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honeypiehotchner · 3 years

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Version of You (Hotch x Fem!Reader) — one shot

Call 1-800-799-7233 if you think you are in danger/a victim of domestic violence, or visit this website for resources, live chat, and more (for the USA). This is a link to the wikipedia page that has international resources.

(I wanted to put that first because this fic deals with an abusive relationship and some scenes show the abuse. If you relate to any this, please seek help via the resources above. I want desperately to say my DMs are open, but for my own mental wellbeing, I have to let you know that the resources that I give above are about all I can do to help. You’re welcome to DM me if needed, but please know that it might take me a minute to reply, and I still will point you in the direction of resources that can better help you. I love and support and am with every single one of you, but I can only do so much through a screen xx.)

This is 100% a comfort fic, but I am safe and okay, I promise 💛 (Truthfully, this was really therapeutic to write.)

Small note: mental and verbal abuse is depicted here, not physical (though it does come close), but I wanted to remind you that just because abuse isn’t physical doesn’t mean it’s not harmful or real. Mental and verbal abuse is still abuse.

Summary: Hotch helps you find the courage within you to end your abusive relationship for good.

Warnings: depiction of an abusive relationship, verbal/mental abuse, violence (domestic and otherwise), angst, happy ending

Hotch Masterlist

Aaron is stunned and disappointed to find you’re still at your desk when he walks out of his office at the grand hour of 8 p.m.

You don’t even hear his office door open or close, but you do hear his footsteps on the stairs. By the time he reaches your desk to say goodnight, you’re already attempting to cover up any traces of emotion on your cheeks.

But Aaron is a profiler. On top of that, though, he’s one of your best friends. He’s known you for six years now, and given how much time the BAU members spend together on cases, he’d argue he knows every single person here better than they know themselves.

You’d agree. You hardly know who you are anymore. But somehow, Aaron knows. Aaron can see.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, already setting his bag down, already pulling a chair over, already sitting next to you.

You’re ready to tell him it’s nothing, to tell him to get home to Jack, that it isn’t important — but it is.

You’ve been with your current partner for almost eight years. Anyone would hear that and ask if marriage is on the horizon, or children, or something of the sort. But not Aaron. Because Aaron can see the pain in your eyes.

Truthfully, he’s seen that pain in your eyes for the past two years. Maybe more.

But recently, it’s gotten worse. A lot worse.

You’re on a “break” with your partner. Whatever a “break” even means, because you still receive phone calls and texts from them all day. You send the calls to voicemail unless you absolutely aren’t doing anything, and the texts you reply to with one word.

Going home is fine because your partner is gone — for now. Work called them away, so you’re home alone for at least another three days, but you expect they’ll want you to pick them up from the airport.

You’ve never longed for a case the way you’re longing for one right now.

This “break” has been easiest because your partner has been gone. You know if they were here, it wouldn’t have been a break at all.

“It’s made me realize that I...I want a break. A real break.”

“You want to break up,” Aaron says it for you, knowing you’re too afraid.

Your hesitant nod confirms this for him. “I do. I think I really do.”

Aaron has known the relationship hasn’t been the healthiest. You don’t open up about your personal life that much at work — you never have — but it has always been telling that you never go out for drinks with the team. And when you did, you’d have to answer texts every ten minutes. Your partner never accepted an invite to join the team for drinks or dinner, but would often get angry at you for being out, as if you hadn’t tried to invite them.

Raised voices, broken glass. Not a single hand was ever laid on you. No, instead, it was a wine glass your mom gifted to you when you graduated college when your partner was angry that you had gone out for drinks with the team after a difficult case. A coffee mug you gifted your partner for their birthday faced the brunt of their anger when you didn’t reply to a text message fast enough — because you were parking your car in the garage. Plates, picture frames. A coffee table once, three years ago. It had been a house warming present.

But they’ve never hurt me, you always argue — only with yourself. No one knows the truth, that you clean up after their outbursts, that you’re grateful to have some knowledge of first aid so you can tend to your cuts from the broken glass, or so that you could stitch up your partner’s hand with ease, because hospitals are expensive and the excuses you’d have to fabricate even more so.

They always apologize. Which is true. Apologies are frequent in your house. Sometimes verbal, sometimes in the form of flowers either on your desk at the BAU (that only Hotch seems to notice with a sad smile) or left on the counter at home. Sometimes, rarely, a fancy dinner and some gift, usually a necklace.

“If you need any help at all,” Aaron says, looking you in your eyes, carefully, intently. “I’m here. For anything.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. Your stomach rumbles loudly in the silence, making you chuckle awkwardly.

“Hungry?” He jokes, but is half serious. “I was planning to get something on the way home, if you’d like to join.”

You think it over for a moment. Your mind immediately jumps to say no because you think your partner is home...but they aren’t.

“Sure,” you say. “Why not. What’s on the menu?”

You gather your things and Hotch waits patiently, rattling off some ideas for food to eat until one grabs your attention.

Your phone buzzes with a text. Where are you?

Aaron notices your change in posture with a sigh. “Is that them?”

You nod slowly. “Asking where I am.” You quickly type back, Still at the BAU.

The reply is almost immediate, as always. Just checking. Love you.

Relief washes over you as you type back, Love you too.

Aaron doesn’t like what he sees. The panic that surges through you just from a text message, making you stand up straight, hold your breath, clench your jaw. Then the relief that relinquishes you when a reply comes and it isn’t negative for once. The sudden changes, the way your emotions are yanked back and forth. He hates it.

But he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he says, “Ready?” And waits for you to smile.

+++

Hotch really doesn’t mean for dinner with you to turn into somewhat of a routine. But it does.

It’s brought more smiles to your face than Hotch thinks he has ever seen in the past six years. And for that, he doesn’t regret the dinners.

Neither do you, until the worst thing that could possibly happen ends up happening one night, three weeks since the first dinner.

Your partner is going out with friends, so you think you’re in the clear to get dinner with Aaron. And when your partner asks where you are again, you say you’re still at the BAU. You were, but you and Aaron were in the elevator to leave when you sent that message.

The two of you grab dinner at one of your favorite spots, at a table outside because the weather is perfect, the sky is clear, and stars are beginning to show. It’s magical. Until it’s a nightmare.

“Well, well, well.”

The voice sends shivers down your spine. They’re supposed to be out with friends.

Aaron automatically stands, shoulders squared and face set. He’s wearing his gun, and you are, too, but you’d never use it on your partner. You can’t say the same about Hotch, though, and that terrifies you.

“Babe,” you say with a smile, and Hotch tenses, hearing the pet name fall so easily form your lips. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going out with your friends?”

Your partner crosses their arms over their chest. “And I thought you were still at work.”

“We are,” Hotch speaks up, startling you. “We’re discussing a case.”

Your partner looks around, raising their eyebrows. “I don’t see any papers.”

“Because we went digital five years ago,” Hotch replies coolly. “But aside from that, a federal investigation is none of your business.”

You swallow thickly, waiting for your partner’s reply.

But to your surprise, they only nod. “I understand, sir. I was only checking.”

Hotch holds back a scoff, but instead returns the nod. “If you’ll excuse us.”

Your partner holds their hands up in surrender. “Of course.”

“I’ll see you at home,” you say quickly. “Love you.”

“See you at home,” they reply, making you frown as they turn and walk away.

When you look back at Hotch, you nearly scream. It takes everything in you not to make the hugest scene right there, outside this nice restaurant, underneath these stars.

Your phone buzzes. One hour. Do not be late.

“Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you say quietly. “Just. Don’t, Hotch.”

+++

The next day, you knock on Hotch’s office door, twenty dollar bill in hand to pay him back for your dinner last night. You left in a hurry and didn’t get to pay. Thankfully, at least, arriving home with forty minutes to spare saved you from an even worse reaction from your partner.

“For dinner last night,” you mumble, sliding the twenty across Hotch’s desk. “Thank you.”

As you turn on your heel to leave, Hotch calls out to you. “I’m sorry.”

You sigh. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Aaron says, making you turn back around. “I hope you’re...alright.”

You’re so very far from being “alright” that you almost laugh. Instead, you shrug. “It’s been worse.”

“Did they hit you?”

You’re too shocked to move. “What? No! Why the hell would you even say that?”

“Because I’ve been worried about you.”

“They have never laid a hand on me,” you snap. “Ever.”

“But they’ve come close,” Aaron says gently. “You know they have.”

You only scoff. You feel hurt. Insulted, even, that he would assume something like that. Your relationship with your partner is rocky, of course, but never physical abuse rocky. Never that bad.

But has it come close?

Sure, maybe you’ve felt the wind off a beer bottle when it grazed by your head on its way to the wall. Maybe you have had to duck to avoid getting glass to the face. Maybe.

Maybe they have come close. Closer than you want to admit.

But they’ve also loved you. Held you while you cried. Rewarded you after you cleaned up the broken glass. Left you flowers and jewelry and love notes.

They love you. Don’t they?

“It’s fine,” you whisper, blinking back the stubborn tears that have jumped to the front of your eyes. “They love me.”

“Love isn’t violent,” Aaron replies gently. “Love shouldn’t make you as terrified as I saw you when you left last night.”

“I know,” you choke out. “But I don’t know what to do.”

Hotch is rounding his desk and gathering you in his arms before the first tear slips down your cheeks. He holds you while you cry, letting you get it all out.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispers, resting his chin on top of your head. “Don’t worry.”

+++

It all comes to a head a few nights later when your partner springs a question on you. The question.

There, standing in the bathroom, you’re too stunned to speak.

“What d’you say, baby? Let’s get married, you and me.”

You don’t reply. You toss the makeup wipe in your trash can, flick the light in the bathroom off, and walk out into the bedroom.

“Baby?” They ask.

You’re facing the dresser, halfway to setting out a pair of pants for work tomorrow. “I...I can’t.”

“What?” Their reply is immediate and angry. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t,” you repeat, refusing to change your answer. “No.”

By the time you turn around, they’re standing up from the bed, arms crossed over their chest. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said no,” you say firmly. “I’m not marrying you.”

“And why not?”

“I—”

“Are you seeing someone else?”

“What?”

“Your boss? Are you fuckin’ him?”

“No!”

“Then why won’t you marry me?”

“Because I don’t want to!”

You’ve never raised your voice back at your partner. They’ve always been the one to raise their voice, and you stayed silent, tried to talk them down, be the quiet voice of reason.

But not anymore. You’ve had enough.

“You don’t want to?” They scream. “It’s been eight years and now you don’t want to. You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” you say through gritted teeth. “But I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

“Baby…” They sigh, stepping closer, lowering their arms. “Why not?”

“Because,” you reply slowly, backing up. “Just because.”

“That’s not a good enough reason and you know it.”

“It’s good enough for me,” you say. You step to the side and keep backing out into the hallway, getting ready to run if need be.

“Where are you going?” They all but growl. “What’s wrong with you?”

You’re scaring me, you want to scream, but you don’t. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine? Well I’m for damn sure not fine, I’m heartbroken,” they seethe. You see the tell-tale signs that they’re about to get angry — angry enough to start throwing things. You realize in a moment of horror that a paperweight is within their reach.

And they reach for it.

“Don’t,” you murmur, freezing when their fingers wrap around the glass. “Put it down.”

“Why?” They ask, calm as ever. “Don’t you want to see what you’ve just done to my heart?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, no!” Your reflexes have gotten better since being at the FBI, and you duck right in time. The paperweight crashes against the wall behind you, shattering, denting the wall, and covering the couch in fine pieces of broken glass.

“See what you’ve done!” Your partner screams. “This could’ve been easy! You could’ve said yes!”

You spot your car keys on the counter next to you, and when they turn their back to you to grip at their hair, you slide the keys off and into your pocket.

I have to get out of here. It’s a thought that you never have. Normally by now you’d be vacuuming up the glass on the couch, apologizing every five seconds, pouring them a glass of whiskey or a beer or something. But not now. Not anymore.

You’re a few steps from the door when your partner notices. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Nowhere,” you freeze. “Go take a shower. Cool off. I’ll clean up this mess and then we can talk about this again, okay?”

They almost don’t accept your offer, but after a second, they nod. “There better be a beer waiting on me when I get out.”

“Of course,” you smile.

Your smile makes them suspicious, but they turn and head into the bedroom without another word.

Shaking, you turn to the closet to grab the vacuum, turning it on and beginning to suck up the glass off the couch.

But when you hear the shower curtain pull closed, you escape, leaving the vacuum running.

+++

It’s pouring down rain, you aren’t wearing any shoes, and you’re knocking on your boss’s front door. Can your life get any more pathetic?

When Aaron opens the door, he’s practically hauling you inside and out of the rain.

“What’s wrong?” Aaron asks, already leading you down the hall toward the bathroom. “You’re shivering, we need to get you out of these clothes — you aren’t wearing shoes, fuck, Y/N, what happened?”

“They asked me to marry them,” you choke out. You aren’t even crying. You haven’t cried yet at all. “I said no. They almost hit me.”

Aaron feels a dangerous surge of anger course through his body. “Did they hit you?”

You shake your head, and it turns into a full-body shiver.

“Okay,” Aaron says, taking a deep breath to ground himself. “Okay, let me get some clothes for you. Do you want to take a shower?”

You shake your head again.

“Okay, that’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

You sit, shivering, on your boss’s toilet for a few minutes before he returns with clothes. A t-shirt and pair of sweatpants of his. Old ones, he says, they don’t fit him anymore. You smile slightly when you realize the shirt is from his college, the sweatpants from his law school. No wonder they don’t fit him anymore.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” you say. “I—I think I left my phone there.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. Just get changed and get warm. Do you want some tea? Anything?”

“Just some water, please,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he smiles.

After he leaves, you change out of your wet clothes and into his shirt and sweatpants. You carefully hang your wet shirt and shorts over the edge of the bathtub, hoping that’s okay.

You venture out of the bathroom and follow the noise into the kitchen where you find Aaron putting up dishes.

“Hey,” he murmurs, straightening up. “Do you want ice with your water?”

“Um, sure.”

The sound of ice clinking into the glass makes you flinch, and you’re grateful Aaron’s back is turned away from you.

“There you go,” he hands you the glass.

“Thank you.”

You sip it quietly while he goes back to putting up the rest of the clean dishes in the dishwasher. Once he finishes, your heart is still racing, now with guilt from coming here unannounced. What if he was on a date? What if Jack was here?

“The guest room is all yours,” Aaron says softly. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

You nod slowly. “I don’t know what to do.” You pause, rubbing your thumb over the condensation on the glass. “But I told them I’m not marrying them. But I...I didn’t tell them I was leaving. Or where I was going.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not. They’re gonna be mad. I can’t— Oh my god, I can’t go back. Not alone, they’ll—”

“Hey,” Aaron shushes you, walking around the counter to get to you. “Don’t worry about it right now. We’ll figure it out. I’ll go with you. You won’t be alone.”

“Thank you.”

+++

The next morning, you and Aaron head into the office early so you have time to grab your go-bag and change into your work clothes that you left in there.

Thank God for having a job like this where it’s normal to have a few changes of clothes, a toothbrush, deodorant, and anything else you need in a duffle bag under your desk.

You and Aaron are the first people in the BAU, so you’re able to grab your bag and head to the bathroom to change without any questions. Once you return, you stuff the bag back under your desk and sit down, ready to bury yourself in reports for the day.

But before you can, Hotch calls you into his office.

“What’s up?” You ask when you step into the doorway.

“We didn’t eat breakfast,” he says, and that’s when you notice the two coffees and muffins sitting on his desk.

“Oh,” you chuckle. “I completely forgot.”

“Me too,” he smiles. “Here, sit.”

The two of you eat the breakfast in silence, but somehow you don’t mind it. You’re not in much of a talking mood, anyway.

Rossi arrives next and stops by Hotch’s office, not at all surprised to find the two of you eating together, though he does join with his coffee a few minutes later. The silence vanishes with Rossi, leaving laughter in its wake as he tells old stories about Hotch.

When the rest of the team arrives, they follow the noise to Hotch’s office, and soon you’re surrounded by your family. Your real family.

Once eight-thirty rolls around, you all begin to disperse, back to your respective spaces to start working for the day, and everything feels normal.

And then, in a matter of seconds, it isn’t.

The second your eyes land on your partner standing down in the bullpen, you fall to your knees, scaring the shit out of Hotch.

“What happened?” He blurts, kneeling down to you. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you shake your head. “No, no, no...No, Hotch, they’re out there.”

