend...Daniel´s parents didn’t even care, too high to get what had happened. After that, I wasn’t allowed to go to school anymore, in fact, I wasn’t allowed to do anything anymore. My father taught me at home and every Sunday I was allowed to go to church and pray to have my sins being forgiven.”

Spencer nodded at the amount of information she had just given him.

He felt bad for her, started to understand her, started to hate her father and the cruel injustice she, Daniel and the baby had suffered.

Why had they only once, tried to get her into therapy?

The amount of suffered trauma had to end in a situation like this, left untreated.

It was eating her alive, suffocating her, and everybody who saw it, just slapped the ‘She´s gonna be okay’-Band-Aid on this gashing wound, moving on with their own life´s, while she was losing the battle inside her head. He got up and sat on the bed next to her, she scooted a little, giving him some room to lean back too. As he lifted an arm, [y/n] rested her head on his chest.

“Then how did you get…viral…?”, he looked at him and the confused spoken word, smiling.

“You know about that?”

“Luke.”, he answered and she nodded. “I wasn’t allowed to have a phone, but I was allowed to use our computer once a week for an hour. I would record myself singing and playing guitar on our shitty webcam and started uploading it, not thinking anybody would ever see it. With eighteen I got in contact with this guy, he said he was in the midst of establishing his own record label and he would love to pay my flight to LA, taking me under contract. I accepted and just ran as fast as I could, before my father could get me.”

[y/n] again laughed cynical. Seemingly a coping mechanism of hers, to play down the pain and severity of things and situations.

“When I arrived, he then offered me to stay with him, if I´d be…you know…nice to him. He earned a shit ton of money with my music, while I got nothing…But everything was better than going back home again.”, she sat up a little, so she could look at Spencer, again with that sparkle in her eyes.

“At one point, when I didn’t want to have sex with him anymore, I had to work at a pizza restaurant to afford rent. There I met Leroy, Tom and Hank at the Open-Mic-Night. I told them a little about what was going on and Hank sued that guys ass. He didn’t want anything in return…just happy to help me. If you think Hank is scary now, you would have shit yourself, seeing him in court!”

Both chuckled. Spencer could, thankfully, only imagine how terrifying the fifty year old biker could get.

“After winning the case I asked them if they were interested in becoming a band and we made some demo tracks with the money I had gotten. The label took us under contract and introduced us to Philip, who became our manager.”

“But you weren’t into anything but marijuana. How did we end up here?”, she sighed.

“The label has a lot of expectations surrounding me. One of them was for me, to go out and be publicly seen with their other artists, for the image. They were taking a lot of stuff and I always said no, sticking to weed. But somewhere along the line, I wanted to know how it felt. If my mom was right, for choosing it above me. And I think I get it now. Everything I told you before? My dad, my baby, Daniel? They´re gone. I´m able to standup for myself and not letting me being pushed into something I don’t want, like when that creep wanted me to whore myself out to him, just so I´d have a roof over my head. Life is just easier that way and thankfully shorter too.”, Spencer pulled her closer.

“I like you like that.”, he almost whispered. “Depressed?”, [y/n] snickered and he chuckled, shaking his head. “Real.”

“Only fair. I´ve been a real bitch to you, the whole time.”, he shook his head again. “Not that bad.”, she hit his chest gently, while giggling. “Oh, please. I can handle it. Come on.”, he sighed playfully, admitting the truth. “Okay, yeah. You´ve been a bitch.”

They laid there for a while, [y/n] seemingly thinking, before she talked again.

“You´re gonna pass on babysitting duty for me now, I guess?”, she asked hesitant, making him chuckle.

“Nope. I´m gonna stay.”, [y/n] sat up and looked at him, like he had completely lost his mind.

“Why in the world, are you doing that to yourself?”, Spencer shrugged. “Savior complex.” “I´m not worth it.”, he shrugged again. “I know. But the sober girl inside you is. You know? The one that knows my name, speaks French with me while playing Mozart and puts a blanket over me when I fall asleep while reading.”

Then she asked him something that hit too close to home. Revealing a reality he liked to ignore.

“You can’t save everybody. You´re aware of that, right?”, he nodded as she laid back into bed, her head resting against his chest again. “But I can try.”, Spencer whispered against her ear.

“Would you mind just watching TV with me? Withdrawal headache´s a bitch.”

Spencer grabbed the remote and turned the TV on. After many attempts of finding something interesting, [y/n] stopped him from switching the channels. They had come across an 80´s music special. Something with the name ‘Heartbeat’ by Don Johnson had just started playing. Although [y/n] didn’t move a lot, Spencer could tell she was excited. Moving her lips along the lyrics.

“I don't care what you say

You can give it away

Your money don't mean much to me.

I've been out on my own

Gonna got it alone now

'Cause that's the way it's got to be.

Ev'rybody tells me how I can beat the odds for now.

Well I've been standing by the fire

But I just can't feel the heat.”

“That’s a great song.”, Spencer shrugged, again not feeling too much connection to the music. But it did sound nice. At his shrugging she hit him a little and put on a badly played face of disbelieve and shock. “Show some respect for the classics!”, he laughed at her words. “Respect for the classics? You called Beethoven a deaf bitch.”, now [y/n] shrugged. “Touché.”, she giggled, laying her hand on her head as if to ease the pain.

“Looking at me

It's easy to see

You think you know just how I feel.

If you do to me wrong and it won't take me long

Before my restless heart will heal.

I'm looking for a love

Love like mine”

“That was good music back then.”, she whispered against his chest. “Heart break, real emotions…love that stuff.”

“Why don’t you play more of it then?”, Spencer asked, Luke in his mind telling him about their music just no longer trying to hit the feelings. [y/n] giggled a little. “I´m guessing…Luke told you?”, he nodded and she let out a sigh. “Remember when I told you about the label having expectations? Every song I make has to go through them first, before being released. At one point, I had nine songs, completely done and they only greenlit one of them. Told me the others ‘weren´t my style’, ‘not exactly my genre’ or ‘wouldn’t speak to my audience enough’. So I just stopped looking for the deeper emotions. Still love the music I make, but the feeling´s dead. My lyrics helped me coping at the beginning, but the restrictions the label set me, ended that.” “Why don’t you just write those songs again? It doesn’t matter if anybody hears them.”, he suggested to her chuckling in response.

“They tell me it's so hard to find

But I can feel it in the rhythm of the heartbeat in the street.

Heartbeat - I'm looking for a heartbeat”

“If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound, mon amour?”, Spencer looked at her for a second, flustered by the realness she let him see.

“Yes. For me it would.”, he told her, making her giggled. “I probably lost my ability for stronger emotions anyway. But thanks, Spencer.”

His heart skipped a beat as she said his name.

“Heartbeat - I'm looking for a heartbeat

Beating like mine.”

As the door opened Spencer quickly jumped up, Emily looking at him with a lifted eyebrow.

“Uhmm…Hello?”, she asked, more meant as a ‘What´s going on?’. Philip walked in right after her, not having seen the both of them more or less cuddling in the hospital bed.

“Oh no, it´s raining again.”, he sighed as he closed the window and stepped aside for the nurse, who took out the IV from [y/n]´s arm. “Okay. I got you released from hospital, [y/n]. I have the papers and ta-da.”, he handed her a white little paper bag. “Your pain medication and antibiotics for the arm.”

“Thanks.”, she answered and passed it over to Spencer. “Ca-Can you…so I take them correctly?”, he looked at her confused.

“You sure?”, she nodded and Spencer smiled at her. Baby steps. “Of course.”

“I thought Dr. Reid would stop his bodyguard duty, now that you´re going to stay with me?”, [y/n] shrugged.

“I- I don’t know.” “You know, I can protect you too.”, Philip insured her. “Yeah…but I would feel safer with my guard dog around.”, she looked at the tall man. “Only if you´d be okay with that, Spencer.”

“More than okay.”, Spencer smiled at her, making her smile back.

“O-Okay, that´s fine. That´s gonna be fine. Dr. Reid can sleep in my office. Now get dressed, so we can pack your stuff at home.”

Philip handed [y/n] her black duffle bag, Spencer had put on the floor next to her bed. She opened it and pulling out some jeans and a black sweater. When she tried to get up she was a shaky on her legs, but managed to go to the bathroom. Spencer stayed close to her, being able to catch her in case she´d fall. When she closed the door behind her, he looked at Philip and Emily.

“How many paparazzies are out there?”, he asked and Emily held her breath, shortly thinking.

“Too many. Just checked before coming in. You guys better think of a plan, if you don’t want [y/n] to be seen by them and become five o'clock news.”, both men nodded and then looked at each other.

“Okay…so, Philip? Where do you park?”, Spencer asked. “Outside, visitors.”, he nodded and looked to his friend.

“Me too. Emily, you?”

“Car park.”, she answered and Spencer handed her his key.

“Okay. We trade. I take [y/n] home in Emily´s SUV. Emily takes [y/n]´s car and you, Philip, you just drive to the mansion. Maybe we can make them think she´s still in medical care, that way.”, all of them nodded to each other, not really knowing what more there was to tell. Not knowing if the plan would even work.

*****

When [y/n] looked in the mirror, in the tiny bathroom of her hospital room, after washing her face, she felt okay. Horrible, but okay.