Hotch doesn’t need their name. The fear on your face is enough.

About this time, you hear Derek’s voice growing in volume. The most you can make out is, “Put...down…!” And that’s when your blood runs ice cold.

You pat your right hip, hoping, praying, your weapon is magically there, even though you know it’s not. You put it in the safe when you got home last night. You didn’t have time to grab it before you ran out and drove to Hotch’s place. You left it there, in the safe, because you never think twice about it since it’s locked away.

But now…

“Don’t do this, man,” Derek yells. “Put. It. Down.”

“Where is she?” Your partner yells. “Tell me where she is!”

“I’m not telling you shit until you put the gun down,” Derek says, firmly. You’re frozen in place, on the floor next to Hotch’s desk as you listen.

“They have my gun,” you whisper to Hotch. “I didn’t think they— I don’t know how they knew the code, I change it every week, I thought—”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry,” Hotch shushes you. “You stay here. Do not move. Try to get under my desk if you can.” He pauses. “There’s an extra pistol underneath. I want you to grab it just in case.”

You nod, but then a memory of last night grips you. “No! You can’t go out there!” You hiss, gripping Hotch’s arm.

Outside, you hear Emily’s voice adding to Derek’s, trying to talk your partner down. It’s a scene out of a horror movie. Straight from your worst nightmare.

“They already feel threatened by you, they’ll just shoot you the second they see you.”

“Not when they already have five guns on them.”

“Let me come with you,” you offer.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Aaron, I have eight years of experience talking them down. I know what I’m doing.”

Hotch doesn’t like that you’re right.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

You nod. You’re shaking all over, but you still nod.

“Okay. Crawl over and grab the pistol from my desk. Tuck it in your waistband, on your back. Go now.”

You stay low as you crawl over, finding the pistol strapped underneath his desk on the right side. Once it’s tucked in your waistband, you stand, facing the window. Hotch stands too, with his back to the blinds, and thank God they’re closed.

“Is she in there?” You hear your partner scream. “Is she with him?”

“Shit,” you mutter. “Shit, shit, shit, they’re gonna fucking kill me.” You hate that the possibility is very real. They have your gun. They could shoot you the second they see you. You’re not wearing any protective gear.

“No,” Hotch replies. “I’m not letting that happen.”

“Come out here, you lying bitch!”

Hotch looks ready to kill your partner himself.

“Babe?” You call out, putting on a false tone, the same one you always use when talking them down. “Babe, what are you doing here?”

You step into the doorway, feeling another frozen chill of fear shoot straight down your spine. They look crazed. Insane, even. Worse than you’ve ever seen, worse than last night, worse than the last eight years.

“Don’t babe me,” your partner seethes, but the gun is still trained on Derek.

You know it makes no sense, but you want them to turn the gun on you. Not Derek. Derek can’t be hurt because of you, not like this.

“Put the gun down,” you say, trying to stay calm and sweet, the way you usually have to be at home.

“I’m not listening to a damn thing you say,” your partner yells, and then the gun turns on you. “There he is.” The gun isn’t aimed at you. It’s on Aaron.

“Put it down,” Aaron’s level voice floats through the terror roaring in your ears. “I won’t ask again.” He shifts and you realize then that he has his own weapon trained on your partner.

“You won’t need to. Come out from behind my fiancé you coward.”

“She’s not your fiancé,” Hotch says. “And you won’t shoot her.”

“Want to bet on it?” Your partner lowers the gun slightly, now pointing it straight at your chest. Strangely, you don’t feel any panic surge through you. It’s telling. That even now, your head is telling you, they won’t hurt me, they never hurt me before.

“Don’t do it,” Derek yells. “I will shoot you, man. Don’t do it. You have six guns pointed at you right now. Do you really want to do this?”

The metal of Aaron’s pistol bites into your lower back when you shift on your heels. Your arms are frozen by your side, too afraid to reach for the gun.

“Put it down,” Rossi yells.

“You’ve got five seconds,” Derek adds. “Don’t make me get to one. Five. Four.”

Your partner’s fingers twitch on the trigger. Aaron catches the movement. Nods once when Derek says three. And on two, Derek pulls the trigger before your partner can do it first.

A broken scream rips from your chest when the bullet lodges itself in your partner’s side, your gun clattering to the ground. Derek steps forward and kicks the gun further away, out of reach.

Hotch lifts you around your waist and pulls you back into his office, kicking the door closed with his foot.

You’re numb to everything as he sits you down on the couch, wrapping his arms around you as you finally sob, letting out every scream that you’ve been holding in.

+++

Your partner is taken to the hospital to be treated for the gunshot wound.

Hotch tells you they won’t stand a chance at being acquitted, too many charges looming over their head already without the addition of domestic violence. You hardly hear his words, but you nod like you do.

He takes care of you while the commotion outside struggles to calm down. A blanket is wrapped around your shoulders, you hug a pillow to your chest, sniffling every few minutes as fresh tears cascade down your cheeks. Spencer brings you a mug of steaming tea that you barely manage to thank him for. Hotch thanks him properly for you before softly shutting his office door.

For months, you’ve been thinking about leaving them. For so long, you’ve wondered what life might be like without them. Now, you don’t know a thing.

You don’t know what to do. Where to go. Will you have to testify in court? If you do, will you have to talk about the...abuse? The abuse that you can barely bring yourself to label blatantly as abuse even though Aaron, your brain, everyone screams at you that that’s what it is — abusive behavior.

When you were a teenager, and even in your early twenties, learning about signs of abusive, unhealthy relationships, you never thought you’d end up in one. You thought surely you’d recognize the first signs and get out of there.

But instead, you did exactly what they said most people do. You brushed them off. You thought, oh, they just love me deeply, that’s all. They want what’s best for me, that’s all. They want me to be safe and protected, that’s all.

And that’s lovely, but there’s a difference. Between caring and controlling.

You never thought the difference would be so hard to see.

“Come on,” Aaron’s soft voice pierces through your thoughts. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You blink. “Where?”

“Wherever you want to go,” he replies gently. “Your apartment?”

Immediately, you shake your head. But then you pause. Because aside from your apartment and the BAU, you have nowhere else to go.

“Would you be comfortable going back to my apartment?” He asks. “I understand if it’s uncomfortable. I’m sure Garcia or Prentiss would be happy to let you stay with them, and I’ll gladly send them home with you.”

As much as you love Garcia and Prentiss, you strangely feel more comfortable with Aaron. After all, Pen and Emily don’t— or didn’t know about your partner’s behavior. Only Hotch knew.

“If you don’t mind, I’m...I’m okay with your place.”

“I don’t mind at all,” he smiles. “The guest room is yours for as long as you need.”

That makes you smile, though the expression feels foreign on your lips. “Don’t you have to stay?”

“It can be dealt with tomorrow,” he replies. “The paperwork will still exist tomorrow at eight a.m.”

“Okay,” you accept defeat. “Can I take this blanket?” You don’t like the idea of this weight leaving your shoulders.

“Of course,” he says.

You fall asleep in the car.

You didn’t mean to, but you were exhausted. And by the time you woke, Aaron had already carried you into his apartment. Startled, you gripped his arm a little too tight, but he shushed you carefully, letting you know you’re safe, he just didn’t want to wake you because you were sleeping so soundly.

He set you down on the guest bed where you tried and failed to get some rest last night, but now, you sleep like a baby.

+++

Months after the incident, the guest room at Aaron’s apartment has become your temporary home.

You still haven’t been back to the apartment you owned with your partner — even though their name is on the lease, not yours. You went once with Aaron to pick up your clothes and anything else important, but it was a quick trip. You were desperate to get out of there.

Aaron didn’t like what he saw. The broken glass, the dents in the walls. The way your body language changed immediately. Your unwillingness to return there is fine by him.

It’s a slow, uphill battle as you begin to heal. Your partner still sits in jail, awaiting their trial date. You know you might have to testify, but you know your team might have to be there as well, so that makes you feel better.

Aaron has been incredibly respectful of your space. You were the one who brought up the idea of carpooling to work, one of you driving every other day, to save on gas for the both of you. He had assumed you wanted to drive on your own and always have your car — which is true, but you didn’t mind riding with him.

He’s the only one your terrified brain doesn’t seem to be scared of.

And you’re not complaining. You’re grateful to feel a small ounce of safety after feeling every sense of unsafe for the past eight years.

+++

Your ex-partner’s trial comes and goes in the following three months. You did testify, along with the rest of your team, the verdict is guilty. Life in prison.

You wept on the steps of the courthouse from the sheer relief of it all.

“They’ll never hurt you again,” Aaron had told you and you didn’t believe him for one second.

Still now, as you know for a fact they are sitting in a prison cell, you have a small fear. But you think you always will.

You continue “rooming” with Aaron — that’s the best way you can think to put it — and you’ve come to really enjoy the weekends when Jack comes over. At the start, Aaron would try to take Jack out to the park to give you time alone, or you’d go spend some time with Penelope, but after a while, you started staying. And after a little while longer, Jack started warming up to you, and expecting your presence.

One weekend, you hear Jack and Aaron playing in the living room while you’re in Aaron’s office, trying to get some work done. And halfway through signing your name on a piece of paperwork, you hear Jack “whispering” to Aaron about you.

“Do you like her?” Jack whispers, but it definitely comes across as more of a soft shout.

Aaron’s eyes widen, and he presses his index finger to his lips. “A lot,” he says, but you don’t hear him — though you were straining pretty hard.

“Me too,” Jack giggles. “Is she your girlfriend?” He teases, poking his dad with his Lego sculpture.

Aaron pokes his son back with his own design. “No, buddy, she isn’t.” Again, you can’t hear him, but Jack’s question made your heart hammer in your chest.

You know you’ve had some feelings begin to develop because truthfully, they were blooming months ago, back when you began having dinner with Aaron. But then everything happened, and you still loved your ex, and things got too complicated.

Now, though, seven months out from the start of it all, the feelings are still there.

Aaron hasn’t made any moves, so you’ve kept silent. You don’t know how much of his good deeds are simply out of his own kindness. And you certainly don’t want to mistake it for something it’s not.

But kids pick up on things adults try hardest to hide.

You continue with your paperwork, listening to them continue to play.

It’s not until after Jack goes home to Hailey that his question is brought up, and it’s only because Aaron asked what was bothering you.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it,” he says. “But I’m here if you do.”

He’s always here. That’s what made you have a crush on him in the first place, years ago. He’s always there for anyone who needs him.

“I heard you and Jack earlier,” you start. “When he asked if I’m your girlfriend.”

Aaron sighs. “I’m sorry. I think it’s just confusing for him because to him, living together equals relationship since all he’s known is me and Hailey—”

“I’d like to be,” you interrupt his nervous rambling. “If that’s something you’d like, too.”

He blinks a few times, then smiles. “You…” He pauses. “Are you sure?”

“Aaron, I’ve liked you for so long and never said anything—”

“I’ve liked you for so long and never said anything,” he counters. “You’re serious?”

“Very,” you whisper.

When he kisses you, it’s what you’ve longed for all this time. It’s exactly what you’ve been yearning for. It’s exactly the kind of love you know now that you deserve.

Recovery has been messy, and will continue to be messy for some time, but you’ll have Aaron next to you every step of the way. Always.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #tw domestic violence #tw abuse #criminal minds #version of you song fic #criminal minds songfic #aaron hotchner songfic #version of you #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you

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sondepoch · 3 years

Text

Breaking (4/5)

Breaking the Collar

Nine months in the human trafficking circuit has destroyed every sense of normality you ever knew. For you, it's commonplace to be ordered on your knees for your owner, his clients, anyone else Childe deems necessary—and you've reached a point where you accept it this misery, just going along with the motions of life because there's nothing else to do.

Diluc and Kaeya change that.

They enter your life on a regular workday afternoon, stepping inside Childe's massive office under the pretense of sorting out a business deal, but a single hastily written message makes it clear that they're not here to hurt you: they're here to help you.

The only issue is that you have no idea how to escape Childe.

MASTERLIST

Childe is broken.

That’s the only way to explain it, really.

Something in him seemed to change after his meeting with Diluc and Kaeya. The lazy smiles, playful grins, and rugged charms that Childe used to project as naturally as light off the sun have evaporated into thin air, leaving nothing but a shell of a man you once thought to be so powerful.

“Ajax,” you whisper, calling his name to wake him up. All he really needs to do is open his eyes. You know that he’s already awake, long used to how rhythmic the rise and fall of his chest is from months of sleeping by his side, but the redhead ignores you, pressing his head deeper into the crook of your neck.

“Ajax,” you repeat, frustration beginning to drip into your tone. “Ajax, you have to wake up.”

Except that he doesn’t actually have to.

The man received an onslaught of calls the day after his meeting with Diluc and Kaeya, all of which he answered with varying degrees of frustration, but ever since then, his phone has been radio silent. Where Childe used to be out of bed every day by eleven and in his office by twelve to attend to his meetings, he’s now done nothing but stay in bed all day—and the worst part is that no one seems to care, his phone completely silent save for the daily calls he’s been avoiding from Scaramouche.

Where a few days ago, you were annoyed with the fact that he forced you to do nothing with him for hours on end, not even fucking you at night the way he always used to, now, you’ve begun to grow concerned.

“Ajax, get up.”

You try to pull his head off your shoulder in hopes that you can force him to at least look you in the eye, but the way he instantly stiffens and burrows deeper into your shoulder is proof enough that he’s not going anywhere.

You sigh.

This marks the third day where he’s refused to even brush his teeth in the morning, the fourth where he’s refused to speak. If your life were anything normal, you’d have forced him up long ago—but you’re hardly in a position to pretend you have any authority over him. It’s clear that he knows that, too.

“Ajax, I really need you to get up...”

—which is a true statement, surprisingly.

The plan you’d developed to initiate your escape, perfected over the car ride back from Childe’s meeting with Diluc and Kaeya, was simple: snag a knife from the kitchen in Childe’s apartment, sneak into his office, use said knife to tear open the briefcase you know must have your documents inside of it, and then start running to the hotel Diluc and Kaeya said they’d be in.

You spent hours perfecting this: figuring out where Childe would be most likely to store the kitchen knives, what time of day will be best for sneaking out, and even what clothing you’ll wear when running away, since you can’t exactly run through the streets of Snezhnaya in your usual birthday suit, and for once, it seemed like the stars had actually aligned for you.

Unfortunately, when you developed your plan, you hadn’t accounted for Childe’s sudden change in behavior.

“Ajax, please…”

But the man barely even shifts in response.

Hours later, after you’ve long given up on waking him and have instead decided to join him in his slumber, you both wake up together to a voice much louder than either of yours.

“What the fuck,” Childe groans, throat hoarse from not speaking for days on end, “is that sound.”

In your opinion, it’s pretty clear what that sound is: Scaramouche’s aggressively loud shouts of “Open the fuck up!” and “Stop dodging my calls!” and “Get out of bed, asshat!” accompanied by a nonstop banging that makes you grateful no one else lives on this floor doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

Instead, all you say is a quiet ”I think that’s Scaramouche.”

Childe withdraws his head from your neck with a mocking glare as the intensity of Scaramouche’s banging increases.

“I’m coming in, dickweed!” the man shouts from many rooms over, and that’s the only warning you and Childe get before you hear what has to be the sound of a door being kicked in.

“Did he just…”

Childe stares at you in shock.

A small smile flits onto your face, grateful that someone has finally come to snap Childe back to his senses.

Scaramouche doesn’t bother quieting his footsteps as he stomps towards the master bedroom. He throws the door open with such force that you almost fear it'll rebound straight back into his face, but Scaramouche is across the room with his hands around Childe’s neck so fast that you’ve barely blinked before your owner’s head is being bashed against the bedframe.

“What the fuck,” Scaramouche snarls. “Made you think it was a good idea to tell anyone that you were the one who lost Lumine.”

“I didn’t—”

Your owner’s voice is cut off when Scaramouche grips Childe’s neck and wordlessly threatens to hurt him again.

“Do you know how many problems this will cause? No one wants to work with you anymore, Tartaglia.”

“I know, and—”

Scaramouche pushes Childe’s head back into the bed frame, albeit with a little less force this time.

“No one wants to work with me anymore for having worked with you. Same for Signora and Dottore.”

“There’s nothing I can—”

“And all your big clients somehow got wind of it, too. They’re trying to switch over, and they’re all going to traffickers who aren’t associated with the Fatui because you—”

“Do you think I fucking wanted people to find out?”

It’s the first proper sentence you’ve heard from Childe since he left that meeting room with Diluc and Kaeya.

“Do you think I fucking want the literal shittiest people in the world thinking that they can look down on me?” Childe shoves Scaramouche off him, blue eyes narrowing into a glare. “I’ve already lost everything, asshole, so I don’t need you here if all you’re going to do is remind me of that.”

Scaramouche’s face settles into a frown, though you do see a hint of apology in his eyes. The pain in Childe’s voice didn’t go lost on anyone in this room.

“You smell like shit,” Scaramouche says abruptly, looking away. “Take a shower. We’ll figure out how to fix this after that.”

Childe doesn’t say anything at that, merely stepping out of bed in his sweatpants and walking to the bathroom.

“Go with him,” Scaramouche tells you. “You smell even worse.”

You’re partially insulted, partially grateful when Scaramouche says that. Insulted because, well, it can hardly be considered your fault that your owner clung to you in his bed for days on end without letting you shower. Grateful because after watching Childe do nothing for so long, you’re not sure he’ll even be able to take a proper shower on his own.

“Ajax?” you whisper softly, following him into the bathroom. “Ajax, should I—”

“Be quiet,” he whispers. Childe steps inside the shower, eyes downcast. “Please,” he adds in a softer voice.

The man doesn’t start the shower until you’ve stepped in beside him, and you’re jarred when you realize how familiar this position is. It reminds you of how, months ago, when Childe first declared you his favorite and began inviting you to spend the night with him in his apartment, he brought you with him to the shower because he couldn’t trust you to be alone for so long. It was probably his first step in his attempts to win you over, since even back then, he was always so touchy with you, always asking what your preferred shampoo scents were and insisting that you let him wash your hair.

Back then, you were the sullen one, timid to speak and hesitant to look your owner in the eye. When he washed your hair for you, it was all you could do to shut your eyes and wait for his touch to go away, but now...

“Let me,” you tell him when he reaches for a bottle of shampoo.

It’s the first time you’ve ever initiated anything like this. You hold your breath, wondering if Childe will refuse you.

Wordlessly, the man bows his head to you.

You don’t entirely know what compels you to massage shampoo into his hair with such tenderness. A part of you says that it’s because you feel guilty, since it’s obvious by now that your slip-up to Kaeya that Lumine and Childe were connected is what’s resulted in his current plight, but another part of you does it simply because it feels natural. Standing next to him, his body blocking out most of the water as you let the soapy suds rinse from his hair, feels homey. Peaceful. Pleasant, almost as if the relationship between you isn’t owner and slave, as if the two of you are actually equals and you’re simply caring for him out of the goodness of your heart.

Childe seems to sense it, too, because right after you’ve washed conditioner from his hair and have finally begun using a loofah to clean his body, he stops your arms. He holds them loosely, just enough strength in his fingertips so that you know he wants you to stop but still sufficiently little that you’d be able to keep moving if you want to, and the two of you stand there like that for much too long, naked and vulnerable, staring into each other’s eyes as warm water beats down at you.

“I…”

It’s the first time Childe is actually speaking to you in such a long time, and his eyes soften the way they always do when he looks at you and makes you feel like you’re the only thing to exist in this world.

“I think I—”

“Hurry up in there!” The sound of Scaramouche kicking the door ruins the moment, and Childe abruptly drops your wrists from his hold. He steps back quickly, almost as if realizing how close his lips had moved towards yours, and a familiar pink stains his cheeks as he glances away from you and hurriedly scrubs the rest of his body clean.

“Sorry,” he blurts, so quick and uncomfortable that it almost reminds you of how he normally is. You’d believe it, too, if not for the slight twinge of distance in his eyes that tells you he’s still thinking about Lumine or whatever it is that has him so out of it. “Uh, thanks. I’m, uh, gonna go. Gotta talk to him, y’know? You can, uh, finish up in here.”

You almost want to laugh at how awkward Childe is as he steps out of the shower and towels off to brush his teeth, blue eyes flickering to your form only to glance away in embarrassment when he realizes that he’s being watched.

“I’ll put new clothes on the bed for you, so…”

Childe nods stiffly at you and closes the door, and it’s all you can do to blink after him.

Ten minutes later, once you’re fully clean for the first time in much too long and you’ve worn the clothes lain out for you on the bed, you make your exit from the master bedroom and follow the sound of voices into the living room.

“Listen, I—”

“Wait.” Childe puts up a hand, gesturing for you to come over. Wordless, you do, though it surprises you when your owner lets you sit at his side instead of on his lap. “Alright, continue.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes the slightest before going on:

“All I was saying was that your career might be salvageable if you relocate. Let’s say you drop the name Tartaglia and instead fill the role of Capitano. You’ll have to move to Sumeru, but you might be able to continue your work there. Everyone now knows that Tartaglia was responsible for losing Lumine, but as long as you don’t tell people in Sumeru that you were Tartaglia, no one should question you there.”

“I hate everything about that plan,” Childe says, crossing his arms. “I don’t even know what language they speak there. I’ll be the foreigner. Everyone will think that I came to Sumeru as a last resort because I couldn't sell my merch anywhere else. Do you know how much I made fun of those two Mondstadt pricks for trying to do business here? They didn’t even have accents either, so imagine what people will say when I—”

“You don’t exactly have the luxury of caring about what people will say behind your back.” Scaramouche glances away, sensing that it’s a low blow. “I mean, listen. No one wants to work with you anymore, and this is the only way ‘you’ can become someone else.”

But Childe remains silent.

“You can keep all your merchandise,” Scaramouche continues. “In fact, the people in Sumeru will probably like that, since it means that the girls won’t know the language and they won’t be able to escape or ask for help. Hell, you can even bring her—”

“Is that even a question?” Childe asks defensively, a hand wrapping protectively around your knee. “Listen, Scaramouche, I appreciate you trying to help me, but Sumeru isn’t—”

“Isn’t what? Isn’t ideal? You letting it slip that you’re the imbecile who lost Lumine wasn’t ideal, but look where it—”

“I didn’t say shit!” Childe hisses in response. “Do you seriously think I’m that dumb? That I’d let those two Mondstadt pricks, of all people, know something that could destroy my career? That has now destroyed my career?”

“If not you, then who, Tartaglia? The only people who know are a part of the Fatui, and it’s not like—”

Scaramouche gestures to you wildly, evidently about to say that it’s not like you could have known, except that he now remembers that he did let mention Lumine in front of you to Childe once, and you can see the moment where he connects the dots.

“You fucking bitch,” Scaramouche whispers, eyes wide with fury and shock.

“No,” Childe says, standing up abruptly. “She didn’t say it intentionally. She still doesn’t know who Lumine is.”

“But she told someone, Tartaglia. You’re literally going to be kicked out of Snezhnaya because of her, and you still want to protect her?”

Childe’s mouth forms a thin line.

Scaramouche laughs mirthlessly.

“Fucking hell. Do you think this is a joke? Your life isn’t the only one she sabotaged, Tartaglia. Everyone in the Fatui is suffering, and if you keep letting yourself get seduced by your fucking toys, you should just quit being a human trafficker before one of us shoots you.”

Tartaglia says nothing.

“You’re a disappointment. At this point, you’ve caused more trouble for us than you have good. Everything you do seems to be another international incident, and I’m fucking sick of it.”

More silence.

“It’s people like you that make me terrified to retire. The more I talk to you, the more I think that you would have been better off as a slave rather than the owner. I never should have let you move up. You were built for taking dick, not for trying to control it.”

Your eyes widen as Childe remains silent.

“And you know who takes the blame every time you fuck up? Me. It’s me. Everyone in the goddamn Fatui thinks I made a bad call now when I set you free and, I’m going to be honest, I’m beginning to think they’re ri—

Childe stiffens next to you, standing.

“That’s enough,” he says, the look in his eyes dark. “What’s done is done,” he says. “Or do you need to vent some more?”

Scaramouche crosses his hands, a look of...regret? embarrassment? pity? Flickering across his eyes. He stands up with an unreadable look on his face.

“I’m...being serious. Consider whether or not you still want to work in the Fatui. This is the best shot you’ll have at leaving.” Scaramouche’s eyes flit over to you, where Childe’s hand is now wrapped protectively around your waist. “Though if I’m honest, I don’t think you even want to be a human trafficker anymore.”

Childe says nothing to that, merely waving casually as Scaramouche exits the apartment through the hole he made in the door. You wince when you see the damage, wanting to ask your owner how he plans on repairing it, but another question is more pressing on your mind:

“Ajax?”

“Yes?”

“Who’s Lumine?”

Your owner looks at you, brushing his thumb by your cheek as his eyes take on a nostalgic tint.

“I’ll tell you some other time.”

Childe goes back to his bad sleeping habits as soon as Scaramouche leaves. Within seconds, your owner is shirtless and has flopped onto the bed, shooting you a pleading look to curl up next to him. Thankfully, this spell seems to last a little shorter than the previous one because although the man refuses to get out of bed, he at least entertains you with a conversation.

“What else?” you ask, a playful smile on your face as Childe continues telling you stories about Xiangling.

“Well, there was this one time where some kid was making fun of Xiangling for being bad at art, so she and I decided that we’d bring in sandwiches for the entire class and make his extra spicy. I actually helped her with the cooking process and all, so I watched how much chili she put into the sauce she was going to use for this kid’s sandwich and it was ridiculous, like I thought she was trying to murder him or something, but anyway, we get to school and start handing out the sandwiches, and…”

You’re completely enthralled as Childe tells you the story of how he had to go to the nurse’s office because he, unfortunately, was the poor soul to eat the overly-spicy sandwich through a Xiangling-esque mix-up—and you don’t care that he’s probably making it up just to see you laugh, all that matters is that the man is smiling and talking and not staring miserably at the ceiling the way he has been for the past few days.

“You should try that the next time you’re in a business meeting with someone you don’t like,” you say, giggling. “It would be such a flex if they thought that you could eat something so spicy while they’d struggle.”

“Maybe,” Childe chuckles. “I really wanted to do something like that to those two Mondstadt pricks—and it might work, too, since they’re at least still doing business with me—but they already left the country.”

“What?” you ask in alarm, fear presenting itself as excitement through the speed with which you respond.

“Yeah,” Childe hums. “They had to go early or something. I guess it’s fine since we already agreed on the mode of transportation, but—”

“Wait, really? B-but hasn’t it been less than two weeks since your last meeting with them?”

Alarm bells begin to ring inside your mind. You remember—you swear you remember the two of them telling you that you’d have at least two weeks to get the documents before they’d leave. But could it be that they’ve forgotten about you? What if they decided you were trouble? What if they know that you’ve begun to grow close to Childe as of recent? What if they—fuck—you’ve actually begun to like the redhead, haven’t you? The fact that he’s not bringing to meetings anymore, handing your body off to be fucked like a toy before he takes you back, has made you forget that the man in front of you is a monster, hasn’t it? Could they somehow know?

A pool of dread rises in your stomach.

What you did today in the shower, willingly touching him and showing him affection he’s done nothing to deserve, was disgraceful. How can you expect Diluc and Kaeya to free you if you’re not even doing your best to be freed? What if they know about what happened today? What if they think you’re a lost cause? What if they abandoned you here because of your own naivety, and you’re cursed to a life of human trafficking for the rest of your days because of your own idiocy?

“Angel?” Childe asks, cupping your cheek. You violently flinch away from his touch, a defensive anger creeping into your eyes. “Angel, I—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I…”

You shut your eyes, reminding yourself of your position. He may not be using you right now, but Childe is a human trafficker. You’re nothing more than his favorite toy. Getting close to him like this will do nothing but hinder your escape.

“It’s nothing,” you say, averting your eyes. Still, you make no effort to return to Childe’s warm embrace. “Just, um, tired. I’m going to take a nap.”

Childe must know that what you’re saying is utter bullshit, primarily because these past few days have been nothing but sleep and rest and more sleep, but he doesn’t push it. “Alright,” he says, leaning forward to kiss your cheek.

You turn away from him before he can get close.

There’s a strange sound Childe makes, then. It’s something between a sigh and whimper, dejected and hurt all at once, but you don’t turn around to check on him. He’s a monster, you tell yourself, forcing the image of Childe looking like a kicked puppy out of your mind. A fucking monster.

And the only two people in the world who are willing to get you away from this monster may have just abandoned you, so you really need to get your shit together.

Pretending to be asleep comes naturally to you after nine months of learning that sleep, even if feigned, was the only escape you could ever have from this life. Hours pass until Childe really has fallen into slumber, something you test by calling his name out quietly, and then you know that it’s time to go—or to at least go do what you can.

You’re abruptly grateful that you and Childe went to bed right after Scaramouche left because it means that you’re fully clothed, which is an unnatural state for someone like you. When you quietly climb out of bed and out of Childe’s apartment through the hole Scaramouche made in his front door, it almost makes you feel normal because even though you’re still dressed in a cutesy skirt and blouse, you’re not being accompanied by the one man who has never let you go outside alone.

When you finally take the elevator down the ground floor of Childe’s building, no one pays you a second glance as you walk out the front door.

Then, your mind is abuzz.

Don’t look at anyone, you tell yourself because you know that if you have a panic attack here, no one will be able to save you. Don’t look at anyone, just go to the hotel.

Hours of pretending to be asleep helped you sort out your thoughts: it makes sense that Childe would believe Diluc and Kaeya to be gone. After all, they don’t want your owner getting any ideas that they were the ones to free you; however, you need to make sure that they’re actually here.

And besides, you reason to yourself as you cross the street and step towards the hotel you’ve seen so many times across Childe’s apartment. It’s best to make sure I know where they are so that I don’t get confused when I actually escape. It’s important to do this.

With your eyes locked on the ground the whole time, you enter the hotel and take the elevator to the second floor where rooms 213 and 214 will be, just as Diluc and Kaeya instructed. No one pays you any attention, as if reminding you of your insignificance, but you’re grateful for how invisible you seem to be as you exit an empty elevator and wander down a carpeted hall.

This hotel is a considerable downgrade from the extravagant location Diluc and Kaeya were renting out as a front for their supposed trafficking, but it sets you at ease. When you finally stand in front of room 213, it looks almost...normal.

Hesitant, you raise a hand and rap your knuckles against the wood.

“E-excuse me?” you ask, tension beginning to seep in. “Is anyone—are—Diluc? Kaeya?”

Their names sound foreign off your tongue but you repeat them anyway, the intensity of your knocking increasing until you’re practically banging on the door the way Scaramouche was this morning.

No response.

Panic begins to surface, and you quickly switch over to room 214, not bothering to start knocking quietly as you bang on the door desperately.

“Is anyone there?” you call, trying to keep your voice sufficiently low so as to not disturb other patrons of the hotel, but it’s really hard when your fears that Diluc and Kaeya really have abandoned you grow truer and truer with each passing second. “Please!” you sob, practically kicking the door in your attempts to will it into opening. “Diluc! Kaeya! You—you promised you’d—”

The door opens right as you’re about to bang your fists against it once more, and an incredibly annoyed and shirtless Diluc stands to catch both your fists right before you can hit his chest with them.

“I’m here,” he says in that familiar, deep voice of his. “Calm down. I’m here.”

“Oh,” you say, relief suddenly washing through you as you practically go boneless in front of him. You know it’s inappropriate, that the two of you share no real relationship other than the fact that he’s trying to help you escape, but you can’t help the way you instinctively throw yourself forward to embrace him. “Thank you,” you practically sob into his chest. “Thank you for being here.”

“I—” Diluc is quick to pull you back, and he levels his stare with you just as he wipes the tears from your cheeks. “Did you escape? Do you have the documents?”

The redhead glances around the hall once to confirm that no one is watching before he pulls you inside his room. You’re surprised to see a gagged and naked Venti on his bed, the boy’s eyes round in...fear? concern? You’re not sure. The gag surprises you until you remember Kaeya’s previous declaration that Venti was a masochist. He must be into BDSM, too.

“No,” you tell the man, shaking your head. “I just—Ajax told me that you and Kaeya left. S-so I wanted to check to see if you’d actually…”

It sounds stupid when you say it out loud. From the face Diluc is making, he seems to be thinking the same thing.

“Okay,” he says, effectively inviting you in as he walks back inside the room. He approaches the dresser to slip on the black and red gloves you saw from him last time, wearing them before moving to sit on the bed next to Venti, big hands cupping the boy’s slender thighs. “Okay, we’re here. And we’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Okay,” you respond, trying your hardest not to look at Venti. It’s clear that you walked in on an intimate moment. “Um…”

“We were having sex.”