Feeling kind of stupid, having given Spencer her medication. It had felt right. But she didn’t know why. Did she want to make him happy? Well, he certainly was. But honestly? Nobody just stops being addicted for one person. Having your addiction tendencies being bound and under control solely for another person than yourself probably never works in the long term.

She knew she would have to stop for herself and that just wasn’t worth it.

She just wasn’t worth it.

Spencer would leave again, he was just another person in her life that would vanish, never to be heard from again. Her life would move on, just like it did now and that was it. It was okay like that. There wasn’t much to be expected anymore and she had made her peace with it. Having lost the will to try years ago.

Somehow she had decided however, to enjoy the few moments she would still have with this man. A man she barely knew, but yet, felt so interest in. A man that either lived his best boomer life or just simply lived in a cave without Wi-Fi, giving his lack of knowledge by simple words like iconic and viral.

Maybe it was his lack of interest in her Rockstar persona, that intrigued her. She had heard him and Philip outside of her room. Spencer had not given a single fuck, that her voice could´ve been ruined by having her stomach pumped, as long as she didn’t die. That was nice. Being more than an expensive voice. Being counted as a human.

She wanted to know more about him, had given him her silver bullet, as a sign of trust. Now she wanted his or however much he was willing to give. Being high would ruin it, being high would maybe have her forget something. [y/n] knew she would still need to take the bare minimum of her drugs, so the withdrawal wouldn’t kill her, but for now she would like to be semi-clean. The headache and the freezing being acceptable.

She had put on her fresh clothes, liking that they didn’t smell like cigarettes, wondering why she even smoked, when everything just started to reek and ruin the nice smell of her lavender perfume. Was it still out of spite, because her father didn’t like it?

Maybe she would quit…on the other hand…maybe just reduce them a little. For now, she didn’t have any, anyways. She would probably need some chewing gum.

When she walked out of the bathroom Spencer smiled at her, stepping closer and his hands cupping her face.

“Hey. You okay? You´re a little pale.”, she quickly nodded, her heart beating as fast as it always did shortly before a concert.

“Yeah, just not wearing any makeup, so…”, he shook his head, thumb stroking her cheek.

“Uh-uh. You weren’t pale like that before. You feeling sick?”, actually yes, she did.

“A little.”

“We´re gonna get you something to eat later and then you should take a nap. Philip is going to drive in his car and we´ll meet him at your house. Emily already left.”, [y/n] nodded, quickly stepping away from Spencer. She hadn’t even noticed Philip still being there, while he smiled at them.

“I´m gonna leave now and you guys just go to the garage and wait a few minutes. When something happens you call me, okay [y/n]?”, she nodded, Spencer taking her duffle bag as Philip hugged her and then left.

She and Spencer went to the car park, her having the hood from her sweater pulled into her face, hoping nobody would recognize her. The last thing she wanted was a media scandal, so shortly after the her teen-pregnancy was brought to light. People talking about the ‘out of control’-Rockstar almost dying due to an overdose. Not that they were completely wrong, but still. She hated when strangers acted like they knew her, only because they read one of those crappy articles.

When they got into the car Spencer turned on the seat heating, without saying a word, only smiling at her. Why was he so nice? Was it his savior complex or did he just have a great personality?

Driving to her mansion in silence, they were met with an array of paparazzies in front of it. Spencer parked across the street. [y/n] quickly fixed her hair, should they notice her and start making photos.

“Tinted windows, they don’t see you.”, he told her, making her relax.

For a second she thought about how much she hated this. The flashes of the cameras pointed into her face, only inches away from it. Asking her inappropriate question, because fame cancelled out the right of privacy. They were always waiting for her to do something, to be put on a blast for.

Maybe she could just, a little longer, be a no one. Like she seemed to be, alone with Spencer.

With Philip, she never had even five minutes to herself. Yes he was nice, but he was so in-your-face sometimes. Smothering her with care.

“Spencer?” “Hm?”, he turned to her. “Would it be okay, to just go undercover?”, Spencer raised his eyebrows. “Undercover?”, her cheeks flushed a little.

“Yeah…get a hotel room and some junk food maybe…” “What about Philip?”

“I´ll text him…I- I´d just like to be alone.”, he nodded at her words, already starting the car again. “Oh, sure. I get that.” “Alone with you.”, was that sentence too bold? “I know. Already thought so.”, he put a hand on her thigh, gently squeezing it. She smiled at this gentle gesture. “Any hotel okay?”, he asked her, as she laid her hands on his, wanting to make sure it stayed there. “Sure. But you´ll need to get the room. I tend to attract attention.” “Really?”, he asked in a playful voice, as he pulled into the main street. “Yeah, apparently I look like this one singer from a rock band.”, she answered, giggling, even though it killed her head. “Huh, weird. Wouldn’t have noticed.”, he almost whispered, seeming to have noticed it.

“Maybe we should get me some nicotine patches too.”, she smiled, making him look at her surprised.

“Stopped smoking?” “Yeah, thought I´d try it. Maybe you can smell my perfume better like that. Lavender.”, Spencer chuckled. “Sexy. Kissing a smoker only seems good in the movies.” “You know movies?”, she said, playfully mocking him. “Russian and black-and-white ones.”

“You´re a little nerd, huh?

“Hope that’s not a deal breaker?”, she looked at his little worried, almost insecure look.

Yes, the junkie who just ruined his night, by having a mental breakdown, would think a nice, smart guy that liked watching ‘Dr. Who’ was a dealbreaker.

“It´s actually kinda cute.”, he let out an adorable giggle and for a second she could feel her heart skip a beat.

*****

Spencer had gotten them a hotel room in a small hotel with individual, private entrances. Definitely not as classy as [y/n] was used to, but private enough, not to be seen. Before, he had bought her nicotine patches and gum and they had gotten some pizzas.

Now her arm was plasters with some of the patches and they sat on the bed, eating pizza and watching ‘10 things I hate about you’, making him see just how quirky [y/n] could be. Singing along to every song, telling him how much she loved watching it, secretly at a friend’s home, as a teen; giggling like crazy when something funny happened and gushing over things she thought to be romantic. Spencer had given her her medication and the withdrawal, at least in the moment, seemed to be manageable.

After the movie she had insisted on him picking something, making him extremely nervous. He didn’t think that any of his picks would have her enjoy the next two hours, but she didn’t let him say no. So he put in an old black and white movie called ‘La Dolce Vita’, about a week in the life of a philandering tabloid journalist living in Rome. He laid down in bed and signaled [y/n] to come closer. She had quickly cuddled up beside him, seemingly touch starved by the way she held him close. A very familiar feeling for Spencer.

After he had begun stroking her hair, she had fallen asleep faster, then he had fallen for her.

Seeming to like every side of her, every part, no matter how damaged or ugly. Spencer had pulled the sleeping girl a little closer, gently kissing the top of her head and smiling to himself. What he had smelled two days ago, had been lavender. He drifted of as well, only waking up half an hour later, when the credits woke him.

Turning the TV off, before laying close to [y/n] again, now spooning up behind her, face buried in the crook of her neck, arms wrapped tightly around her.

To be continued...

Give me your feedback [also anonymous!]

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed)

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #reader insert #spencer x reader #spencer reid reader insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer x fem!reader #spencer x you #spencer reid x you #reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds x y/n #spencer x y/n #rainincaliforniaff

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cemetery-cuddles · 2 years

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Failed at killing myself on Sunday night..

×Edit to add sorry this is so long, I don't even think I coved half of it, if I remember I'll add to it tomorrow×

Went to hospital at 1am by ambulance. Taken to the same room where Connie was in (my friends miema who had cancer and died from a staircase fall) I was hooked up to a saline drip bag in my right arm and on my left finger a monitor finger tag for my vitals, like oxygen, BP, pulse and one other thing, along with a BP cuff on my upper left arm. Waited for over two hours for blood work to be done, took 8 vials. Had me use the restroom for a sample. Doctors stopped checking in on me at 3:30am.

I stayed up trying to not have an anxiety attack and sleep but that didn't happen, instead I silently cried. My right arm kept twitching therefore setting the alarm off for my dip bag, nurse came in, and very maliciously told me to stop moving my arm and strapped it to the side of the bed. I think I fell asleep around 6am and was woken up at 7am.

I was moved to a different room they called a "safe" room with a guard (made good talk with him, he was chill as all hell and actually made me laugh a lot) I was given breakfast but could only have black decaffeinated coffee and a cheese slice as they didn't ask if I had any dietary restrictions. Wasn't given my daily medication either. Sat in the room on the bed staring at the wall or ceiling.

A lady came in and told me my toxic results came back clean as in I had zero medication in system, no Wellbutrin, no Clonazepam, no birth control, no Zoloft, none of my vitamins either, the only thing I had in my system was alcohol. Accused me of lying about the possibility of my OD and said that I really should stop lying for attention and to not take up resources that people in crisis actually need. I told her I wasn't lying, and that she could phone my mum or husband and they could bring my medication and count out the pills to the date in which I would need a refill on them. She left (thank fuck, I was about to throw a damn chair at her) the guard talked me down as I was crying and scratching at my arm. The arm which had my cuts on since I did cut up my arm pretty good the night before everything went down.