Your cheeks burn. “Right,” you say, nodding your head. “That’s—um—all I—just wanted to check—going to—”

“Don’t leave unless you’re sure that there’s nothing you need,” Diluc says. “We can help you, you know. Give you a lockpick or a hammer or even a gun if that’s what it’ll take to get you access to those documents.”

“No, I’m…”

A soft smile floats onto your face. Awkward as he may be, you’re sure that this is just Diluc’s stoic way of being nice.

“I’m good. I already have a plan for the documents.” You’re about to smile and make your leave when you remember something that’s been at the forefront of your mind for ages. “But…”

Diluc lifts an eyebrow, waiting.

“Um...you don’t need to answer this, i-it’s actually not relevant, so I should—”

“What is it.”

Somehow, when Diluc says that with such a sharp gaze, it feels like less of a question and more of a demand.

You shudder, familiar with the sensation. Nine months of training makes your response automatic:

“Do you know what happened to Lumine?”

Diluc’s face changes.

“I mean—you don’t have to tell me. I was just curious. Ajax keeps talking about her and Scaramouche kept mentioning her and I don’t understand why she’s so important, so I haven’t—”

“Lumine was the name of a human trafficking slave who escaped,” Diluc says, folding his arms. Next to him, Venti leans into him and pulls his knees in, hiding his manhood. “I don’t know any exact dates, since there was probably a gap between when she escaped and when people began finding out, but it happened sometime within the past two years.”

“O...kay?” You cock your head to the side. That...honestly doesn’t sound like a big deal at all, honestly. Slaves escape all the time: heck, Scaramouche said that Xiao disappeared just a few weeks ago, so why isn’t Zhongli facing the same loss in business that Childe’s going through?

Diluc seems to see the confusion on your face.

“The thing was, when Lumine escaped, she took important documents with her.” Oh, you think, beginning to understand why that would be a problem. “At the time, no one knew who had lost her, since that person maintained anonymity during the whole affair, but those documents were said to have definitive evidence that could be used to prosecute basically every human trafficker who had business dealings with Lumine's handler. And since that person was anonymous, it meant that every human trafficker in the world was at risk.”

“I...see.” Now you understand why people wouldn’t want to work with Childe at the revelation that he was the man who lost Lumine. “That’s unfortunate.”

“I guess.” Diluc shrugs and crosses his arms. “The incident was resolved pretty quickly, and everyone soon found out that Lumine had been killed before she could hand the documents over to anyone of importance. Still, though, for someone as prolific as Tartaglia to be the imbecile to have lost his merchandise…”

You hate how your heart immediately beats in defiance when Diluc calls Childe an imbecile. He is an imbecile, you try to tell yourself, despite the fact that you feel nothing but sorrow and pity for him now that you understand what situation you’ve put him in. An imbecile. An asshole. A monster.

But somehow, your heart doesn’t seem to agree with your mind on those words.

“And it’s my fault everyone knows…” you mumble, more to yourself than Diluc or Venti.

Scaramouche’s words from this morning echo through your mind—Your life isn’t the only one she sabotaged, Tartaglia: everyone in the Fatui is suffering—and instantly, guilt hits you like a ton of bricks. Yes, these are human traffickers, but if you remember the utterly dejected look in Childe’s eye this morning, it feels infinitely worse to know that you’re the cause of his misery.

“Are you feeling bad for him?” Diluc asks in a whisper, but the look in his eye is dangerous. Even Venti, who had been pressed beside him up until now, begins to look fearful. “Are you seriously sympathizing with Tartaglia?”

“No, I—I’m not—”

“I hope not,” Diluc says, stony. “Because there are hundreds of other girls who want to be freed and haven’t begun to feel bad for their handlers, and Kaeya and I would much rather focus on them.”

“I’m not—”

“I hope so.”

Diluc stands abruptly, and you take that as your cue to leave.

“Th-thank you for taking the time to—”

“Yeah.”

Diluc practically pushes you out the door frame, then, his broad chest obstructing your view of the inside of the room, but your eyes fly to Venti, who kneels on the bed to make eye contact with you over the redhead's shoulder.

As Diluc begins reiterating the instructions for your return, you focus on the boy in the background.

Venti doesn’t seem to care that he’s nude. Hell, there’s not an ounce of shame on his face despite being gagged and covered in hickeys, and it would alarm you if you weren’t focused on the way he lifts his bruised arms up in an X-formation and begins shaking his head frantically. His lips appear to be forming the words to something, but you can’t understand what he’s saying through the gag.

You’re about to ask what Venti is saying when Diluc turns to see what you’re looking at.

For a second, the room seems to drop ten degrees. Venti freezes, staring at Diluc with round eyes, almost scared, and you swear you hear the redhead growl for a second.

A muffled whimper spills from Venti’s lips.

Diluc turns to you, a gentle smile that unsettles you on his face. “I think you should go,” he says. “Venti must really want my attention now if he’s trying to play games to get it.”

“O-oh, but what was he—”

“I suggest you leave now,” Diluc says, the kind-not-kind smile beginning to slip from his lips. “Because you’ve been here a while, and the last thing you should want is for Tartaglia to find you missing.”

“What about Kaeya—”

“Kaeya’s at the gym,” Diluc practically spits. “So unless you want Tartaglia tracking you there, too, I’d go straight back to your little apartment with him and pray that he didn’t notice you left.”

Despair builds in your chest at that. You were certain Childe was asleep when you left, but what if he reaches out for you while he’s sleeping? What if that wakes him up and he sees that you’re gone? What if—

“Go,” Diluc orders.

The redhead doesn’t wait for you to respond, then, simply slamming the door in your face. Immediately, you’re back in action. You dart for the elevator, knowing that you need to get home as quickly as you can if you want to minimize the chance of Childe waking up to find you gone.

Panic begins to rise. The familiar vines of anxiety begin to climb higher and higher through your stomach as the elevator begins to close with painstaking slowness. Your fingers fumble with the urge to make things move faster, and you doubt yourself for a moment, thinking that you should have taken the stairs, but it’s too late for that, now, with the doors just about to close, and—

You hear the beginnings of a scream. A high-pitched wail, something agonized and miserable and ruined.

Then, the sound cuts off with the closing of the elevator doors.

Too panicked to think, you don’t bother pondering the source of the sound as the elevator reaches the first floor and you stumble your way back to Childe’s apartment.

This time, you’re in so much of a rush that you do attract attention as you exit. Somehow, though, the thought of Childe waking up and finding you gone manages to overpower your fear at being seen, and you stumble forward through the hotel and towards Childe’s apartment building as fast as you can. When you’re safe inside, you have to take the elevator once more: because while Kaeya and Diluc were on the second floor of their hotel, Childe has the penthouse of his apartment, a distance much too large for the stairs to be a viable option, but your nerves begin to calm as you feel the elevator shift higher and higher.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll get home safe and everything will be okay.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Probably not.

The elevator opens directly in front of Childe’s front door, where the hole Scaramouche busted open this morning still remains. Ever careful, you step one foot inside, shift your weight forward, and duck inside.

As soon as you’re completely within the apartment, the pressure and fear of having escaped dissipate. You think that you’ve made it back safely, that you snuck out and will be able to sneak back in with no consequences.

Then, you see him.

“Y-y-y-you’re—”

Childe is shaking like a leaf, looking pale and sickly. His hair is disheveled, messy in a way that lets you know that he’s been running his hands through it for as long as you've been gone, and his mouth is caught open in a mix of shock, confusion, and relief.

“You’re back,” he mumbles in disbelief, and the way his eyes glisten in the darkness of his apartment, catching what little moonlight shines in and reflecting it off, tells you that he’s on the verge of tears.

Then, he blinks, and the tears begin to fall.

“I…”

Words fail you. You don’t know what to say to justify your leave. You don’t know if Childe even wants justification. The man stumbles towards you, and while logic tells you that you should guard yourself, should protect yourself, should prepare to be hit or whipped or assaulted the way a human trafficker would normally behave when his merchandise acts out, the vulnerable look in Childe’s eye makes you think that he won't hurt you.

“I-I—I thought you left,” he blurts, reaching forward to catch your palm in his, squeezing it as if he can’t believe you’re real. “Why—why didn’t you—why are you—”

Back.

He reaches forward to clasp your other hand in his, and when he stands so close to you, holding your hands to his chest like your touch is his lifeline, everything else seems to disappear. For the first time today, the conscious thoughts that this man is a monster and he’s a human trafficker who destroyed your life and you should hate him all disappear—leaving nothing but pain for how miserable he looks at having been left, how shook he is that you decided to come back, how overwhelmed he is that, likely for the first time, someone has chosen to come back to him.

It shakes you to the core.

Never have you seen Childe so rattled. Displays of weakness like this are ones he rarely indulges in, and never at your side. This is the first time you're seeing him openly cry, the man practically clinging to your hand like it's the only thing grounding him, and you realize that he's hurting, too. That Lumine and Diluc and Kaeya and everything else in this godforsaken world of human trafficking have fucked him up just like it's fucked you over, and what you're seeing now is the culmination of all of that.

"Relax," you whisper, letting go of all your resentment for a single moment to pull him close into a warm, loving embrace. "Ajax, relax. I’m here. I’ve got you."

They're the same words Childe used to comfort you when you had a panic attack in the middle of Xiangling's restaurant, the same words that pulled you to safety at a time when even your mind had turned traitor against your heart.

You can't explain why you're comforting him when he's done nothing but ruin your life.

Yet, as Childe clutches your figure and chokes back a harrowing sob, thick, wet tears falling onto your shoulder as he chokes out the words “thank you” over and over again, you can’t help how your embrace instantly tightens.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 6.6k

Notes: OKAY so you know how this was supposed to be four chapters? yeah unfortunately that would make the final super duper rushed or super duper long so there's going to be a fifth chapter! and after the fifth chapter there'll be a short epilogue-y chapter!! the fifth chapter (finale!) and epilogue will be posted together at the same time - i can promise this bc i already have the epilogue written - soo yeah :D my apologies as usual for being late, hope you enjoyed the developments in this chapter! comment thoughts and predictions <3

Comment & Like

Next Update: 7/18/21 (hopefully)

I do not own the rights to Genshin Impact or any of the characters within it.

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iero0 · 3 years

Text

A Love Like Oxygen

The warmer months are the worst. Around the time that the sun grows warmer, and the chipper of birds wake him before sunup, a darkness seizes Harry from deep within, one that worsens with every memorial, every birthday, every deathday along the line.

The grand finale, ultimately, is his own birthday.

He doesn’t understand why he’s feeling so low. In contrast to Draco who despises the summer for its heat that he doesn’t deal well with, and loves it for the long hours of daylight, Harry enjoys the warmth on his skin, hopeful that it will permeate through to bones that feel so dead-cold at times, heavier than Harry thinks people ought to feel in their late twenties.

With his birthday fast approaching, Harry removes himself from get-togethers and barbeques and from life, just to indulge in the agonizing memory of birthdays spent secluded and unloved as a child.

The irony doesn’t escape him. When Ron says that it’s almost as if he wants to be a miserable loner, Harry answers that he might be just correct. They don’t fight about it, though, they don’t. The thing all of them learnt after the war is that sometimes, you help your friends by giving them some space.

Draco, however, is not good at granting space. Fortunately, Harry doesn’t mind, not with him. Draco always seems to be there, holding him through nightmares and reading next to him when Harry stares blankly ahead, incapable of making any sense of his world, stroking through his hair when Harry hadn’t realised how he craved the touch.

This year’s birthday is hardly different from others. He had hid away at home for the last two weeks, avoiding company like Dragon Pox. On the very day of his birthday, however, not even Draco lets him spend the day secluded. Instead, he’s served a huge pile of pancakes and is then shoved into the shower whilst he hears Draco rummaging through their bedroom.

Harry understands only later that Draco was packing a bag for them, when Hermione hands him a small box for his birthday. In it he finds a battered tin soldier of all things (well, she can’t know, he never told her about the cupboard), and it takes him a shocked moment to realise that it’s a Portkey, not some sort of twisted plot to make Harry talk about repressed trauma.

They spend the day at a beautiful wild beach. Ron, Hermione, and Draco travelled with Harry via Portkey, but once there, they meet up with Ginny and Luna, and Dean and Seamus, with Pansy and Theo, and with Blaise and with Neville. Caught up in chatter, splashing about, and playing a bumbling party of beach volleyball, time seems to race. It’s only when the sun changes from yellow to orange that Harry pauses, and his useless brain supplies him with thoughts from earlier, reminds him how exhausting this all is.

Draco’s hand finds Harry’s. He doesn’t look worried, only aware.

In his peripheral view, it doesn’t escape Harry how Neville’s gaze and mouth corners drop to their linked fingers, and something about that is almost too much for Harry to bear. They take a walk along the beach, only he and Draco. Ginny and Ron want to join, grinning and fierce as they are, but Harry hears Hermione tell them off without many words.

Harry smiles, grateful for ‘Mione and her unerring understanding of others. Harry’s smile grows wider when he looks at Draco at his side, clad only in his swim trunks. His delicate pallor is reddened on his cheek bones and the thin bridge of his nose. His shoulders almost gleam in an angry hue of red.

“What?” Draco asks, smiling and playfully shoving at Harry. In lieu of replying, he only shoves back, steps heavy in the uneven sand, and they end up walking arms around each other. Harry presses a careful kiss to Draco’s burnt skin.

“The sun goes down at last,” Draco remarks, eyes squinting against the fiery orb above the trees that line the beach. “Was rather aggressive today. I wouldn’t have endured a minute of it at home.”

“Not without complaining,” Harry says, teasing, and somehow feeling happy to have a moment alone together. They rather tussle instead of talking. Everything that needs to be said is communicated by mischievous glances, quirked mouth corners, and lingering touches. All this exposed skin, Harry thinks, unable to take his eyes off of Draco’s body. Laughter escapes him as he thinks how stupidly proud he has felt all day, having this opportunity to show Draco off to his friends, using every excuse that allowed him to get his hands on his partner. It’s a primitive, childish thought, Harry thinks. And yet he can’t help it.

“It’s just . . . you,” Harry answers Draco’s imploring gaze. “You have no idea what you do to me, Malfoy.”

Draco stops them to kiss properly, so deeply that it steals Harry’s breath away. “Happy birthday, Harry,” he says after, looking affectionate as he travels his hand through the hair on Harry’s chest, giving it a cheeky tug that sets off yet another round of their scrabbling and shoving and fingers boldly sneaking below the hem of their long-dried swim trunks.

They stop again after a while, far away from the others, eyes across the darkening sea as the sun sets at their backs. Harry feels touched by the beauty of this unfamiliar sight, wondering why they don’t Apparate to the seaside more often.

As though he can read his mind, Draco says, “Sometimes I could imagine moving to the coast. Some picturesque town with a beach like this.” He sounds more sincere than romanticising. Harry can’t help but picture the tranquillity of the nearby small towns, him and Draco amidst it all, familiar with the times to avoid tourists and with the unpredictable weather. It sounds like another life, except that only their surroundings would change.

Watching Draco, Harry leans his head against him. Nothing warms him like the look in Draco’s eyes, riveted by the beauty of the sea. “I could get used to seeing you like this,” Harry says.

“Like what?”

Harry chuckles, shrugs. “Happy.”

Something about his statement seems to please Draco. His smile is suave as he pulls Harry closer. “Because you are.”

“Sorry that I . . . needed to get away.”

“Don’t be.” Draco sounds calm and collected. “I don’t mind having you to myself for a while. Did you like the surprise? Did you enjoy your day?”

Harry wants to utter another excuse for feeling overwhelmed, instead he presses his lips together and nods. “It was good. I would have been impossibly moody all day, had we spent it home alone.”

“That’s not why we went out. I wouldn’t have minded spending the day in bed with our curtains drawn closed. I just thought you’d enjoy the beach more than you imagined you would.” Draco turns his head, only slightly to glimpse at Harry. The awe-stricken look in his eyes doesn’t falter. “Love you,” he mumbles, almost a whisper.

“And I you,” Harry replies, locking eyes with Draco. With moments like these, Harry thinks, watching Draco in the blushing light, the dark moments don’t seem brighter. But dragging himself out of the chasm seems so much more worth it.

Happy Birthday, Harry! thanks to my lovely @ladderofyears for beta’ing and being a brilliant friend.