Had an OTN appointment at 2pm, he will be phoning me on the 21st of March and set up an in person appointment, he's also setting me up with a DBT therapist again. He also took me off my Zoloft ( Have no clue why as that wasn't the medication I tried to OD, kept me on the Clonazepam ( which was the medication that I did try to OD on ) and upped my Wellbutrin to 300mg. Which my body can't tolerate it at that high of a dose...

All of this was done by my friend from the states, phoning the police to do a wellness check on me for a possible suicide attempt because I had messaged my group and told them what I had done. After informing them I logged off Discord, and turned my phone off and just tried to go to sleep hoping I didn't wake up and just wow...

#babbles

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the-lavender-creator · 3 years

Note

warning: euphoria spoilers, tw alcohol, drugs, sex, vague mention of suicide, abortion and sorry if i forgot any of the other common trigger tags

during there grad or dance or whatever they went to the bathroom together and they were in the stall and jules told rue i want you to want to kiss me so bad that you don't even ask and that lines lives rent free in my head 😭😭😭 rue didn't kiss her tho bc she's a shy little bottom smh 🙄 so they went back out to the dance floor or i think they went outside to sit and talk and long story short rue suggested they just run away to new york and jules said yes so they went back to rue's house for her to grab her stuff and then they went to the chain station where rue chickened out and jules kissed her on her hand and told her goodbye and that's pretty much where the season ended well after rue walked back home crying in the rain and then there was the notorious all for us dance part. i really relate to rue bc she has anxiety she was diagnosed with anxiety, ocd and i believe bipolar disorder all of them like between early childhood and her teens and like she also does really chaotic spur of the moment stuff like suggesting they run away but then she chickens out and i relate to tht a lot in terms of anxiety bc well same and also i feel like most characters with anxiety are portrayed as shy and and like anxiety is there whole personality whereas rue's portrayal seemed more realistic at least in terms of my own xp. like once she had a panic attack the first day back at school when she had to talk about her summer in front of the class, she also had a panic attack at a party but we also see her like being that wild and chaotic teenager and i think it's very important that they portrayed that those things are not mutually exclusive

rue says drugs are kind of cool - ik there's a lot of criticism that the show glorifies drugs but i think it just shows an accurate representation of the life of a drug addict like she admits that she knows it's bad to say. her addiction stemmed from her taking care of her very ill father and she had to give him pills and one day she took one or two i think and yeah and that's understandable bc she was really close to her father his death hurt her a lot and like the stress of taking care of him and just the whole situation ofc wld've emotionally impacted her negatively and one day she tries a pill and suddenly everything feels better so she wld obvi continue and ofc it got out of hand. there's also a really popular quote abt the 2 seconds of nothingness of smth like tht i cant remember it off hand

fav jules x nate - jules and nate had a very toxic and complicated relationship and i do not support it in any way but uhhhhthtpartwaskindahotsorry. anyways nate is typical school bully and jules is the new girl but plot twist nate who pretends to be the definition of straight is a jock has a gf etc likes or had a thing for ig mtf and jules and him formed a close relationship on some dating app and then she met him and yeah disappointment the clip is from the meeting she didn't actually stay she pushed him away and went back to rue's and rue hugged her to sleep and it was very sweet

another iconic rue quote - this was at the party i mentioned earlier where rue got a panic attack and jules' behaviour she was acting distant lately kind of contributed but jules had a lot going on with nate blackmailing her and her mom wanting to see her and then i think the night of the party she found out her mom was back in hospital so she was going thru a lot and not communicating with rue and rue felt like things were slipping and she had become sort of co dependent on jules and she was the reason she was staying clean sort of and all tht so rue took the change in behaviour hard ofc and yeah the quote was relatable

another quote from the party after her panic attack - her best friend from childhood lexi hugged her and reassured her she wasnt a burden and it ws very sweet again i love the duality of the crazy unhinged rue and the vulnerable rue it's chef's kiss

enby icon - rue usually dresses very casually and for the aforementioned dance thing she wore a suit she looked so good and jules did her makeup and she commented tht she was scared she messed with rue's gender presentation of smth like tht which is like all i need to confirm that rue is non binary UwU

chris mckay x cassie howard - kind of toxic relationship also kind of real he was older than her and the post is what he said when nate asked if they were dating there were a lot of weird stuff tht happened between them in the end she got pregnant and had an abortion and they broke up and she swore off dating for a while lol also cassie is lexi's big sister but my half a brain cell self watched the whole of season one thinking lexi was actually older and it was only when watching a fan edit on youtube i realized akjdf;ajdf;ka

rue being relatable again talking abt anxiety and why alcohol and drugs help - from personal xp and my friends' xp with anxiety like ppl can criticize the show for drug glorification but she's not lying and i believe anyone with anxiety who has a similar xp can testify to that however it's a slippery slope bc then ppl with anxiety and other mental illnesses may be inclined to also try drugs and alcohol but at the same time i think the show also portrays why you shldnt do tht so yh

rue special edition commentary - i nvr related to rue more than the things she said in this episode it was just her sitting down talking to ali her mentor and like she was spitting some real hard facts about being mentally ill and how it changes your perception of life and sometimes even when you're not in the worst spot anymore you still dont really care to live no matter how many people love you etc n felt

i live watched jules' special episode

some thoughts on rue being an unreliable narrator which she really is someone commented smth on this post tht changed my opinion of what i wrote abt not trusting her but i cant remember wht it was rn

rue manic rep - she was trying to figure out what was up with jules being distant and omg in this scene she also poured coffee into the coffee maker to make more coffee i believe smth like that but it was iconic lol but she did figure out nate was blackmailing jules and lexi was helping her

uhhhh i dont relate much to jules but these are the ways i do :(

jules' trans xp - so in her special episode speaking with her therapist she talked about performing feminity in a way to like please the male gaze and she realized she doesn't want to do tht anymore and tht like that isnt what being a girl is abt yk and the best thing abt this is usually she dresses very feminine and she wore a short skirt n crop tops on the first day of school in season 1 but for season 2's trailer she's wearing just sweats and a tee

hahahahha you might enjoy this post :)

ok this is long welp sorry

I wish you could put a read more line in an ask

#virgil rambles #tw long post #long post tw #long post #euphoria #euphoria spoilers #tw emoji #tw alchohol mention #tw suicide #just tw everything

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magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics · 3 years

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Fangirl, Interrupted - Becca’s Saturday

Summary: Have you ever felt like you’re too far up your fandoms that you’re not really living your real life? Well, that. But more.

Word Count: 1,817

Pairings: Dean x reader, Sherlock x reader

Warnings: You’re not gonna like it. Sudden fandom changes, bit of smut which is not really smutty, lazy writing, suicidal attempt, usage of drugs and alcohol, OOC scenes.

Original A/N: Because of who I am, I like to exaggerate everything. With that being said, let me tell you that this is how I felt for many years, with multiple fandoms. I have lived a tortous life, therefore I was always seeking to live somewhere else. Almost all of my childhood and teenage years were an on-going loop between my fake life inside my fandoms and my real life. I barely remember anything now outside that make-pretend life I created for myself. Now I am living my life, in a way that I can no longer hide inside that fake life. Call it what you want. Anxiety is coming back to me, fyi, and I tried to hide there but I just can’t. This is my way of expressing it. The Girl, Interrupted theme is because I watched it yesterday after performing Lisa’s monologue at my acting class - a way of giving therapy to myself through art. Anyway, I hope you don’t read this fic. I didn’t like it at all, but I feel the need, nonetheless, to share it somewhere. To have evidence that I went through that. Probably, someone out there has too. Idk.

New A/N: I wrote this MONTHS ago, long before I got diagnosed, and I got scared of posting it because it could be too depressing. But I hate leaving drafts all alone so here goes nothing.

Have you ever confused a dream with life? Or stolen something when you have the cash? Have you ever been blue? Or thought you were moving while sitting still? Maybe I was just crazy… Maybe it was loneliness…

“Put her in restraints!” A woman yelled. “Withdraw blood… Give her five milligrams of Valium, IV”

“Turn her head so she doesn’t aspirate,” another woman advised. I felt my head being turned by a pair of terribly warm hands.

I was attacked. I had been attacked.

“You should check my hand. There’s no bones in it anymore…”

“What were you thinking?” The first woman asked.

“I was trying to save the world…” I replied, “Don’t worry, you’ll thank me later.”

Sometimes it’s hard for me to stay in one place.

“Hey,” I opened my eyes at the familiar voice. The image at first was blurry, but I could recognize the colors of their flannel shirts. My back was killing me, and my arms felt numb. “(Y/N) are you okay?”

“Yo, sweetheart! Wake up!” A rough voice called out. I could see his red flannel.

Red flannel. Dean was wearing a red flannel, and Sam had the green one. That could only mean one thing…

I looked down at my own clothes, I was wearing a brown flannel.

I smiled childishly, and my vision finally cleared. Both men were staring at me, worried. “I’m home,” is all I could say.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, Sam smiled back at me.

“Yes, you are,” he said, “you’re home with us. Where else would you be?”

“At a hospital or some shit,” I replied.

“We don’t do no hospitals, sweetheart,” Dean reminded me from afar.