♥ READ ON AO3 ♥

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry art #iero0 fics #iero0 art

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

Text

VALERIE - Part IX. (Harry Styles)

yall are gonna hate me for this but it needed to be done IM SORRY! also, i can’t believe valerie is ending this week, just one more part to go! can’twait to read your reactions and thoughts on this part, even though i know yall gonna be upset lmao

word count: 5.6k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

Some days it truly feels like the universe has plotted against you to make every possible thing go wrong. As if it wants to see just how much you can take before breaking, experiment how long it can dance on your nerves before you end up one of those crazy people who shout at random strangers on the bus for no actual reason.

Starting the day you overslept awfully leaving you only ten minutes before you had to leave. In your hurry you ended up putting on socks that do not match and you were forced to buy a sandwich on your way as breakfast, but you promised you wouldn’t buy packed sandwiches for a reason, this one tasted like it’s been sitting on the shelf for weeks. Maybe it really has been.

You made it to work successfully, but then you realized that you’ve left your notebook at home, the one that had quite a lot of important information you need for your work, so you spent your first hour at work emailing different people for things you should now, explaining that you just left your notebook at home. Some didn’t really give a fuck and just answered you normally, but others didn’t shy away from commenting that you should be more responsible and careful.

This alone gave just the perfect foundation for the day. It was all downhill from then. Your boss loaded twice as much work on you than usually, everything with close deadlines, throwing even more anxiety into the mix as if you didn’t have enough already.

You met up with Marcus at lunch, but that didn’t go as planned either. It’s been getting more and more frustrating with him, the two of you have already had at least five fights this week and it’s only wednesday. It seems like even the smallest things push you over the edge these days and you easily pick a fight over anything. It didn’t happen differently this time either and by the time you got back to the office you were fuming. Worst part is that you always have a hard time ending a fight and tend to continue it through texts, the same thing happened today as well.

Now it’s a few minutes past five and you’re getting ready to go home, get changed and head to family dinner since today is Valerie’s first birthday, but even on the bus you’re still furiously typing away on your phone, sending a reply to Marcus, wanting nothing more than to throw the device right ot the window.

At one point you decide you’ve had enough. Turning your phone off you sink it into the depth of your bag and just try to focus on breathing, because even the smallest things seem to be hard tasks in such an upsetting state of mind.

These past few weeks things have taken an absurdly wrong turn between you and Marcus and you don’t know what to do about the whole situation. Every night you go to bed thinking that you should just let go of him, would do a favor for the both of you, but then that stupid little voice in the back of your mind tells you that if you break up with Marcus it’s game over for you, you’ll spend the rest of your life alone. It all ends up with you violently holding onto the pieces of what’s left from your relationship and you’ve been trying to figure out where it went wrong, but you have absolutely no idea.

After you changed into a pair of light washed jeans, a bright orange sweater and your black leather jacket it’s time for you to leave, though you already know you’ll be late. With a sigh deep you decided to turn your phone back on when you were sitting in the Uber, immediately deleting the notifications about the messages Marcus left you and going straight for the few ones from Rosa, your mom and Harry. They all arrived not too long ago asking when you’d be arriving, so you quickly typed your sorry and told them you’re on your way, you just got caught up at work. For Harry, you add something else too:

“Save me a seat and order me a tequila.”

His response came quickly.

“Done. Both.”

You let out a chuckle seeing his message. He knows you too well.

Walking into the small restaurant you don’t have a hard time spotting your family, three tables have been pushed together to make enough room in the back, taking up the small, kind of separated area of the place. Rosa smiles widely when she spots you, Valerie standing on her thighs, hands on the table as she is trying to snatch one of the glasses away, but her dad is pushing it further from her grasp.

“Sorry for being late,” you huff out and take the seat right next to Harry who watches you with a smile. “Well hello there, birthday girl! You’re so big now!” you babble at Valerie who giggles at you before her attention is averted once again.

You feel Harry’s elbow poking your side and turning to him you see him nod at the two shots on the table.

“Oh, fantastic. You’re drinking too?”

“No, I’m driving. Both for you.”

“If I didn’t have such a shitty day I would question what kind of alcoholic you think I am, but I kinda need both,” you sigh, taking the first one and downing it faster than ever. From the corner of your eyes you see your mother’s disapproving look, but you decide to ignore it for now.

“Wanna talk about it?” Harry asks, eyebrows furrowed in worry, but you shake your head, the alcohol still burning your throat.

“Not now. Can you give me a lift home tho?”

“Sure,” he nods, turning back to the conversation at the table.

You somehow succeed in putting everything that happened today behind and just focus on the time spent with your family. It helps that seemingly Harry works hard all evening to tell you about random things, just occupying your thoughts as much as he can. It’s nice to relax a little and forget everything that’s been weighing down on your shoulders recently.

“It’s so crazy she is one already,” you sigh when you and Harry are walking to his car.

“Right? It makes me feel incredibly old,” Harry huffs as he fishes his car keys out of his pocket.

“How old are you even?” you ask laughing, realizing you don’t even know how old he exactly is. There are quite a few things, small details you’ve just never gotten around to find out about Harry.

“I’m turning 27 in February. Wild, isn’t it?” he chuckles.

“Yeah, you’re basically a grandpa,” you tease him and he narrows his eyes at you, but you can’t miss the little smile hiding in the corners of his mouth.

“That makes you a grandma, because you’re turning 25 in April, don’t you?”

“You know when my birthday is?” It takes you by surprise, you don’t remember ever telling him when your birthday is.

The two of you reach his car and he clears his throat unlocking it. Seems like he doesn’t really want to answer, but your burning gaze on him kind of forces him into it.

“Uh, I do. I wanted to meet up with Steven last year the day you had your birthday party, but he said he had plans already. Tried to lure him into cancelling, but he didn’t even want to share where he was going. Then he admitted that it was your birthday party, but you told him and Rosa not to even mention it to me so I don’t show up.”

Your stomach drops hearing his version of a story you’ve only known from your own point of view. You remember that you indeed told them not to tell Harry about it, but now it seems like such a hate crime, when in real life, it was still when the two of you hated each other with passion.

“I’m… Harry I’m sorry. That was--”

“Don’t worry about it,” he smiles at you, starting the car. “We left it all behind, didn’t we?”

His smile seems genuine, but you still feel guilty for being such a bitch. It reminded you how much time and energy the two of you wasted for years hating each other when you could have been just like you are now. If only things happened in a different way…

Arriving at your building Harry parks the car and stops it. As the engine stops, the silence that’s been thickening the air just becomes even more obvious. He is waiting for you to say something about what’s gotten you so upset today, you know that, but you don’t feel like sitting around in his car.

“Want to come up for a little bit?” you ask and it’s a hidden message that you want to talk in the comfort of your own home. Luckily, Harry understands it right away and nodding he tells you to lead the way.

You make some tea and the two of you sit on your couch, Harry is sitting sideways so he can see you while you bring your knees up to your chest, staring down at the mug in your hands.

“I had a fight with Marcus,” you quietly start.

“Oh.”

“And… it wasn’t the first time. We’ve been constantly fighting lately and I’m just… so tired of it.”

Saying it out loud for the first time, having someone listen to you brings you an odd sense of relief, and it doesn’t feel weird that you’re talking to Harry about all of it. He has proven himself to be a great listener.

“We’ve been fighting constantly, over the smallest things and my… my patience is running short, at this point.”

You’re talking slowly, carefully putting your thoughts into words, trying your best to interpret them for Harry after boiling them only in your own head for so long.

“I just… I have no idea what I should do.”

“It seems like the relationship is not making you happy anymore,” Harry softly speaks up and you have nothing to bring up against what he just said. “So why are you trying to continue it?”

You were expecting the question, you just knew he would ask it, but it still brings a painful, stinging sensation into your chest as you try to find the words to answer him.

“Because…” you breath out and slowly turning your head, your eyes meet his gaze. “If I can’t make it work with him… then… who is it gonna be? There’s this voice in my head that keeps telling me, that he is literally my last choice, that if I mess this up it’s gonna be over for me.”

“Y/N, you know that’s not true,” Harry tells you tilting his head.

“Do I?” you chuckle bitterly, turning your gaze to the ceiling before you look back at him. “Because I don’t think I do. I’ve been literally feeling so miserable for weeks, yet I still can’t get me to move on, because I think I’m gonna die alone.”

“That’s not gonna happen, don’t say that. You’ll find the right person for you, you just… have to be patient.”

“But that’s the thing. I have lost my patience. I’m done, over it.” The tears form in your eyes in just a few seconds and the next thing you know is that you’re crying. “I’ve been trying so hard in my whole life, but somehow I always ended up… not being enough, or thrown away, stepped over, left behind. No matter what I did, I always ended up alone and I can’t help but notice a pattern in it. It has to be me, what else?”

“It’s not you, okay? You just had a few bad experiences.”

“Not a few,” you huff closing your eyes. “All of them are bad. I was… I was never enough for anyone and now that I found a guy that seemed to be just perfect… I’m ruining it.”

“I don’t think you’re ruining anything.”

“Then explain to me what’s happening, Harry!” you snap in despair and Harry stares back at you at a loss of words at first.

“Do you have feelings for him?” he then asks. You can’t answer right away and it tells him a lot.

“I… I’m not sure.”

“That sounded more like a no.”

“Okay, alright. No, I don’t. But… I could develop feelings eventually, couldn’t I?”

“That’s not how it works, Y/N. You can’t just torture yourself hoping that one day you wake up and you’ll be in love with him. It’s not gonna happen and you’re just wasting your time.”

“How do you know it’s not gonna happen? What makes you so sure of that I will not end up alone?”

Harry stays quiet, her green eyes are staring right into your soul and for a moment you forget about your misery. This man alone holds such a power over you, it’s starting to scare you.

“I know it, because… I know you. And I see you. You’re literally the funniest girl I know, so easy to talk with, you always know when to crack a joke and when you have to be serious. You have so much love for others, you care about your loved ones and you’re always there for your friends and family. You make it so easy for others to get comfortable around you and you make everyone feel safe around you.”

You listen to him intently, drinking up every word that leaves his lips. Harry looks down at his hands as he continues.

“And you’re beautiful. So fucking beautiful, it always baffles me when I see you.”

“What?” you breathe out.

“It’s the truth,” Harry chuckles lightly, he brushes his knuckles together nervously. “Every time you walk in, you just… make everyone turn their head at you, and I always wonder if you even notice that. The way you walk, your smile, your laugh, Y/N, you make every man go crazy about you.”

“You’re just saying that because you are trying to cheer me up,” you sniff, wiping a few more tears away from your eyes.

“I’m definitely not,” he chuckles and his eyes finally find yours. “I remember when we first met.”

“When you walked in on me changing,” you sigh, the memories living vividly in your mind.

“Yeah. I remember how… breathless I felt when I saw you standing there, your dress handing a little on your frame because of the zipper. I forgot my name for a moment. I offered to help with the zipper because I just… wanted to touch you in any kind of way. So I knew that you were real.”

“Harry…”

“I know this sounds made up, but I’m telling you, this is the truth. And I know I didn’t act like that for a long time, but I always thought that you were an amazing person and I know that any guy would be so lucky and incredibly happy to be with you. I hate the thought of you thinking otherwise of yourself, when you are literally such a delight and… just a gift to all of us. I don’t know what’s really been going on between you and Marcus, but if he can’t see your worth and can’t make you feel like you deserve… he is not worthy of your time.”

You feel your throat closing up, but you’re not sure Harry knows the reason behind it when the tears start rolling down your cheeks again.

Because it might look like his words touched you and made you tear up, but in reality, a bittersweet feeling has taken completely over you. If this is how he thinks about you, why did he act like that when he had the chance to be with you? Why didn’t he want you to stay? What did you do that made him want to throw you out?

It’s a spiral straight down and you can’t stop yourself from falling. Harry has always been the biggest mystery of your life, and now you’re just even more sure it was something you did or said that made him want to run.

He reaches out and easily scoops you into his arms and you let him hold you tight, face buried into his chest. You hold onto his shirt as the silent cries escape your lips. You want him to want you. You want him to mean all those things he just told you, but you just can’t seem to move on from the past even though you’ve agreed to forget about it. It keeps bugging you in the back of your mind that no matter what he says, you weren’t good enough to make him want to stay with you when he had the chance.

***

It doesn’t get better after that night. Harry stayed until after midnight, made sure you got into bed and told you he’ll check in on you the next day. And so he did.

You felt guilty for loading all of it on Harry, so you decided it was the last time you ever talked about Marcus or your love life in general with him. You easily made yourself believe that he didn’t really care about it and he just listened to you because he was trying to be nice. It seemed the best to just try and forget about it all.

For a while you were contemplating breaking up with Marcus, but you didn’t have the strength to do it, telling yourself you have to give it another chance and some more patience. However it’s ending up to be quite draining, you gotta admit, but you are starting to get used to feeling numb every day.

Rosa invites you over, because she went through her closet and found some stuff she thought you’d like, so you head over not long after you get home from work. She mentioned that Harry would be over watching some kind of football game with Steven, so you are not surprised to see his car parking on their driveway.

“Hi guys!” you greet them when Rosa lets you in, the game is already on so they just wave in your way, intently watching the TV.

“Come on, I have everything in the bedroom,” Rosa nods in your way and you follow her upstairs. Valerie greets you with a loud shriek as you walk in, she is sitting in her crib, surrounded with a bunch of toys, seemingly having a great time.

“Hi there, Princess!” you coo at her, caressing her cheek before you sit on the edge of the bed that’s filled with piles of clothes. “What’s the big sorting?” you ask, grabbing a cardigan and taking a look at it.

“I just have way too much stuff, can’t fit new stuff into my wardrobe, so I needed to sort it all out.”

The two of you go through everything and just catch up while you try on what you like. At the end, you are just sitting on the bed playing with Valerie. You can tell there’s something Rosa wants to share, but she seems reserved about saying it out loud.

“So, the other day we were talking with Steven about how crazy it is that Val is over one year old,” she starts, eyes glued to the little girl, handing her another building block as Valerie works on… whatever it’s going to be when it's finished.

“Yeah, that’s what we talked about with Harry after her birthday dinner. Makes us feel old,” you chuckle.

“Exactly,” she sighs chuckling. “So then we talked about, maybe… having another kid sometime soon.”

You perk up and looking at Rosa you see the shy smile on her lips and you gasp, but she shakes her head.

“I’m not pregnant,” she assures you, but then adds: “Not yet.”

“Oh my God, so you’re trying for another baby?” you whisper, even though there’s no chance of the guys hearing the two of you. You can hear the sound of the TV up here, they have no clue what you’re talking about.

“I mean, it can take some time, so we thought we could… start now.”

“That’s fantastic!” you breathe out, truly happy for your sister. You just know Valerie will be such a good big sister. “Val, you want a baby sister or baby brother?” you ask her and she looks at you with a serious expression, holding out one of the blocks.

“Baba!” she exclaims.

“Yes, baba!” you chuckle. She’s been learning kind of real words lately and it won’t take too long before she’ll be bossing around everyone in the house.

When it’s getting late you pack the clothes you choose and head down to leave. The guys are still on the couch, but Harry’s head perks up when he hears your footsteps.

“You want me to give you a ride?”

“Um, I’m fine, don’t want to bother you while the game is on.”

“It’s ending in five. If you can wait a little it’s alright.”

“Okay,” you nod smiling so instead of going to the front door you stop in the kitchen to wait for Harry.

Rosa puts Valerie into her high chair and gets a banana for her while you check your phone just when Marcus calls you. Hesitantly, but you answer it.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Hi, just wanted to check in if the weekend is still on.”

“Uh, sure. It is.”

“Great. I’ll have to check again with my boss, but I think I’ll be able to pick you up.”

“Great. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, babe.”

The call ends and you find yourself facing a curious looking Rosa on the other side of the kitchen island.

“Marcus?” she asks and you nod. “How are things going?” You’ve only mentioned it to her that it’s been hard between the two of you, but you definitely didn’t go into details. Harry was the first and last person to hear the whole story.

“Um… neutral, I guess?”

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

“I know, but I’m just trying to figure it out. We are spending the weekend together, I hope it’ll help us to get a little more… settled? I guess, I don’t know,” you stammer, nervously fidgeting with your phone in your hands.

“That’s nice, was it his idea?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s good to know that Marcus is making the right attempts to smooth things out.”

“Attempts?” Harry’s voice makes both of you look in his way as he stands at the door, seemingly confused about what he just heard. “You’re still with Marcus?”

“Harry, I…”

“No, don’t try to explain it. I thought I talked sense into you last time.” He is clearly pissed, not holding back how upset he is to get the news that you are still dating Marcus. But on the other hand you can also feel yourself getting angry how he tries to control your life.

“You did, but I never said I’ll break things off with him.”

“Well, it surely sounded like you made up your mind,” he huffs.

“Well, I didn’t,” you scoff, crossing your arms on your chest.

“What the fuck, Y/N! You can’t keep doing this to yourself!” he snaps gesturing in your way. “I thought we were over this!”

“We? What do you mean we?” you grimace and now you are raising your voice as well. “Harry, there’s no we! This is my relationship and it’s nice that you care, but you can’t tell me what to do!”

Harry is vivid. He needs everything in him not to burst right then and there and for a moment you think he’s gonna just explode. But when he speaks up again his voice is quiet, however you can feel all the anger and frustration behind it.

“Get in the car, we’re leaving.”

“What?”

“Get in the fucking car, Y/N!” he barks making you jump. Rosa and Steven, who arrived to the kitchen in the middle of this madness, are just watching the scene unfold, completely unable to even say a word.

Slowly, you slide off the stool and grabbing the bag filled with clothes you turn to Rosa.

“Thanks for… these,” you mumble before walking out, Harry following you right behind.

Nothing is said as the two of you get into the car, Harry is clearly on the verge of anger outburst, but you’re pretty upset yourself. The drive back to your place is painfully quiet, but you can’t stop staring at his hands gripping the wheel. HIs fingers and knuckles are turning white from the way he is basically crushing the wheel in his hold. You wouldn’t be surprised if it had his grip’s imprint on it by the time you arrive to your building.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” he snaps once the car is parked.

“Would you stop pretending like you have a saying in what I do?”

“I do have a saying in it! Because when you break again I’ll be the one picking you up from the ground!”

“Well, sorry it’s such an inconvenience to be my friend. But don’t worry, I won’t come to you again,” you snap back with a grimace and try to open the door, but it’s locked. “Let me out, Harry!”

“Fuck no, not until we talk about this,” he scoffs and it’s the last straw for you.

“There’s nothing to talk about! It’s none of your business, Harry! Stop pretending like you care!”

“I do care!” he shouts back so forcefully you are taken aback, sinking into your seat. “Of course I fucking care! How would I not?! I care about you so fucking much, how do you not see it?!”

At this point, you’re certain Harry has lost all self control and he is about to load he has been holding back out on you, while you’re just sitting there, staring at him completely speechless over how his whole being is filled with anger and fury.

“Stop fucking telling me that I don’t care when all I think about is you! Every damn day! I can’t fucking stop thinking about you, because every time my mind snaps right back to you when I’m trying to think about something else! Do you know how fucking painful it is?! See you fucking waste your time with that dickhead when I want to be with you?!”

Eyes widened you forget to even breathe as the words leave his lips and soon enough realization hits him hard about what he just said. His chest is violently waving, eyes staring straight ahead. Next time he speaks up the shouting is over, he is clearly shocked at his own behavior.

“Y/N, I-- what you told me last time, about ending up alone, that wasn’t the first time you told me all of that.”

“What?” you gasp.

“You broke down the same way at the wedding. Told me all about how you think you are just simply unlovable and will probably die alone.” His eyes snap down at his hands on his lap as he continues. “I was shocked how you’d ever think that way about yourself, because I was… I was already falling in love with you and I barely just met you that night. I couldn’t imagine what happened to you that made you believe that nonsense. I never felt like that with anyone else before and it was so fucking scary. Every time you looked at me or touched me, I could feel… the sparks. The fucking sparks, Y/N,” he lets out a bitter chuckle. “I never believed in that, but you made me feel that way. Then… one thing happened after the other and we were up in my room. I saw the way you looked at me, like I was your fucking everything and I have never experienced that. You fell asleep in my arms and I told myself that this is exactly how I want to spend the rest of my life.”

Tears roll down your cheeks as you listen in complete shock as Harry is still avoiding to look at you.

“I wanted to be the person who shows you how lovable and amazing you are, how worthy you are to be loved. Like I found my mission all of a sudden.”

“Then what the fuck happened in the morning?” you ask choking out the words. Harry finally turns to face you and you see his watery eyes. He was crying.

“You fell asleep and I was just watching you… and I realized that… sooner or later I would do something to hurt you. Because that’s what I always do and I didn’t want that. You didn’t deserve that, but I just knew I won’t be able to give you what you wanted and needed. And you told me all about how you just want to be loved and… I didn’t want to disappoint you in any way.”

He rubs his eyes turning back to look straight ahead and you see his lips tremble before he speaks up again.

“I said all those stuff so you’d have a reason to hate me and you wouldn’t try to stay with me.”

“This is literally the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” you chuckle bitterly as the tears keep rolling down your cheeks. “Do you have any idea how fucking horrible I felt after that? I felt so ashamed for fucking weeks, Harry!”

“I-I know. I mean, I figured.”

“You made me feel unwanted and dirty, it took me so long to build my confidence back and be able to think of myself as more than just some used rug that was thrown out!”

Harry sits there in complete silence and just lets you load everything out on him, because he knows that’s what he deserves. He has tried to punish himself in so many different ways for what he did to you, but he knew he had to face you someday. Now the time has come and he is done trying to run away from the consequences of his actions in the past.

“I was blaming myself all this time, thinking that I must have done something wrong, when in reality it was you! It was fucking you!”

“I know, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean it to end like this.”

“You didn’t mean it to end like this?” you snap. “You literally continued to treat me like shit for years! If it wasn’t for Valerie, you’d still be a complete dick to me! And what was your intention with this now, huh? Why did you tell me all of this now?!”

“Because I couldn’t stop… seeing you be so unhappy with someone who clearly doesn’t deserve you in any way. I’m selfish and I realized that I made a mistake, but I now know what I should have done, because…” He finally turns to face you again, you see a tear roll down his cheek as he takes a deep breath before continuing. “I love you. I love you, Y/N, and I’m fucking done pretending like I don’t.”

You stare back at him, breath caught in your throat and it’s the breaking point. You reach over to his side and unlock the doors so you can open yours and you jump out of the car wanting to get as far away from him as possible. He can’t just throw all of this on you after everything the two of you went through, that’s not how it works. Does he even mean it? How are you supposed to believe him after years of hatred?

You try to get inside the building, but he is quick to catch up with you, he grabs your upper arm and pulls back, but you yank his hold away.

“Where are you going?!” he snaps towering above you.

“Home. And don’t fucking touch me!”

“But I literally just told you I love you, you’re not gonna say anything about that?”

At first you plan on not even answering, you make your way towards the door, but then you change your mind. Turning around you unload on him once again.

“You don’t have the right to tell me you love me! Not after all the shit I took from you! How am I supposed to believe it when you literally made me feel like shit for all these years, saying the meanest stuff to me every damn time we met! I was avoiding you like the plague because I can’t even count how many times you made me cry calling me names and treating me so fucking horrible! No, you are not just gonna waltz in here, tell me that I have to break up with my boyfriend because you’ve been in love with me all along. I don’t fucking believe you, Harry. So stay the fuck away from me,” you tell him and push your way inside. This time he doesn’t follow.

By the time you reach your front you’re sobbing, barely seeing from your own tears. With shaking hands you unlock the door and get inside shutting the door behind you before you collapse on the floor.

Harry lives in delusion if he thinks he can just unload all of this on you and make everything right magically. Not after more than three years of the shit you took from him. How are you supposed to believe that he is telling the truth? If he loved you all along, how could he treat you like that? That’s not what love should feel like. All those countless times when you came home after seeing him and you couldn’t help but cry after some of his meanest comments… and now he is trying to make you believe he did it all to protect you from him? Bullshit.

It doesn’t work like that and now he is gonna have to face the consequences of his actions.

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#harry styles #harry #styles #harry styles series #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles valerie #harry styles valerie series #valeries series

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

Text

Note: Instead of posting a meta or a fic today, allow me to take a quick break from that because I think I really need to appreciate some people here and the fandom overall.

February 7, 2021.

Today, I turned 24 and my boyfriend surprised me with a gift I think I’ll be taking to heart for a very long time.

The story behind the gift was as precious (or even more precious) as the gift itself and I thought I’d share it since it turned out some content creators were involved in this gift and I very much want to express how much this gift has defined this day for me and will place my 24th birthday as one of those birthdays I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

Apparently, I had casually dropped both my tumblr and my ao3 account during one of our conversations and somewhere around November he had started looking through my bookmarks, my posts on tumblr and some of my interactions with people in the fandom.

I should have seen it coming. It had started with my boyfriend suddenly asking about my hyperfixation with Levihan.

Sav? Shipping? Sav? Binge reading ships and meta posts? Sav? Gushing about a fictional ship?

And I remember gushing about this with my seemingly uninterested boyfriend a long night after explaining what was oddly the most out of character thing for someone like me.

I was sharing with him my metas and hcs and maybe, I was dropping a few of my favorite quotes along the way and it turned out he was interested. Suddenly he was asking me about my favorite fics, my favorite scenes. Suddenly, he was rereading my favorite fics with me and a few times, he was quoting those same scenes. I did find out he was looking through my blog when I got a random message from a really sketchy tumblr telling me to open my facebook.

I suspected a few times that he could be planning something. December passed with nothing and eventually he stopped asking so I clocked that as a fevered dream or unnecessary assuming on my end and didn’t think too much of it after.

It turned out my boyfriend had messaged my favorite authors about their fics and he commissioned one of my favorite artists (if not my favorite) to draw a few photos and bound them into a Levihan Anthology

And it feels fucking amazing to receive something like this. To get Levihan which helped me through the worst of 2020, bound forever as a book I can just open up and read anytime. And I guess tearing up at receiving such a gift had me thinking of a lot of things at once (which were always at the back of mind) but I thought of sharing now.

The past year wasn’t easy. Actually. don’t think it’s an understatement to say this past year was dog shit. With the covid pandemic and all plans after that cancelled, I’m sure we can all agree we had our ups and downs.

I had a lot of my own plans completely thrown out the window for numerous reasons. I had plans of going to law school part time while building a career. And, I got a job right after college to make these plans come true. In September the law school I got accepted to (after working so damn hard the past year to get accepted) denied my appeal for night classes. I decided to drop my enrollment to focus on my career. A week later, my job laid me off.

And for once in my life, I wasn’t going anywhere. And I lived in a house where everyone was always doing something and as soon as I lost my job I was pressured to find another one. But as we all know, searching for a job during this pandemic isn’t easy. I was still reeling after having dropped my enrollment just to focus on my job only to lose that job the week after with no prior notice. Everyone around me was busy doing their own thing. I had no one to talk to and for a while, I was falling into this pit of depression.

My days consisted of me hiding under the covers of my bed in between the few interviews I would take day to day. Around that time, I decided to binge watch Attack on Titan as well

I was never one to get hyper fixated in ships. In fact, this was the first ship since Royai and Victuuri which I have been so passionate. And this is a whole new level of passion. I think this is the first time I’ve ever written so much in this small amount of time. It was slow going. Just like Levi and Hange’s relationship, my fixation with this ship was a slowburn.

Those days alone, I was reading fanfiction by the bundle, I was scrolling through the Levihan tag like a simp, leaving kudos in ao3 on a throwaway account and just scrolling through random people’s tumblr accounts.

What happened during the one month? And when I was alone, sad, lonely and stagnant with no one to talk to, when everyone around me was living their own lives, all I had alone in the bedroom was Levi and Hange’s stories to keep me company between interviews.

And the meta analyses and headcanons I had about their relationship were teaching me things. They were teaching me that life was never about how quickly you progress or how far you go. Maybe the real winners in life are the ones who can build good relationships, build relationships so mutually satisfying they keep each other growing and in those few moments reading, headcanoning ships, I did realize, maybe even as stagnant as I was at that moment, my life wasn’t dogshit.

No one’s life is dogshit for a few small bumps along the way. Sometimes it just is part of the process of growing, learning to get past the worse, learning to manage relationships. And maybe it’s these relationships which make life worth living. Maybe it’s these struggles depicted in these stories and the bounce back. Maybe it’s the love, the life, the emotions so carefully described and depicted in every single story which makes life, life.

With every single fic I read and every single fan art I scrolled through. Levihan was teaching my things about love, loss and life.

Sometimes, these fandoms are the things which can catch people before they fall too low into something. These works and stories authors and artists shared so generously were what pulled me out of this state and are what inspired me to explore this relationship for all the potential its worth and maybe share my own stories and headcanons which people may learn a thing or two from or maybe just find some comfort and hope in.

And these inspirations eventually evolved to writing. Writing 10,000 words in a day in between three interviews? I never was a writer but somehow, I found myself spending hours exploring the themes of love, loss and life with our favorite pairing

I didn’t start writing out of nowhere. I didn’t start making metas out of nowhere. I needed the right inspiration, the right content to get me into this point where I could continue writing, reading, meta-ing, appreciating, headcanoning and everything in between.

And I just wanted to express my gratefulness to every single person in the fandom who had made it possible for me to pull out of that blackhole. Fandoms are underrated and I believe there are so many lessons which can be learned from the right content and from the right people.

To the people who so willingly went along with my boyfriend’s little project:

@faerielleart I saved A LOT of your art and they’re sitting in my google photos under a folder called Levihan and maybe I did share a few of your photos (the cheeks one and the beast titan one and the les miserables) ones to my boyfriend unsolicited just to show him how beautiful Levihan can be. Thank you so much for these beautiful drawings.

@lizaloveslevihan You were one of the first people I talked with in this fandom and dreams really was one of those stories that fucked me up a little bit, had me make a few misses on the commute on the way home one day but maybe it did have me explore the angst genre a little more, maybe it did have me explore Levi’s character a little more.

@ariadneamare YELLOW. OH GOD. You know those letters? The ones which Hange left Levi at the end of the story? I ended up copying and pasting them and sending them to my boyfriend right after reading and I remember talking to him about this. We might be facing that same type of story in the future and I guess that ended up becoming a lot of foundation of our discussion and I guess, it’s just proof that there is so much to learn from fanfiction. There’s just so much to explore and fanfiction as a genre just does not get the credit it deserves.

@fanmoose12 I was exploring your works even before I started this tumblr up again. Maybe it was even your works which got me building my own headcanons from Levihan and writing from there. And I think I did leave a few anonymous messages telling you how I started exploring other genres because of your fics. Your works got my out of my dark place, it got me exploring a lot of other genres and for that I’m eternally grateful.

And somehow, my boyfriend picked that all up from late night discussions and one-on-one metas. Surprisingly, he wasn’t just playing along to humor his girlfriend. He was exploring the themes of love, life, loss and Levihan right along with me. (And got spoiled about Hange’s death along the way… Oops.)

And I am eternally grateful for that and I made sure to shower him with a lot of kisses after he kept me in the loop with what has been going on these past few months with his sudden interest in Levihan.

And this huge thank you goes out to all content creators (authors, artists, gif creators, shitposters alike). Sometimes you never know who’s thinking about your work, who’s shoehorning your works and quoting them to their best friends. Sometimes, you never will find out but your work had pulled someone out of a blackhole which they’ve been stuck in and sometimes you never know that your work has been that seemingly small thing that had taught them a lesson in love, life or relationships. Sometimes, that one work turned out to be an inspiration which got them writing and sharing their own stories or making their own drawings

And I guess, the point is, keep writing. Keep drawing. Keep sharing pouring your love, passion and emotions into works of art because you never really know whose heart you touched or whose life you changed.

I have a job now. I decided to push law school a few years back and maybe take the time to work on myself now and maybe spend the next months or maybe years writing metas and fanfictions. I was pulled out of my hole. I was inspired. I have my own stories to tell and I don’t think I would have been here if I hadn’t spent the last few months reading fic after fic, meta after meta, appreciating art after art,

So anyway, I just wanted to share some pics of my favortie fics, immortalized in one anthology, all organized by my boyfriend. And I think he made some great decisions with these.

(Bookbinding credits to @mayerwien)

#levihan #levi x hange #levi x hanji #lyf #life post

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sweetlavenderwritings · 4 years

Text

Back To His Nest- Pt. 2

A/N: I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I DIDN’T EXPECT THE LOVE THE FIC GOT AND WAS VERY SURPRISED. I initially planned to leave it at that maybe?? but then many of ya’ll actually wanted a part two and i had to rack up my brain on what was gonna happen ( ´△｀) anyways it’s here and i hope it doesn’t disappoint!