“Did we get him? The djinn?” I inquired, with wide eyes.

“Yup,” Sam nodded.

Dean appeared back again, handing me a cold beer. It was closed. Sam took my hand and guided it to my forehead, so I could press the bottle to my forehead. I was probably wounded there too.

“We Jafar-ed the shit out of him,” Dean snorted. Sam inhaled profoundly, as an attempt to not slap his brother. “I Jas-min that we almost didn’t make it…” Dean continued, “but enough Abu me,” he giggled, “how was your daydream, sweetheart? Where’d Iago?”

“Please, stop,” Sam begged. Dean tried to argue but Sam was already looking back at me. “But do tell us where did you go?”

“I…”

“Where did you go?”

“(Y/N)” a strong light blinded me for a second. I suddenly felt something in my eyes, pulling them open. “(Y/N), we’re calling you!” The voice chanted. “Hello, Earth requires Ms (Y/N)...”

“Wha-what?” I stuttered, pulling away from the light.

The scenery had changed. I was no longer at a motel room with awful wallpaper, but instead at a very nice living room, though the wallpaper was still awful.

“Are you okay?” The man that had been calling my name asked. He kneeled in front of me.

“Are you real?” I tilted my head to the side, and he smiled tenderly.

“As real as your nose,” he said and booped my nose. His touch was soft and warm.

“What happened?”

“You fainted,” another voice answered. I looked back, only to see the familiar figure of Sherlock sitting on his desk, typing furiously on his computer. “I told you not to get too close to the evidence, but did you listen? No, why?” He gazed back, “Because ‘oh Sherlock, don’t be so stern, it’s just a flower bouquet!’ but I was right, as usual.”

“Let her breath,” Watson commanded. “We both smelled it too and nothing bad happened.”

“Yes, but so did the police officers… All male, I must remind you” Sherlock snapped. “The flowers were sent to a woman who, where is she now? Oh, yes, DEAD!”

“I don’t get it,” I interfered.

“I suspect the flowers are poisoned with some sort of chemical that only affects women, by reacting to their production of hormones.” Sherlock informed me.

“Right… And what does that have to do with your intoxication?” The female voice asked again.

I suddenly snapped back to the hospital. I was laying in a hospital bed, with lots of tubles connected to me. There was a woman in white, sitting by my side with a notepad on her lap.

“Well, obviously I’ve been affected… It’s the flowers, you see…” I spoke.

“Flowers? What flowers?” The nurse, she was a nurse, asked again.

“The poisoned flowers!”

“Do you see them now?” She inquired.

“Of course not!”

“No?”

The djinn stood behind her. “Say no,” he said with an ominous voice.

“No,” I obeyed.

The nurse looked behind her and the djinn disappeared instantly. “Are you seeing anything out of the ordinary at the moment?”

“No, why would I? I’m not crazy,”

“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were…” Dean sighed. He was sitting by my side, in bed, and was connecting his phone to the charger. “I am a little crazy too, you know?”

“Oh, yeah?” I trembled.

“Yeah,” he muttered and finally let go off his phone. He turned to look at me for a second before cuddling me. I was the small spoon, he was shirtless. “I’m crazy about you.”

“Smooth,” I replied sheepishly. I could feel the ghost of his arms around me… Ghost, because I couldn’t really feel him. He was hot, yet cold as if air was blowing over my skin.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked.

“I am.”

I wasn’t. I’m not okay.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered and pecked my shoulder. Again, I felt it but not quite.

“Dean?”

“Huh?” I closed my eyes, not wanting to see what would happen after I said what I wnated to say.

“I feel like I’m still inside the djinn’s daydream,” I confessed.

Dean sat up and fixed a lose strand of hair that was falling over my eyes.

“You’re not inside a djinn’s daydream…” He said, calmly.

“How can you tell?” I asked, still not opening my eyes.

“Because djinns don’t exist, that’s why,” he said.

I finally opened my eyes. Black locks and blue eyes were all I could see for a moment.

“Djinns are mythological, and that is all…” Sherlock continued. I could hear his voice turning from Dean’s to his own. “I understand that maybe the toxins from the flowers could affect your perception of life, but there is nothing to fear. The effects will pass and you’ll be good as new.”

“I don’t feel good as new.”

“Clearly,” he grunted.

Noticing my state, he decided to go a little further from his usual behaviour. He pressed his head to my arm… I was still laying on my side, as if I was still being the small spoon.

“I will be here, by your side, as long as you let me.”

My heart fluttered, but not in love but rather in pain.

“I can’t control that.”

“The pills are having a positive effect on her now, we can get her to be conscious for a bit longer than before…” I heard a voice coming from the hall.

“What is that?” I asked. Sherlock tilted his head.

“What?” He furrowed, “I don’t hear anything.”

“Well, I do.”

I got up from bed and opened the door. At the other side of it was a hospital hall rather than Sherlock’s. All white, with blinding white lights. The nurse was talking to what I assumed was a doctor.

I felt like I would faint again.

Sherlock got up as well and dragged me back to the bed, closing the door behind us.

“You know what could help?” He smirked. “I know… Because I know you.”

He got me back in bed, facing up to the ceiling. I was about to talk, when I felt him pulling down my pijama shorts. A sigh left my lips, as I felt his tongue rubbing my clit in circles. I closed my eyes, filled with pleasure, and tried to keep it quiet so neither Mrs Hudson nor Watson could hear us.

“Come here,” I begged after a while.

I opened my eyes and saw Dean crawling up to my face. His tattoo was covered in sweat and his hair was ruffled.

“You thought I would just leave it there, sweetheart?” He flirted and, without a warning, he thrust inside me. “You feel good today… Tight, and so wet for me…”

I moaned, getting lost in his green eyes. I wanted to kiss him, but I couldn’t.

I didn’t even feel his weight over me.

I blinked.

TARDIS.

I blinked again.

Dean was looking at me, dumbfounded as he made love to me.

I shook my head and closed my eyes again, letting my body fall back into the pillows as I succumbed to the pleasure he… they were giving me. I called both of their names in between whispers until I climaxed.

I sighed and opened my eyes.

I was in my room. Darkness surrounded me. I was alone, and my fingers were still between my legs.

I wiped them quickly with the bed sheets and took my phone to googled Dean Winchester’s name, only to find out that he was not being looked at by the US government, but rather a fictional character. Not only that, but I saw pictures of him in the most intimate moments… Moments I could recall from living them with him.

I clicked on one of his pictures.

Jensen Ackles… Married.

I clicked on Sam’s.

Married.

I clicked on Castiel’s.

Married.

They were all married. Click by click I undercovered the lie I was living in.

“But what about Sher?” I thought to myself.

I googled him. Fictional character, based on the books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

There he was, my Sherlock, next to others who had also played him.

“I thought I was in a hospital,” I whispered.

“Maybe it’s just your unconscious mind asking to be treated by a professional.” Castiel’s voice spoke.

“Maybe it’s because that is where you’re going,” Sam gestured to the side of my bed. A bottle of vodka laid there empty, next to empty sets of aspirins.

“Is there an end to this?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Jim Moriarty spoke from the darkness. “But aren’t you having fun?”

“What if I die?” I insisted.

“You won’t,” Sherlock said, “you still got enough energy to call an ambulance for yourself.”

“Please do,” Watson begged softly.

I grabbed my phone and dialed the number.

“I need an ambulance…”

“We’ll see you on the other side, sweetheart.” Dean smiled with a glimpse of sadness.

“I love you, guys.”

No tags for this one.

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

Alone in the Ashes {18}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, drugs, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click > Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: "The one where Nesta explodes.” Sorry, friends.

“How can I explain purposely setting foot on a path so blatantly treacherous? Was the fun in the fall? ― Ellen Hopkins, Crank

“To Feyre and Rhys!” Mor called, lifting her glass to the middle of the table, where it met Feyre’s, Elain’s, and Amren’s. “I can’t believe you’re getting married to my cousin. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

She sighed, and Elain beamed from beside her.

“We’re so happy for you both,” she promised.

Feyre grinned. It had been a week since Rhysand proposed, and now, on Saturday night, the girls had all decided to go out to celebrate, leaving the boys at home.

“Speaking of happiness, I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time at Azriel’s,” Feyre said, eyeing Elain. “At night.”

Elain’s cheeks turned pink as she rolled her eyes.

“Every night but one,” Mor muttered, and when Amren’s brows rose, she clarified, “Azriel stayed at her townhouse last Saturday night and came home Sunday looking very, very happy.”

Feyre slammed her glass down on the table. “You had sex?”

Elain groaned, hiding her face. “We’re supposed to be talking about you, not me.”

“Definitely had sex,” Amren muttered, grinning, as she took a sip from her glass.

“Yes,” Elain breathed, face as red as a tomato. “We did. Now, let’s move on.”

“How is he?” Mor asked. “I mean, I’ve heard rumors over the years, but he’s, you know, never clarified.”

“Is it big?” Feyre asked, brows wiggling.

“I vote there’s more in girth than in length,” Amren followed.

Mor howled. “True.”

All eyes shot to Mor.

She blinked. “What? I’ve lived with the guy on and off for years, and if his morning wood is any indication, Amren’s not wrong.”