Pairing/s: hawks/keigo takami x reader

Word Count: 2 772

Tags: very light angst, love, eventual fluff, domestic fluff,

-ꦼ———▸ Part 1

⋅. ♪ .⋅ Loving Keigo Playlist

8 Years later…

You haven’t heard from him ever since you left. As planned, your parents had called him in advance. Telling him he shouldn’t try and contact you anymore, that trying to find you would be a waste of time. You were such a coward that you couldn’t even leave a message, your parents bearing the responsibility of telling him you’ve cut off ties with him completely.

It hurt. The pain was unbearable for the first few months, restless nights of crying as you struggled to keep your composure. You couldn’t even erase his number from your saved contacts. His callers ID still the same nickname you had for him. Despite your parents warning about not contacting you anymore, he still left a call every day. There were neither questions nor any form of pleading you to come back. Because you never answered, he left small messages that he sent at random times of the day. There was no consistent message of what the calls were all about. It was as if he left these messages like a personal diary he’d write to when he felt like it.

“The day’s great today. It’s a bit hotter than usual but I’m quite grateful for the heat since flying always got me cold.” Yes it did, it was one thing about flying that he disliked. He just got too cold easily, which was why every time he got home, he’d head straight to the showers for a long hot soak then demand cuddles. He liked to call you his personal heater.

“It was too bright though, I had to keep squinting and I almost slammed face first to a billboard! Could you imagine that? Number Two Hero Getting Clumsy! Slams into Make Up Ad Starfish Style.” He laughed. “Okay, that was the worst headline ever. Could you blame me? I’m not really much of a writer like you are. Somehow, you always knew how to string words together beautifully… Ahh, looks like a low class villain is up to no good. I’ll catch up to you later. I love you baby bird.”

And just like that, he hangs up. They always ended in the same way, him having to cut it short because of his duties, and the constant line of ‘I love you.’ It felt so unfair, how he’d make it harder for you to move on. You knew better than to listen to them, but you still did. You drunk up his voice whenever you heard it, closing your eyes and imagining he was actually there right in front of you, talking to you. When he hangs up, the sad illusion is gone.

There were times you almost called him back, desperately wanting to run back into his arms. To apologize for leaving, to tell him the truth, to tell him you never stopped loving him in the first place. But as your fingers almost reach the call button, your fear of the Hero Public Commission stop you every time.

So you settle for watching him in the news, seeing the headlines as he saves dozens of people every day. You read every article you see online, scouring every page for stories. It was torture, but you had to keep strong, not just for yourself. It wasn’t like you were alone in this anymore.

After 9 long months, you finally gave birth to your child. His child.

She was perfect. She looked almost exactly like him, honey blond hair and yellow eyes that seemed to glow. Her image made you miss him so much it hurt. But these feelings of pain and misery were shoved off to the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on your newfound feelings of joy and contentment. After so long, you felt like you could be happy again.

You named her Keiko, meaning “adored one”, because she was. With enough patience, you raised her by yourself. You dedicated your whole life making sure she grew up to be happy; it felt like you were compensating for the pain you brought upon to you and Hawks. Somehow, you comforted yourself with the fact that you saved your child from the horrors of what may come to her when the world comes to know of her existence.

---

“Mom, come look it’s him again!” Keiko cheered, pointing at the television. An all too familiar winged hero comes on screen, gracefully flying in the air as he saved civilians from a burning building one by one. Your daughter let out another cheer as the number two hero successfully saves all of the civilians. Thankfully, the fire didn’t spread further with the help of the fire fighters helping from behind the scenes.

You stare at the screen as the news reporter interviews Hawks, him looking quite worn out but he manages to give the camera a smile and an enthusiastic response. If it was anyone else, he would’ve looked well composed, not breaking a sweat as he nonchalantly brushes off the praises he gets.

“All in a day’s work.” He says.

But you knew better.

Your daughter turns to you with a beaming smile, happy knowing her favourite hero once again saves the day. Her next words made your heart sank, “For my birthday tomorrow, can we meet him please?! I just want a picture and an autograph, that’s it I promise!”

“Ah, I don’t know about that baby. Hawks is a busy man and there are no chances we can just see him.” This was a lie of course, you knew he’d jump in at any opportunity to see you again but you couldn’t risk it. It pains you to see your daughter so disappointed, but you had to continue lying. For her sake.

“Tell you what, we can at least go to his district tomorrow and buy his merch. I can even get you one of those limited edition wings if you want.” Hawks’ merch was expensive, so his limited edition merchandise was gonna hurt your pockets like a bitch but it was worth it just to make up for what you couldn’t give your dear Keiko.

“Really?!” Keiko squealed as she bounced around the living room, “I can’t believe I’m going to have my own wings like Hawks, the number two hero! I can’t wait to tell Kiyoko as soon as I get them, she’ll be so jealous of me haha!” You smiled as you picked her up from the couch, stopping her from jumping off.

“If you sleep early tonight we might be able to make it there tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay!”

You’ve never felt so nervous before. Because one, you were going to Hawks’ precinct with your daughter, all the more chances of meeting him despite NOT wanting to do that. Two, if by some chance- or karma- you both crossed paths, all your hard work would be all for naught. Hawks wasn’t stupid; he’s by far the most observant man you’ve ever met. Many people don’t know this with the way he eludes them with his charm, thus forgetting he’s the number two hero for a reason. Which means even a small glance at your-his daughter; he’d be able to puzzle the pieces together.

So by desperation, you snuggled your daughter with a big fluffy hat, tied her hair into neat pigtails, and then gave her the favourite pair of pink, heart sunglasses she always liked to wear. She scrunched her nose at you fussing over her appearance, but this was only because she was too excited and wanted to leave immediately. You wore a coat, and sunglasses to hopefully hide yourself as well without looking too suspicious. With a final look in the mirror, you left the house with your daughter in tow.

An hour turned into two, then three, four, five…

“Kei honey, please. It’s time to go home.” You pleaded. You two spent the next hours walking around and buying her gifts. But whenever you stopped near a shop, Keiko never seemed to lose energy and somehow pulled you into another store to “check things out.” It’s times like this you wondered if you spoiled her too much.

“Wait not yet! We might see him here somewhere!” Keiko tugged at your sleeves as she pointed to the main plaza. “I saw him give interviews here last week mommy; maybe he’ll do it again!”

“Baby please, I told you we’re not here for that. We already bought your gifts so it’s time to go home and-“

“Mommy, look! I think it’s him!” Oh no.

As if on cue, the famous red winged hero zoomed in on a scene. A villain, large one at that, appeared in the middle of a crowd and began harming nearby civilians as if it was panicking. How did you not notice that?

But now was not the time, you had to get your daughter out of harm’s way and hopefully, his too. Hauling your shopping bags into the loops of your arms, you carried your whining daughter into your arms and darted in the opposite direction you saw Hawks headed.

Hawks POV

How long has it been, eight years? He never wanted to keep count, but he still did.

God, he was pathetic. He’s supposed to move on by now, find another woman to give his affections to, forget about you then happily live his life.

But he couldn’t and it sucked.

He always felt he was too sentimental despite being a double agent. You would think after all he went through, he’d be hardened and cold as stone. Yet he remained quite soft, too empathetic as what his superiors commented. Fuck that.

He’s on his last patrol for the day, flying over the main plaza to keep civilians bustling on the streets. He doesn’t have any plans for later (as he usually does), so he thinks he’ll spend another night away drinking in his balcony or watch a sappy chick flick in the late hours.

He remembers he has fan mail he’s yet to open. Not that he’s ever obligated to do so, he’s free to throw them in the shredder for all he cares. They’re mostly enveloped underwear sprayed with sickeningly sweet perfume anyways. But he’s been receiving sweet letters from a little girl lately. Messages full of pure adorations and gratitude for his work. Judging by the handwritings and small creative decorations, the letters clearly had been made with a lot of effort. He can’t help but look forward to them every week, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone.

His thoughts of his late evening plans are disrupted with the sudden sounds of screams and shrieking from below. Without wasting a second he rushes to the scene.

As he got closer, his eyes widened at the sight of who was causing the ruckus, or rather, what.

He dodged the Nomu’s sharp claws that swiped by his face at an alarming speed. In a beat, his feather flew from different directions, all leading to his target. They cut deep gashes onto its skin, but the Nomu’s regeneration was fast, healing its wounds as soon as it was inflicted on it.

Hawks never deterred, continuing his attacks while sending some of his feathers to keep away civilians from the disaster transpiring near him.

He could vaguely hear cheers and shouts from the crowd as he rapidly attacks the creature, somehow finding it difficult to cause enough damage to knock it out of conscious. As he flies around the attacking monster, he spots a vulnerable looking spot in its neck. Pausing for a second, he narrows his eyes as he aims. He was about to release a feather until the Nomu lets out a loud piercing shriek, causing everyone near them to shut their eyes at the screeching wail and cover their eyes.

Fuuck, it must have sensed me. He thought.

As soon as it stopped it’s shrieking, it speeded off to another direction. With a curse, Hawks followed it in pursuit. Pushing and carrying away with his feathers to keep them from getting harmed. The Nomu sets its eyes on a little girl with her mother, launching itself on its haunches then runs at a great speed towards the two.

The little girl screams then hides herself in her mother’s arms. The mother tries desperately to get away, but with the Nomu’s great speed and the closing distance between them there was nothing left to do but to brace herself in front of her child.

“No!” Hawks yells as the Nomu’s claws at the mother. Before it could land another attack, he strikes one of his biggest feathers at its neck. The Nomu stills, and then drops to the ground.

Hawks doesn’t have time to check if it’s dead or not, rushing over to the poor injured mother with her crying child. As he finally makes his way to the woman his heart stops.

It was you.

With shaking arms, he cradled you against his chest. He couldn’t believe it. After all these years, he got to see you again. And with a child! Wait… a child?

He took a look at the crying girl, blond hair and honey eyes… just like him.

His eyes widened in shock. Hair and eyes just like his, it couldn’t be.

“Is my mom gonna be okay?” The girl sniffled. He mentally slapped himself in the face, how could he forget the situation at hand and not comfort his distressed child? “She’ll be okay,” he assured her, “Help is on the way, okay? Can you breathe slowly for me birdie? So you can calm down.”

She wipes the tears from her eyes and nods. At the sound of an ambulance, he stands up while he carries your unconscious body. As the medics put you in a stretcher, he takes the time to actually look at you.

You looked much more different. Hair a different length from before, eyes much more tired, and cheeks less full. It must’ve been hard for you, he thinks. But now I’m here.

He turns to look for his daughter, who was behind him all along. Slowly, he bends over to pick up her shaking form. She raises her arms in surprise, but trusting nonetheless. As he settles her in one arm, he holds her close and looks at her.

“What’s your name, kid?” he softly asks.

“Keiko.” She mumbles shyly. Keiko, you named her after my own name? Hawks felt tears springing into the corners of his eyes. Before he could wipe them away, Keiko surprises him with a hug to his neck. She clings onto him as if he was her lifeline as he mutters something in his ear.

“Thank you for saving me hero.” Hawks finally lets his tears fall.

Reader’s POV

After waking up, you found yourself lying in a hospital bed. Your body felt heavy, you desperately needed to pee, and your throat was parched. You looked around and see your daughter was asleep in a couch near your bed. There was a small bouquet of flowers in your nightstand, but what surprised you the most was the warm, calloused hands that held your left hand; the very same hands that you held years ago. Keigo was asleep.

You ran your hands softly in his hair, a small habit you used to do when he came home utterly exhausted. Hawks stirred in his sleep before opening his eyes. Honey orbs met yours as you felt a smile form on your face.

“Good morning to you too, Kei.”

“Chealsey, oh thank god.” He leapt up from his spot on your bed then embraced you. The hug made you wince but you could’ve cared less. You missed him, you craved for his warmth for years and you never thought you’d ever feel him again. Now he was finally here…

You felt tears fall to your cheeks as you formed apologies in your lips. Hawks merely shushed you as he held you in his arms, “It’s okay, I understand. I know everything.” You clutched his shirt as you sobbed in his chest, letting go all pain and misery you’ve been holding in for years. He kisses your tears away, letting you release all your pent up emotions. He was just glad he had you in his arms once again.

Keiko woke up from her sleep, looking at the two of you in a mess of tangled limbs and tears. “Huh?” she mumbled. “Mommy, why are you crying? What’s going on?”

You both let out a laugh, sharing the same thought. There was going to be a lot to explaining to do.

A/N: fINALLY!! The ending is here! Hope ya’ll liked it everyone ≧(´▽｀)≦ this is unedited and i might do so when i wake up the next day lol. tysm for the love ya’ll gave this ficlet and im sorry for the wait.

#hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #bnha hawks #bnha fanfiction #mha hawks #bnha #mha #mha x you #keigo takami #keigo #keigo x reader

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disruptivebychoice · 3 years

Text

First Love

I remember you,

I was 17 and you were 21

The age difference was made

Yet, we believed

We had it made

We worked at the restaurant together

Our relationship was one not for others

With coworkers who made sure

The difficulty was filled with suffers

We struggled,

Rumors spread here and there

Insecurity ran high

I was in high school

You were in college

Stigmas played their part

To a love,

I never wanted to be torn apart

Our first kiss,

Was one worth the wait

I was scared,

Knowing that most

were only after me for one thing

But you were different

So I made it a deferment

We drove the day before I left for Alaska

Passing my Grandma’s

We talked about a kiss,

Thats when you stopped in the middle of the road

Put the car in brake

And grabbed my face

That was the first time we kissed

It was something magnificent

You played me a song called better days

And we knew those awaited

When I’d return from a cold cruise ship

It was poetic

With 1950s return home vibes

While away,

I’d be docked at each bay

Where we’d send each other lyrics

Signifying the strength

Of one another’s presence

I came home,

And that is when

Our relationship bloomed

No longer stressing,

Of being alone

Because together,

I would never be on my own

I remember the night

My insecurity got the best of me

We walked around the block

There were hearts in chalk

I was a mess

Crying, distraught

Depressed

I wanted to die and I told you so

I still see your face perfectly

The care,

The worry,

The turmoil never-ending

You stopped me and grabbed me close

In my cold winter coat

Holding me

Telling me we’d make it through

But I knew you’d leave

Everyone always did

And our love,

I couldn’t dismiss

You broke up with me on my birthday

The talk of the town

Got the best of you

It was the worst.

The beginning of cursed

But its okay,

You didn’t know it

That this was me broken

We got back together months after

I had finally turned 18,

You were okay now with relations

So we made the past into laughter

Spending endless nights with another

We smoked weed on the daily

I remember one time,

We sang Jasmin and Aladdin

As we held the bong closely

That video is a faded memory

But the magic carpet,

Felt like reality

Because he showed me the world

And love was dazzling

Flash forward,

Feelings got stronger

We fell in what I thought was love

Deeply

Then the day came

When I took your virginity

I remember it perfectly

It was a dream

And you were mine that had came true

But as we grew fonder

Drugs became our secret lover

We started to delay our jobs

Spending hours at home

Blues to do

Love that felt true

I remember that night you drank

For a contest to outweigh another

You ended up with 17 shots

Of that captain

As if you were the owner of the ship

But childish

You ran around the block

I chased you,

Sat on the bathroom floor with you

Watched your insides fall

Sick.

It was saddening to see

But you knew I was there

You had me

Flash forward

We’re hiking, we love nature

We were crazy

And found a tree

Where I bent over

And you did me endlessly

The enchanted forest was ours

We would camp and make love under stars

You had a problem with smoking,

So did I

Our vices differed

But please,

never take fault

I’m the one who chose

And I did quick,

I chose blue

You chose green

Soon I had to hide

I kept foils and straws hid

Kept away,

Like a little kid

You’d find me out

But somehow I’d talk my way out

Oh, that tin of stuff in the bathroom

That isn't mine

Must have been there

For a very long time

But you knew the truth

But love had you deceived

So you decided to believe

Flash forward

We would smoke weed

Do pills for thrills

Down the street

Parked in your car

Awaiting to go in my room

But what we didn’t know

Was the obliviousness

Of our disease, our stupidity

Cops were called

And they did show

We saw those lights

Red and blue

Scared.

Stereotypes played a role

One I hate to think of now

We had pills of orange,

Pills of pink,

Pills of white,

Bongs and weed

You claimed them as yours,

And I watched you handcuffed

Taken away in a cop car

As I walked down the street

Back to my house

With tears in my eyes

A call from jail

Took 3 days.