Elain shook her head, unable to control her laughter. “As much as I love this discussion, I vote we move on.”

“Okay, okay, moving on,” Feyre said, laying her palms flat on the table. “As soon as you tell us if we’re right or not.”

Elain took a deep breath. “Fine…...Yes to girth, now, moving on.”

Feyre fell into Amren, tears coming out of her eyes at her sister’s embarrassment - her sweet, gentle sister.

“Be glad I’m not asking you the same questions,” Elain said, downing her glass.

“Oh, I’ll happily answer,” Feyre chuckled. “Hell, Rhys will happily answer. He likes to brag.”

Mor rolled her eyes. “Yes, but every word that comes out of his mouth while he brags is complete bullshit. Besides, talking about my cousin’s penis physically makes me ill.”

Once their laughter died down, and Feyre promised not to mention anything about Rhysand’s dick, she looked to Amren.

“How’s Cass?”

Amren’s brows furrowed. “Oh, you mean after he spent the night in jail for beating up a bar full of people?” She shrugged. “He’s been decent. Goes to work, comes home, drowns himself in whiskey, and does it all again the next day. At least Bryaxis is there. Cassian keeps his cool with Ax next to him.”

“Because of Nesta?” Elain asked, surprised.

Amren shrugged. “He won’t talk about it, but she hasn’t been around and he lies awake at night cursing her name, so I assume so.”

“You’d think he was in love with her,” Feyre said, then stilled. “Holy fuck, he’s in love with her. Nesta. Of all people.”

“I don’t understand what the fascination is, myself,” Mor muttered.

Elain nodded, slowly. “I love Nesta, but she insists on making herself miserable at every opportunity. It’s been that way since we were in high school. Self destruction without a cure.”

Feyre knew that Elain was thinking of her own issues with depression, with thoughts of suicide lingering in the back of her mind. Feyre had been there, too. So had Mor. And Amren. But Nesta was a different breed...it never went away. And she wanted it to remain, that depression. She held onto it, craved destruction.

Nesta was so much like their mother.

Feyre couldn’t help but be pissed off, though. She had led Cassian on, had let him feel something - Cassian, who never felt anything serious about a woman. Cassian, with his uncontrollable anger living alongside his will to bring joy to everyone around him. Nesta had taken advantage of him, and Cassian was living through the aftermath.

“I saw that guy the other day, too,” Amren went on. “Tomas.”

Elain stilled as Feyre’s eyes snapped to Amren. “What?”

“Yeah, he’s back, I guess,” she said, shrugging. “Basically lives there now.”

Feyre was already grabbing her purse and scooting out of the booth. Elain wasn’t moving, was staring at the table, hands shaking.

“Where are you going?” Mor asked, hesitantly.

“To Nesta’s. Come on.”

~~~~~

Nesta was sitting on her couch, staring at the blank t.v. when a pounding came on her door. She opened it a minute later and her sisters rushed in, Feyre first, Elain trailing after.

She sighed. “And what do I owe to this unexpected surprise?”

“Where is he?” Feyre asked, eyes narrowed. “Tomas.”

“Not here,” Nesta mumbled, shutting her door behind her. Her head was light, mind blurry. She was having trouble keeping herself upright. “Came to say hello?”

“Amren said he’s been around,” Elain said, quietly.

Nesta knew they would find out, eventually, but she hadn’t thought they would come storming into her apartment on a Saturday night.

“Why do you care?” Nesta asked. “I’m busy-”

“Cut the shit,” Feyre snapped, and met her sister’s eyes.

Nesta figured it was her fault, she was the one who had told Feyre, who had told Elain. The night Rhysand had been taken to the hospital, when Nesta had driven her youngest sister to the place where their mother had taken her final breath. She had found Feyre, while they were all waiting for Rhysand to wake up, and tried to bring her a little bit of comfort.

“You’re lucky to have Rhysand,” Nesta had said, sitting next to her sister in the hospital’s cafeteria, as she sipped on a cup of coffee. “I know you love him. He loves you, too.”

“Speaking of love...this whole thing with Cassian…” Feyre had started, avoiding having to talk about Rhysand, no doubt. “What’s really going on? What happened with Tomas?”

Nesta had shrugged. “Don’t know. He just left. It was for the best, anyways. He was who I got my drugs from, and nothing more.”

Feyre had stilled. “I thought you were done with that shit.”

“I’m trying,” Nesta had promised, hoping to bring her sister comfort. “It’s easier now that he’s gone. When Tomas is around, he gives it to me and I can’t say no.”

Feyre nodded, reaching across the table to grab her sister’s hand. It was the first conversation they’d had in a long, long time. “And when Cassian is around?”

Nesta snorted. “Cassian is….When Cassian is around, he makes me want to live. And I haven’t felt the want to live for as long as I can remember.”

“Where are they?” Feyre asked, voice hard, bringing Nesta back to the present.

“Where are what?” she asked, innocently.

Elain didn’t speak.

She simply watched, tears in her eyes.

Fear in her eyes.

“The drugs,” Feyre hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nesta snapped.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Feyre said, shaking her head. She walked into the kitchen and started digging through drawers, throwing shit around. “I can tell you’re high off your ass right now!”

When Feyre found nothing there, she went into Nesta’s bedroom.

Nesta was close behind. “Get out of my fucking apartment.”

But Feyre had already dug around, was already pushing Nesta out of the way and strutting into the bathroom.

She opened the top drawer.

Nesta was standing in the doorway, hands shaking.

Feyre pulled out everything. Bottles upon bottles of pain pills, and a packet of fine, light brown powder.

“Fucking heroin?” Feyre breathed, looking slowly at Nesta. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Nesta tried to snatch it from her sister’s hand, but Feyre was sober, and much, much faster. She took everything into her hands and shoved it into her bag before brushing past Nesta.

Nesta quickly followed her back into the living room. “Fuck you!”

“Did mom’s death mean nothing?” Feyre yelled, and Elain was crying, and the fact that Elain was crying made Nesta feel like shit. “How could you do this after mom fucking died from it!”

Silence enveloped the apartment, the only sound coming from Elain’s quiet sobs.

Nesta took a step toward her sister. It took everything in her to keep her voice steady as she said, “Maybe I wanna die, too.”

Feyre stilled and she closed her eyes, jaw locked. Then, she started shaking her head. “Don’t say that shit.”

“You wanna know the truth?” Nesta asked, arms outstretched. “You wanna know the fucking truth, Feyre? Well, here I am! So shut the fuck up and listen if you wanna know the fucking truth!” Her hands were shaking, her head pounding. She took another step toward her youngest sister, “I envy mom for taking too much shit that day. She got to leave this shitty world that day, and me? I’m still stuck here! No matter what I do! I’m here, living in this endless hell!”

Feyre said nothing. She stared at her sister, jaw hard, eyes lined with tears.

Nesta was breathing hard. She felt like shit. Felt like shit that her sisters were crying, felt like shit that she was never there for them. She felt like shit because the only thing keeping her from feeling like shit, all the fucking time, was the drugs. She felt like shit because she relied on them, felt like shit because it was the only reason she kept Tomas Mandray around. She felt like shit because her mom left them all, because she loved the drug too much, so much that she couldn’t stop, so much that it killed her, took her away from her husband, her daughters.

Nesta felt like shit because Cassian didn’t make her feel like shit.

But he deserved better.

At least she had done right by him.

“You don’t have to live like this,” Feyre whispered, and took her oldest sister’s face into her hands. “You don’t deserve this.”

Lie.

It was a lie.

A lie that had been told to Nesta many times, one she wasn’t sure she could ever believe to be true.

“I deserve worse,” Nesta countered, feeling nothing.

Feyre’s forehead fell into Nesta’s. “You deserve the world, if only you’d let yourself have it.”

~~~~~

“You’re fucking drunk.”

Cassian chuckled as Azriel shook his head. Yes, Rhysand was undoubtedly drunk and loving every minute of it. It was getting late, though, and Azriel, as the guardian of a four-year-old who would be up at the crack of dawn, needed to get some sleep.

“Alright,” Cassian laughed, slipping on his shoes before throwing Rhysand’s shoes at him. “I’ll walk you home before I head home.”

Rhysand let his shoes hit him in the abdomen before frowning. “Is Feyre home yet? I love Feyre.”

“I know,” Cassian muttered. “Put on your shoes and we’ll go see.”

“But shoes make my feet feel trapped,” Rhysand said, staring at his shoes. “Why would I want that for my toes?”

Azriel was laughing as Cassian picked up Rhysand’s shoes. “Then I’ll carry them and you can go in your socks.

“Good,” Rhysand slurred, stumbling toward the door.

“Text me when he’s safe inside of his apartment, please,” Azriel begged.

Cassian promised he would as the two went out into the cool, Summer night. Rhysand jumped as his phone began to ring. He searched his body helplessly before Cassian, laughing, pulled it out Rhysand’s pocket and answered.

“Hello? Rhysand’s phone.”

“Your hand touched my dick, asshole!” Rhysand yelled.

And Feyre laughed on the other end. “Sounds like a good time over there.”

“Your future husband and the father of your children is a drunken mess, but don’t worry, I’m walking him home.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said, voice quiet. “Can you tell him I won’t be home tonight?”

“Sure,” Cassian said, dragging Rhysand by the arm, down the sidewalk, as he stared up at the moon with wide, violet eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just at Nesta’s-” As if remembering who she was talking to, her words trailed off. “I’ll be home in the morning though...if you could let him know.”

“I will,” Cassian said, clearing his throat. “Um, is Nesta alright?”

The line went quiet. Then, Feyre said, “She will be.”

“Did Tomas hurt her?” he asked, unable to stop the question from coming out of his mouth.

“Tomas isn’t here,” was all she said. “Make sure my fiance gets safely inside of our house, will you?”

Cassian chuckled, although the light never reached his eyes. “You just like any excuse to call him your fiance.”

“True,” Feyre said. “But I mean it. My fiance is a sloppy drunk.”

“Oh, I know,” Cassian said. “I’m walking him up the stairs, literally having to hold his hand.”

Feyre laughed. “You’re a saint. Thanks Cass.”

“Yep,” he said. “Bye.”

He hung up and shoved the phone back into Rhysand’s pocket.

Once he made sure Rhysand was safely inside of his apartment, Cassian left, and before he even walked out of the front door, Rhysand was snoring on the couch.

Cassian climbed into his truck and sat in the silence for a minute.

Feyre and Nesta didn’t get along. Something must have happened, something must have been wrong. Something must have happened.

As Cassian started his truck, his mind began to wander. Then, he just got mad, reminding himself that he shouldn’t care. Nesta had made it very clear that she didn’t want him in her life. And he had told her the same.

Although, when he said it, it had been a lie.

When he pulled up in front of his own building, he had grown tired. Nothing sounded better than making his way up the stairs, closing himself inside of his apartment, and going to sleep.

But when he made it to the second floor landing, Feyre was standing in the middle of Cassian and Nesta’s apartments, holding a bag of-

“What the fuck?” he asked, and when the girls shushed him, he grabbed it out of her hand. “What are you doing with this shit? You can’t just wave it around in the open, shit, Feyre.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was giving it to Mor to flush, idiot.”

“Why do you even have this?” Cassian snapped.

And then it dawned on him.

He looked at Nesta’s closed door and sighed.

Cassian’s hand fell to his side, grabbing the little plastic bag tightly in his hand.

“She’s fine,” Feyre whispered, knowing full well the string of thoughts that were running through his mind. “Me and Elain are going to make sure this shit stays out of her apartment.”

“And Tomas?” Cassian asked, voice low. “Did she get this shit from him?”

When Feyre didn’t answer, Cassian was turning around, to storm off, to beat Tomas’s ass, but Feyre caught him by the wrist and pulled him back. She took his face into her hands, and even though he was a head taller than she was, she made him look down at her.

“You’re going to take that inside and get rid of it,” she whispered. “Then, you’re going to get your ass in bed. Beron’s already pissed he had to pick you for a bar fight this month, don’t make him take you to prison for killing some useless dealer.”

That anger was simmering, was beckoning to be released, but Cassian saw the fear, the exhaustion, in Feyre’s eyes.

He nodded.

Feyre sighed, and kissed his bearded cheek before telling them all goodnight.

“Cass,” Mor whispered, after a moment of him staring at the closed, apartment door across from his. “Come on.”

Amren took his hand, and when he looked at her, she was wearing a small, sad smile. “Time for bed.”

Cassian nodded and, every step he took feeling heavier than the last, he followed Mor and Amren into his apartment.

He sent the drugs down the toilet and threw the bag away, just like Feyre had asked.

But he didn’t go to bed.

Instead, he went to the couch and sat down, Amren on one side of him, Mor on the other.

He should have seen it as a sign. Should have known something was wrong with Nesta, that something wasn’t right. But he had pushed her away, let his anger in and allowed it to cloud his judgement.

Mor and Amren stayed with him. They each laid their heads on his broad shoulders and comforted him, as the night passed him by in utter silence.

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

tag List (to be tagged, comment or send me an ask!)

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @starkovsnesta @redisriding @photofeesh

@mariamuses @tswaney17 @amaranthas-whore @awesomelena555

@danika-defendyr @rachaels14 @faequeenaelin @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn

@hashtolanashoba @poisonous00 @chemicha @samotita

@mynewdreamwasyou @humming-asong

@candid-confetti @awkward-avocado-s

@my-fan-side @queen-of-glass @stars-falling

@ifangirlninja @sleeping-and-books @burritowithfeels

@morebooks-pls @kindofawalkingpoem

@sannelovesreading @empressnesrynfaliq

@halstudies @sleeping-and-books @alwayss-reading

@amren-courtofdreams @b00kworm

@wifeofchrishemsworth @booksstorm

@goldr0ses @blackjacks-donuts

@humanexile @over300books

@booksbooksbooksworld @starrynightsbooks

@girl-who-reads-the-books

@mis-lil-red

@shhhimreading03

@emilyrose111294

@negativenesta

@argentumstella

@itsme-malin

@flora-and-fae

@feyrethedarklady

@starryandbooks

@gingerglides

@gloriouspaintercreatorbandit @iliketoasterstrudels

@6255igntm @moondancer-204

@littlehoneyybee @acourtofbookworms

@the-regal-warrior

@awkward-avocado-s @nightcourtcinnamonroll

@aelin-rowan-whitehorn @bamchickawowow

@julemmaes @itsme-malin

@regular-nessian-trash @made-of-stardust-and-wanderlust

@ugh-avila @awkward-avocado-s

@superspiritfestival @the-dark-swan @girlgotattitude448 @eversincebeirut

@midnightrose-reader @lord-douglas-the-third @thestarguidingyouhome

@empress-ofbloodshed @starkovsnesta @nickjgoodsell

Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #nessian #feysand #elriel #fanfic #fanfiction #sjm #tacmc aita #modern au

226 notes · View notes

tabloidtoc · 3 years

Text

Globe, April 12

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Brad Pitt Blindsided by Abuse Bombshell

Page 2: Up Front & Personal -- former Vanderpump Rules hunk Jax Taylor hauling trash outside his L.A. home, tennis star Venus Williams had some courtside cuddles with her pet pup in Miami, sitcom star turned pot peddler Jim Belushi during a spin around Santa Monica

Page 3: Chrissy Metz runs errands in L.A., David Hasselhoff with his wife Hayley Roberts in Calabasas, Lena Headey buzzed around in L.A. on an electric bike

Page 4: Toxic TV talker Ellen DeGeneres is trapped in a tragic tailspin, belting back booze while struggling to get a grip on her fading career and rocky marriage -- after losing 1 million viewers this year alone, Ellen's once high-flying show is on thin ice and she's fighting with wife Portia de Rossi amid talks of a $300 million divorce -- her ratings are tanking, and her marriage is coming apart at the seams and she's knocking back the red wine to drown her sorrows -- her strategy is to let the storm about her talk show die down and then pull in some huge guest stars to win back her audience and reestablish herself as top dog on the talk show circuit -- at the same time, her 12-year marriage to Portia has been hanging by a thread and the two had been at loggerheads after serial house-flipper Ellen put the estate she bought from Maroon 5's Adam Levine on the market for $53.5 million and Portia thought it was finally going to be their forever home and it was like pulling the rug out from under her -- then another crisis struck home as Ellen rushed Portia to the hospital after she collapsed and Portia underwent an emergency appendectomy and is now recuperating but her spouse is a mess over Portia's health crisis and she's been drowning her sorrows in booze -- Ellen realizes much more than ever how much she desperately loves Portia and what she's got to lose if they split but she also knows it's be a lot of work to get the relationship back on track once Portia recovers

Page 5: Chevy Chase secretly cheated death after a secret heart condition landed him in the hospital for five long weeks and now he may never be out of the woods -- the 77-year-old, who is now recovering at his Westchester, N.Y. home, recently revealed the heart issue snuck up on him -- Chevy needed valve replacement surgery, and recovering boozer Chevy's long history of swilling alcohol had left him with an enlarged heart and acute cardiomyopathy, a disease that makes it harder for the organ to pump blood to the rest of his body and his heart problems stems from his years of drinking plain and simple and it's affected his heart, weakened it over the years -- however, before risky surgery could be performed, docs needed to make sure the comedian was stable enough for the procedure -- in 2017, Chevy claimed he'd finally gotten sober after one of his daughters said she gave up on him and his wife Jayni threatened to leave him if he didn't clean up his act but it may be too little too late for the comedy legend because valve replacement surgery could affect his activities for the rest of his life and it means his heart was pumping through an ineffective valve, and this damages heart muscles, which never grow back and he could have ongoing chest pains or dangerous heart rhythm disturbances, which could lead to heart attack or death

Page 6: Dr. Dre's estranged wife, Nicole Young, claims the rap mogul knocked her out cold in a drunken rage -- it's the latest bombshell in the couple's brutal divorce war, with Nicole making the explosive charge in an application for a restraining order that was denied by a judge and she also alleges Dre punched her squarely in the face after he felt she disrespected him at a party in 1999 and Nicole claims she woke up in their car with Andre speeding at over 100 miles per hour, drunk and out of control and he was swerving and weaving and she thought she was going to die and she also claims a drunk and angry Dre held a gun to her head during a 2012 dispute, saying she was terrified he was going to kill her -- Dre has denied all of Nicole's abuse claims

* In a desperate bid to save their crumbling romance, Jennifer Lopez and Alex Rodriguez are seeing a sex therapist to spice up their fizzling bedroom romps -- the duo called off their wedding plans after a stormy four-year affair and are on the brink of the end -- A-Rod staved off a break at the last minute by dashing down to the Dominican Republic, where J.Lo's filming her new flick and patching things up for the moment -- the biggest issue has been Alex's roving eye plus sexting various women on the side, and Jennifer wants to get to the bottom of why she's not enough for him

Page 7: Jeopardy! contestants want celeb medic Dr. Mehmet Oz axed as guest host -- casting the dubious doc celebrates the elevation of talking heads at the expense of academic rigor and consensus, according to a group of the game show's former winners and contestants in a letter -- the letter cites instances in which Dr. Oz used his authority as a doctor to push harmful ideas, and referred to a 2014 letter penned by faculty at Columbia Medical School, where Oz also teaches, calling for his removal from the program and the letter concludes inviting Oz to guest host is a slap in the face to all involved

Page 8: Jeffrey Epstein's accused madam Ghislaine Maxwell's third desperate bid to get out of jail on bail has been nixed by a federal judge -- the 59-year-old British socialite it rotting in a Brooklyn, N.Y. federal slammer denying charges she recruited underage girls to be sex slaves for her late lover Epstein, whose 2019 death in his jail cell is suspected on being a staged murder, despite an official ruling of suicide -- Maxwell's offer to plunk down $22.5 million and give up her citizenships in England and France was nixed by Judge Alison Nathan, who agreed with prosecutors the suspected Israeli intelligence asset was still a flight risk -- meanwhile, Ghislaine's lawyers claim she was abused by a guard and is losing hair and weight due to poor treatment in the slammer, where she's awaiting a July trail date

Page 9: Billionaire Queen Elizabeth is bracing for a big pay cut -- due to the financial crash triggered by the COVID pandemic, the Sovereign Grant, the tax money allowance the royals get, is expected to be slashed by more than 25 percent when it comes up for its five-year renewal in 2022 -- last year, Her Highness raked in $114.2 million from taxpayers, but that bundle was exceptional and cannot expect that to be repeated -- a major cost, besides allowances for the royal family, is a renovation of Buckingham Palace, which prices out at $500 million over 10 years -- one saving is Prince Harry and wife Meghan Markle have been stripped of their titles and public paychecks -- Her Majesty is aware of the current financial situation and is happy to play her part in cutting costs

* Prince Harry has landed a job as a hot-shot exec of a firm providing mental health and life counseling but it sounds like the tech start-up company is really using him as a celebrity showhorse -- Harry, who studied art and geography in college, will be Chief Impact Officer for BetterUp Inc, saying he intends to help create impact in people's lives -- BetterUp CEO Alexi Robichaux refused to say how much he's paying the prince, but noted Harry will have a meaningful and meaty role and will attend all employee meetings at the San Francisco headquarters and Robichaux also hinted at Harry's true value, saying he'll be a special guest at company events; in other words, the company will use him as a celebrity draw and they'll lure potential clients and investors to events by saying they can run shoulders with the prince and Harry has no psychology training; he will be a showpiece -- Harry first hooked up with BetterUp by using its app that gives proactive coaching and provides endless possibilities for personal development, increased awareness and an all-around better life and Harry says he was matched with his coach who is truly awesome and has always given him sound advice and a fresh perspective, which is so valuable

Page 10: Lisa Marie Presley is getting back on track after her son Benjamin Keough's tragic suicide and bitter divorce from Michael Lockwood, but she's still a hopeless addict -- Elvis Presley's 53-year-old daughter smokes like a chimney from morning until night and is struggling for every breath and she goes through a pack or two a day minimum and she simply can't quit and she has cut out triggers like booze and coffee, but she still needs her cigarette fix from the moment she wakes up until she puts her head down at night -- she was snapped having a smoke outside a COVID-19 testing center in L.A.'s San Fernando Valley and it was the only time she was spotted in public since her son died in July -- she started smoking at age 15 and has admitted this is the one thing that got her and bit her in the ass that she can't shake even those she's kicked pain pills, cocaine, booze and opioids and she's tried everything she can think of to quit: patches, nicotine gum, going cold turkey, but nothing works and she did stop for a spell after being hypnotized but a day or two later she was lighting up again -- she's losing weight, exercising more and eating healthier, but her smoking habit is the elephant in the room

Page 11: Following the heart-crushing suicide of her brother, Elvis Presley's granddaughter Riley Keough has become a death doula, a counselor who helps terminal patients and their cope with the devastating trauma -- Riley announced she'd completed her training on social media -- the daughter of Lisa Marie Presley and her first husband Danny Keough, Riley was devastated when her brother Benjamin Keough committed suicide with a shotgun last July -- spurred by the tragedy to become a death doula, Riley says she thinks it's so important to be educated on conscious dying and death the way we educate ourselves on birth and conscious birthing

* Reality TV train wreck Mama June Shannon claims she and her boyfriend Geno Doak spent $900,000 in a year to feed their drug addiction and the couple were spending $2500 a day, if not more, on methamphetamine -- June entered rehab with $1.75 in her pocket and they've been clean 14 months

Page 12: Celebrity Buzz -- reformed boozer Luann de Lesseps sips a soft drink in Mexico (picture), Real World star Rebecca Blasband believes she had an otherwordly 15-year beyond-the-grave relationship with Beatles legend John Lennon's ghost, in Australia a not so itsy bitsy spider bite turned into a giant wallop of a headache for Melissa McCarthy, Ilana Glazer and husband David Rooklin are happily expecting their first baby ironically right before of her horror movie False Positive, Sarah Silverman says no one ever told her not to use tongue in screen kisses and it got her fired from a show called Pride & Joy

Page 13: Al Pacino gets all gussied up in Italy to play fashion godfather Aldo in the biopic House of Gucci (picture), Justine Bateman (picture), Tom Selleck covers up his signature 'stache with a mask in L.A. (picture), first-time mama Katharine McPhee hit a sour note with composer husband David Foster for blabbing their newborn son's name Rennie David Foster on Today

Page 14: Rihanna plunked down $13.8 million for a new Beverly Hills mountaintop mansion that's literally surrounded by noteworthy neighbors like Paul McCartney and Mariah Carey and Madonna who live in the same exclusive star-studded cul-de-sac, Tom Cruise is on a mission to unload his Rocky Mountain getaway for $39.5 million, Goldie Hawn gushes her life partner Kurt Russell is still hot as heck after turning 70

* Fashion Verdict -- Miranda Lambert 4/10, Taylor Swift 5/10, Phoebe Bridgers 1/10, Giuliana Rancic 7/10, Brandi Carlile 6/10

Page 16: Cover Story -- Angelina Jolie is determined to paint her ex Brad Pitt as an abusive, drunken monster, and now she's got their kids backing her claim that he's the dad from hell -- the mom of six, who's been battling Brad in court over custody and money for five years, filed new bombshell papers saying she and her children want to testify their life was the pits -- while the documents are sealed, Angelina is making sure their kids paint Brad as violent and aggressive and her shocking charges continue earlier accusations by oldest child Maddox, now 19 and in college, who accused a booze-fueled Brad of abusing him on a private flight five years ago and Maddox essentially painted his dad as a demented monster and he went into detail about Brad's terrible temper, the abuse he inflicted on the whole household with his binge drinking and the scars that exist to this day because of the appalling way he alleges Brad treated his mom during the marriage -- Brad has reportedly been sober for years and Angelina's new claims of domestic abuse are basically a rehash of the old accusations -- legal experts also maintain the minor kids can only testify if Brad agrees to it, which is doubtful -- the superstars have spent a combined $10 million in legal fees and are currently battling over visitation rights for their brood and Angelina has refused to compromise, wants full custody and calls it a fight to the death and she doesn't care about Brad or how anybody sees their fight, she just wants what she feels she is entitled to as a mother and will fight with every inch of her body and soul to get it

Page 19: 10 Things You Don't Know About Topher Grace

* Katherine Heigl boasts she's bionic after having two titanium disks inserted into her neck and the actress says the surgery has freed her from the most excruciating pain

* Wendy Williams broke wind in a stunning fart-burp combo while she was live on camera, right in the middle to discussing Kim Kardashian's divorce from Kanye West -- the gassy lassie seemed surprised at her own outburst and apologized to the audience

Page 20: True Crime

Page 23: William Shatner is creating an artificial intelligence-powered version of himself -- in true sci-fi fashion, people in the future will be able to ask him questions about his life and times -- the 90-year-old icon is the first person to be captured by an advanced video and sound system developed by the L.A.-based company StoryFile -- Shatner says with StoryFile, we can now be present for the future; your authentic self, for all time

* Furious perfume mogul William Lauder is battling to kick his former mistress Taylor Stein and their 13-year-old love child out of her home and into the street, because their supposedly secret love affair was revealed -- the big stink exploded after the 60-year-old Estee Lauder heir learned his secret teen daughter wrote on social media that her parents were divorced but actually, Lauder never wed Taylor, but kept her like a queen in a $7 million, 6000-square-foot Bel Air mansion with a $1 million annual allowance for years and the only condition was that she keep their affair and the child under wraps, but the Park Avenue playboy claims she blasted their pact to smithereens when his illicit daughter blabbed about the relationship online -- Lauder hooked up with Taylor in Aspen in 2000 while still wed to wife Karen, mom of three of his daughters -- he knocked Taylor up in 2005, but told her to get an abortion because he was then in the midst of divorcing Karen but three years before the 2009 divorce, Taylor got pregnant again and gave birth to their girl and that's when the moneybags lover boy drew up the hush-hush deal

Page 24: COVID vaccines hidden dangers -- scientists warn shots don't work and have nightmare side effects

Page 27: Gal rock roadie Tana Douglas is snitching on music superstars including George Harrison and Iggy Pop, who she got close to during her wild years traveling with bands -- in her book called Loud, she recalls her job hauling equipment for bands nearly ended at age 21 when Beatle George Harrison was ready to propose, but she blew it; the two were getting close under a kitchen table after George fled his own birthday party, where he was embarrassed by his present: strippers and she ruined the mood by firing up a cigarette and George told her he would marry her tomorrow if she gave up smoking but the first female rock roadie couldn't kick butts -- she has crazy stories about saving AC/DC's frontman Bon Scott when he overdosed, Elton John who did drugs and threw tantrums, The Go-Gos, and doing a line of coke with Iggy Pop intended for David Bowie

Page 28: Health Report

Page 30: Julianne Hough has plumped up her kisser, and her new look falls flat -- the newly single star may have gone overboard with lip fillers to the point where she's almost unrecognizable -- Julianne's had some surgical and nonsurgical things done, but her lips just look wonky and no one can understand why she'd do it because her lips looked fine to her friends and family, but Julianne obviously thought they needed more volume and clearly got carried away -- she's also totally gone overboard with the spray tanning and hair extensions and she ditched the short blond bob that suited her so well and now she's looking like a Kardashian -- her lips look a bit swollen, so it's possible they will settle down and her natural lip proportions appear to have changed, with her upper lip the same size as her lower lip

Page 32: Tori Spelling has got the marriage blues and she's been out and about without her wedding ring -- the 47-year-old mom of five was spotted buying veggies at Underwood Family Farms in California's Moorpark with her kids but minus husband Dean McDermott and her wedding ring -- Tori's fed up with her mate, whining he's not doing his share around the house or paying her enough attention and they've found themselves in a real rut where they spend less and less time together and barely mention one another on social media and they haven't had a date night since goodness knows and Dean is never in the romantic mood and lately, they're more like brother and sister than husband and wife -- Tori wants Dean to step it up and start acting like a hubby instead of a leach and Tori's exhausting herself by taking care of the domestic chores single-handedly at times while Dean has other things on his mind and he hasn't picked up a vacuum or washed the dishes in weeks and sometimes he doesn't seem to be aware she's in the room and it's frustrating her to no end -- ditching her ring is sending Dean a very clear message that he needs to stop taking her for granted and work on the marriage

* Paul McCartney dove deep into his Beatles past and emerged with a children's book inspired by the group's 1966 hit Yellow Submarine -- Grandude's Green Submarine, a sequel to Paul's picture book Hey Grandude, will be released in September and changes the color of the submerged vessel

Page 36: Reality TV momager Kris Jenner is worth an estimated $190 million and masterminded the megabucks careers of her reality star daughters, but she confesses she was clueless about dough when she became divorced -- Kris confesses first husband Robert Kardashian handled everything and she never paid a bill during their 13-year marriage that ended in 1991 -- she said she woke up to responsibilities that she didn't have the day before but she says she's a quick study and she knew she had to get it together and she felt such an enormous sense of accomplishment to be able to figure it all out and pay her own bills and make her own money and do her own taxes and there were times when she didn't have a lot of money, but she was very organized -- now she studies business for new opportunities and she's interested in different businesses and how they evolve and how they become successful and she just enjoys the business world

* Bobby Brown's son Bobby Jr. died after accidentally overdosing on a killer cocktail of alcohol, cocaine and fentanyl, his autopsy reveals, but lawmen say they are now opening a criminal investigation into the 27-year-old's death at his father's home in suburban L.A. -- the autopsy report showed in his final hours Bobby Jr. consumed a deadly mix of tequila, cocaine and the prescription medication Percocet -- he was Brown's second child with former galpal Kim Ward

Page 38: Long-lost letters written by Nazi dictator Adolf Hitler's father, Alois, reveal the freaky Fuhrer grew up to be a cruel, tyrannical, arrogant lout, just like his old man -- the 31 letters were discovered by retiree Anneliese Smigielski in the attic of her house in the Austrian town of Wallern and are the basis of a new book by historian Roman Sandgruber -- penned to Anneliese's great-great-great-grandfather Joseph Radlegger, who sold retired customs official Alois a farm when future Nazi monster Adolf was six in 1895, the letters reveal Hitler's dad was a brutal boozer and boss of the house, but depended on the skills and money of his third wife, Klara, a former servant girl the cheating creep had seduced and wine-guzzling Alois was awfully rough with her and beat little Adolf and the other eight kids -- like his father, Adolf felt superior through the knowledge he had acquired in self-study and he saw himself as a military, technical and artistic genius, not only as a painter, but also as an architect, writer, composer and actor

Page 40: Bethenny Frankel is sporting an engagement ring from fiance Paul Bernon -- the three-stone ring features a huge eight- to ten-carat emerald-shaped center stone and if it's a real, natural diamond, its estimated value is up to $1 million

* Gwyneth Paltrow just babbled something her second husband, Brad Falchuk, probably doesn't want to hear: she never wanted to get divorced from Chris Martin but she wed Brad in 2018 and Gwyneth calls him the most amazing man adding they've built something that she's never had before

* Suzanne Somers brags she and husband Alan Hamel are having sizzling sex three times a day before noon -- she blames doses of hormones for their frisky urges in their golden years

* Klutzy comic Chelsea Handler jokes about her subpar skiing skills online, but later revealed she wrecked her knee and broke two toes after she flew into the trees on a snowy slope in Canada -- Chelsea confesses she took the terrible tumble in British Columbia, where she was training with a personal instructor

Page 41: Vin Diesel's son Vincent is learning it's a good career move to have a movie star dad -- the 10-year-old has landed a $1000-a-day role in his father's new Fast and Furious flick -- the kid plays the younger version of Vin's character Dominic Toretto in the already completed, ninth F&F film -- Vincent's mom is Vin's longtime galpal, Mexican model Paloma Jimenez, who also has two daughters with Vin -- unlike his dad's megabucks salary, Vincent got the basic $1005 daily rate

* The faith-based Duggar family of 19 Kids and Counting fame is still feuding after a sleazy sex scandal ripped them apart -- Jill Duggar Dillard, who's outed herself as one of four sisters molested by big brother Josh Duggar, reveals she hasn't visited her parents' home in years -- Jill and husband Derick Dillard, say they aren't allowed at Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar's Big House without her father's permission and Jill reveals there's some restrictions but also they just feel like they have to prioritize their mental and emotional health -- TLC axed the family's show after Josh was exposed as a child molester and in the past, Jill's admitted she's not on the best terms with some of her family

Page 42: Kim Kardashian has been getting back in touch with her body big-time now that she has booted Kanye West from her bedroom and her life and she's been strolling around totally nude -- with the pair's six-year marriage officially kaput, Kim is gleefully letting it all hang out, while indulging in once-forbidden McDonald's french fries -- Kanye made a habit of telling Kim to cover up and picked her to pieces for wearing sexy outfits and he said she needed to class up her act and grow old gracefully but now she's free to express herself and a lot of the time, especially when Kanye's looking after the kids, she's walking around totally in the nude and it's liberating for her to be at one with her body and she's made no secret of her desire to pursue a racy image and right now Kim's priority is to get her mojo back and learn to love herself again physically

* Britney Spears confesses she's been so wrapped up in battling the conservatorship over her estate, she forgot about singing until her mom reminded her -- the singer hasn't cut an album for five years as she's battled dad Jamie Spears for control of her $60 million fortune after a court gave him control when she went bonkers in 2008 -- she now realizes she's neglected her career after mom Lynne Spears sent her a video of her signing You Got It All at a '90s concert in Singapore and Britney tweeted that her mom reminded her that she can sing and she never sings anymore

Page 44: Straight Talk -- Cradle-robbing Scott Disick has struck again, scooping up a new galpal half of his 37 years, who is barely out of high school -- the latest victim is Amelia Hamlin, 19 years old and daughter of Lisa Rinna and Harry Hamlin

Page 45: Sharon Osbourne is demanding at least $10 million to walk away from The Talk after being accused of racist and sexist attacks on co-hosts -- Sharon is playing hardball, saying she was wrongly vilified for branding lesbian co-star Sara Gilbert a fish eater and calling Chinese-American Julie Chen slanty eyes -- it's going to become a battle royale and Sharon's made her demands clear and will fight tooth and nail and she's a street fighter and is used to playing down and dirty, owing to her years as a hard-nosed rock manager for husband Ozzy Osbourne

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