I had to meet up with your parents

To return your keys

The way they looked at me

I never thought they’d forgive me

I was embarrassed

At fault,

And mad I took my mom’s pills those days

For us to have and take inventory of

For you to be bust,

Well us.

You had to get clean after this

This is when secrets started to worsen

And how we ended

I honestly don’t even remember how

Whether I ended it

Or if you ended it

But I’m seeing you today

We saw each other a few years ago

Around this time actually

We were high,

We did cocaine and I never thought you would,

But then again

I never thought I’d smoke crack

But in that hotel room

We did,

And we fucked again

With minutes to spare of a flight

A foggy night,

I wish I would’ve held you tight

Telling you fo the dangers

Of this drug,

The wrong kind of hug

But I was wrapped up

In what was wrong

Now I’m clean,

You’re trying to be

You’ve stopped the hard,

But found new vices

One too many

But I believe you can overcome

You deserve to everything

That isn’t glum

I don’t know what today will bring

What feelings will immerse

But you’ll always be my first love

Not in love,

But first love.

You say you’ve always known I to be the one

That’s why you keep coming back to me

But what you don’t know

Is I didn’t know who I was

What you’re still unaware of

Is that you don’t know who you are

Because drugs,

Take the head

And put it in the stars

A never-ending wammy

A process of continual slamming

So today,

I’ll embrace forgiveness

Apologies and progress

Knowing him as my first love,

Will always be a friend

And our story,

Will be with me till the end

#poeticstories #poetrycorner #poetryportal #writerscreed #creedatelier #spilled ink #inkstay #twcpoem #poetrycreed #writtenconsiderations #poetryriot

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lovingmyselfcore · 3 years

Text

Rainbow Moonlight

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH GUYS GALS AND NON-BINARY PALS

Ahhhhh I have goals for content this month but if I say them then I can be held accountable so ummmm

Anyway have some gays in an au....

"You met me yesterday. Yes and I would die for you, next question." From @ciaraloves I changed the prompt a little babe hope you don't mind

It was a dark evening, the sky was an inky black, no moon in sight, which Alex knew because he’d been staring at the sky for a while now.

He’d snuck out, something he’d never done before.

It was terrifying.

He’d come out to his parents a week ago, something he’d been scared to do for months, but he had Julie, Luke, and Reggie to constantly tell him he could do this, and they would always love and support him, so he’d done it.

They didn’t get mad, as he’d been afraid they’d do, they hadn’t thrown him out. What they had done had almost been worse.

They ignored him.

They were distant, attempting to act like nothing had happened at all, trying to ignore the pride flag over his bed that Flynn had gotten him for his birthday a few weeks before. They pretended to not know that their son wasn’t going to continue the bloodline in the way they hoped.

Tonight, it had gotten to be too much. Alex laid in his bed, and felt like the house was closing in on him, he couldn’t breathe. At the start of the evening, his parents acted just like they had since he came out, but it seemed like they’d worked up their courage, determined to have it out with him.

“So I was talking to my friend at work,” His mom said.

Alex looked up so fast he felt like he got whiplash, fork clanging as it hit his plate. His mom winced at the sound and seemed to falter now that she had his attention.

His dad reached across the table to grab her hand, like having a simple dinner conversation with their gay son was something that needed back-up. He wanted to roll his eyes.

But this was the most she’s said in a long time, so he held back the cutting remarks bubbling up his throat, and schooled his face into an expression he hoped was encouraging.

“She has a lovely daughter, Alex. You’d look good together.”

Alex went numb, his fingertips tingling as he gripped the edge of the table, digging into the marks he made as a kid using forks for drumsticks before his parents caught him. He was shaking his head.

His dad looked ready to say something but Alex felt that niggling in his chest and knew he had to get out of here.

He uncurled his hands from the table and pushed his plate away with more force than necessary. “I’m going to bed.”

“Alex!” Someone called after him but he was already running to his room, slamming the door closed and slumping against it with a dry sob. So that was that then. They’d been feeding it to him slowly since he’d come out but now it was like they shoved it down his throat with a silver spoon.

They didn’t support him.

~~~~~

Alex was rattled out of his thoughts by the sound of a skateboard on the pavement. He looked up quickly, surveying the dark park that he, Reggie, and Luke always went to when they were really young.

It was a boy. It was too dark for Alex to make out any defining features besides that.

He rolled to a stop a few feet from Alex and kicked his board up into his hands, “Hey, dude,” He says, seemingly unaware his presence initiated Alex’s fight or flight instinct. He gestured to the bench Alex was on with his skateboard, “Can I sit?”

Alex took a shaky breath and nodded. The boy sat down and Alex noted he kept a small space in between them, so they weren’t touching anywhere.

“Look, you don’t have to talk about whatever’s bothering you, but I can’t just go home not knowing if you’re okay.”

A car drove past, illuminating him in the headlights and Alex realized who he was.

Alex snapped his fingers, “You’re Julie’s friend. Willie?”

He grinned crookedly, “That’s me. And you’re Julie’s boyfriend’s cute drummer friend.”

Alex felt his face grow hot. He just said ‘cute’. Get a grip.

Alex’s brain went on overdrive: How to compliment him back, if he even should compliment him back, what his parents were thinking right now, if they even noticed he was gone, whether or not Willie was going to kill him, how insane that idea was, the probability of Julie being friends with a killer, whether or not there were killers in his school, maybe he should’ve just gone to Luke’s, no that wouldn’t be a good idea because then he’d be burdening Emily and Mitch, Reggie’s place maybe, no his parents weren’t much better then Alex’s…

It was only after that cycled through his mind that Alex realized he’d just been staring at Willie.

Willie shifted, a flash of something like discomfort in his face before he was grinning again, but this time it looked a little forced. “Do you want me to go?” He asked, voice surprisingly sincere. “Cause I’ll leave you alone if you want.”

“No!” Alex blurted, and Willie’s grin turned genuine again. Alex felt a flush creeping up his neck.

“Okay then,” Willie said, blowing at a piece of dark brown hair that fell over his face. Alex got the irrational urge to fix it for him. “Do you want to talk? About anything?”

Alex curled in a little on himself and shrugged.

Willie didn’t seem bothered by his unresponsiveness and just nodded to himself. His eyes flashed. “20 questions?”

“Are we third graders?” Alex asked with an arched eyebrow.

Willie laughed, “Why not, hotdog?”

“‘Hotdog’?” Alex asked incredulously.

Willie laughed again and Alex decided he’d be content spending the rest of his life making this beautiful boy laugh like that. “That can be one of your questions,” He said with a pointed look, eyes shining as the moon finally crept out from behind the clouds, it felt almost poetic: the moon showing her face to highlight Willie’s beauty on one of the arguably worst nights of Alex’s life so far.

“Fine,” Alex said and Willie’s grin strengthened if that was even possible. “I’ll play 20 questions. So why ‘hotdog’?”

Willie clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, “Not yet, hotdog. I go first.”

Alex rolled his eyes, shoving his hands deeper into the pocket of his hoodie. The curiosity was nearly killing him at this point.

Willie took that for encouragement and hummed, “Favorite song you’ve played with your band?”

Alex smiled, “Probably Finally Free. It’s not the best song we have but it was the first one all four of us worked on. When we first played that on stage with Julie was the first song we played in front of a crowd as a real band, that Julie and Luke both worked on writing…” He realized he was rambling as he talked with his hands and shoved his hands back into his hoodie. “Yeah. Call me sentimental, sorry.”

Willie was smiling at him with something he couldn’t decipher. “Don’t be sorry. I asked. And that’s sweet, hotdog.” Alex flushed again and Willie’s smile changed into something else. “Your turn.”

“Why hotdog?” Alex asked.

Willie’s laugh came out in a huff, “You are determined aren’t you. Well, Julie told me a summary of the story of how she met the three of you. Something about bad hot dogs, Carrie’s dad, and mom’s studio in her garage?”

Alex snorted. “Yeah, that was an eventful day.”

“So I just called you hotdog in my head because somehow Julie overlooked telling me your name in the beginning.”

Alex burst out laughing and Willie did too, some birds squawked unhappily in the trees.

“My turn,” Willie said once they calmed down. He rubbed his hands together like some supervillain from the cartoons Reggie adored.

~~~~~~

They shot questions back and forth for another twenty minutes, the moon barely moved from her position in the sky, illuminating the two boys, who had both shifted almost imperceptibly closer each minute, so now their thighs were pressed against each other and each time they moved, their shoulders brushed. Willie was rolling his skateboard between his feet on the ground as if he was a little nervous.

“My turn,” Alex said, “Why are you out here?”

Willie froze for only a beat before leaning back far too casually. He shrugged, “Just skating around a little. I live like a 10-minute walk from here.”

“Isn’t your family missing you?” He winced as soon as he said it and immediately wanted to take it back.

Willie shrugged and Alex pretended not to notice his heartbreaking a little when Willie slid a little farther away from him down the bench.

“Ask me why I’m here,” Alex said, offering the beautiful skater boy an olive branch. Let him take it, he asked the moon.

She was listening.

“Why are you here?” Willie asked, voice a little strained, looking at him with something else undecipherable in his face.

“My parents don’t accept me,” The words tasted weird in his mouth. He’d never said it out loud.

Willie suddenly looked angry, “What don’t they accept?” He took a deep breath as if bracing himself for a rant.

“I’m gay,” Alex interrupted. Willie’s mouth snapped closed, almost comically.

He blinked at Alex for long enough that Alex started panicking. Then he smiled, it spread slowly across his face, and it was the most beautiful smile Alex thought he’d ever seen.

“Your parents are stupid,” Willie declared, bringing his arm up and down like he was a judge. “They have no reason to not accept you. You’re gorgeous and brilliant, you’re hilarious, you’re a drummer in your own band which is so close to playing at the Orpheum and I know for a fact you get straight A’s. You’re gay? Fan-fucking-tastic. Makes you better, in my professional opinion.” He was out of breath by the end of his speech and Alex felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He wanted to cry. But he wouldn’t because that would be embarrassing.

“Makes me better?” He asked finally.

Willie looked a little embarrassed himself and looked down at his skateboard, which he started moving again. “Yeah. You’re amazing.”

“You care that much? Even though you met me like an hour ago?”

“Yes, and I would die for you. Next question.”

That startled a laugh out of Alex and Willie glanced up at him with a smile.

“Gorgeous, huh?” Alex asked, suddenly emboldened.

Willie gave a non-committal hum, still not meeting his eyes.

“Says you.”

Willie glanced up again, startled and Alex felt his face burning, wanting nothing more than to bury himself into his hoodie, but he forced himself to take a deep breath and met Willie’s eyes.

They just stared at each other in silence before Willie laughed disbelievingly. “This is insane. I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time, and instead of a cute confession, I basically told you in a rant about your stupid parents.”

“A crush on me for the longest time, huh?”

Willie bumped his shoulder, “Oh shut up, hotdog.”

They fell into another comfortable silence before Willie said, “My parents are too busy to notice when I leave.”

Alex looked at him but Willie looked more uncomfortable than Alex had ever seen him.

“Would you like me to ramble about how gorgeous and brilliant you are?” Alex said, hoping to ease the tension in Willie’s shoulders.

He succeeded.

Willie buried his head in his hands with an anguished cry, “Let me forget that ever happened.”

“No, because I won’t.” Willie looked up again at his serious tone and smiled, reaching forward slowly to cup Alex’s cheek.

“You still have a question left,” Alex whispered breathlessly.

“Will you let me kiss you?” Willie asked, also a little breathless.

“Yes.”

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gracelessfighters · 4 years

Text

pinky promise

Pope Heyward x female reader

Masterlist

Summary: Reader and Pope had been friends forever, she now likes him as more than a friend but he continues to talk to her about the girl he likes, little does she know that girl is her.

Word count: 1k (a very short one)

Warnings: swearing but nothing else really

A/N: This didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted it to but I still love this boy with my whole heart and I have a few other fics for him planned which I will write soon - as always feedback is appreciated :) (also this has been in my drafts for days and I haven’t read it since I put it there so it could be worse than I remember 😂)

You and Pope had been best friends for as long as you can remember, definitely longer than you’d known JJ, John B and Kiara - you were still unsure when your feelings towards him changed into something stronger, but it scared you, so you’ve never told him.

You used to talk about anything and everything with each other, no boundaries whatsoever, but it didn’t matter because no matter what you were there for each other. He had listened when you’d had your heart broken by your first boyfriend, you listen whenever he has a small crush on a girl and needs to talk about it and whenever one of you is sad, the other one is there with some chocolate and open arms.

Since you started liking him, this dynamic had shifted, you no longer spoke about guys to him - as he was the guy you’d want to talk about - and you spent less time together just as the two of you. Unfortunately, when you did spend time together, he’d talk about this girl he really liked, never revealing her name to you, and when he spoke about her, you couldn’t stop your heart from sinking.

This was why you hadn’t said anything, he obviously liked someone else and it would only strain your friendship if he knew. So you suffered in silence but were still always there for him.

Pope was working today and the other boys were helping him, Kie was with her parents doing some kook stuff, which left you on your own - not that you minded, it meant you could go down to the beach and just lay there listening to music, ignoring life for a few hours.

Apparently, this wasn’t allowed to last long, as you heard and felt someone lie down next to you. You turned your head slightly, opening one eye to see Pope smiling at you.

“I thought you were working for most of the day?” You say, closing your eyes as your moved you head back towards the sky.

“I was meant to, but there were less deliveries today than normal so we escaped before my dad gave us another job.”

You laughed, “Probably a good call, you might’ve ended up cleaning the boat or something.”

“Oh god the thought alone makes me want to cry.”

He stood up, brushing the sand off his shorts, and nudged your leg with his foot, you opened your eyes to look at him, “What?”

“Lets go on a walk.” He held out his hand for you to take.

“But I’m comfy.”

“Come on Y/N, do it because you love me.” He pouted.

You couldn’t help but blush at his passing comment, but you had tried guilt tripping each other with this method for years, so you knew it wasn’t meant in that way - even if that is how you felt.

“Ugh fine,” you took his hand and he pulled you off the ground, allowing you to wipe the sand off your body before walking down next to the sea.

You fell into a comfortable silence as you walked, allowing you to think about how good he looked today - he always looked good to be honest, but today he had the shirt you’d got him for his birthday a few years back on, open so it showed off his abs and he was walking straighter than normal - as if he was more confident.

He had noticed you looking at him, “What?”

“Nothing, you just seem a little different today.” You say, stopping quickly to pick up a pretty seashell you’d seen, putting it in your pocket and continuing walking.

“Huh you notice everything don’t you?” He bumped your shoulder with his.

“That’s what happens when we’ve known each other forever, so what is different about you then?”

“I’m gonna tell that girl I like about how I feel.”

“Oh,” you looked to the ground as your heart sunk, “that’s great, I’m sure she’ll like you back, she’d be crazy not to.”

You looked up at him to smile reassuringly, only to find him already looking at you intently, something in his eyes that you couldn’t decipher.

“I hope so, also I was wrong.”

“What do you mean?” You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion.

“I was wrong - you don’t notice everything.” He wasn’t looking at you, instead keeping his eyes on the beach ahead.

“Okay I’m not following, what haven’t I noticed?”

“You know you’re one of the smartest people I know, but somehow pretty dumb as well.”

You stopped in your tracks, “What the fuck? If I’m so dumb tell me what you’re on about instead of waffling around the point.”

“I like you Y/N, I didn’t want to say anything for so long in case it ruined our friendship but recently you seemed to distance yourself from me anyway so I decided to just tell you - so yeah, you’re the girl I really like, I think you’re amazing in every way and no matter what my mood, seeing you and spending time with you always makes my day better and yeh.”

You suddenly didn’t know how to speak, you just stood there in shock, you mouth forming an ‘o’, whilst Pope searched your face for a sign you liked him as well.

“Are you going to say anything or should I leave?” He said.

“Um yeah sorry, I really like you as well, that’s why I’ve been distant recently - like spending time with you and hearing about the girl you liked was difficult. I realise now that was stupid and I accept your opinion that I’m dumb but you make my days better as well, and the days I don’t spend with you are awful.”

He smiled brightly at you, “Really?”

“Really.” You say, smiling back, “But you have to promise me that whatever happens we’re always in each other’s lives.”

“Jesus Christ you’re already planning for the worst,” he laughed, “but yes I promise.”

You held out your hand, your smallest finger pointing towards him, “Pinky promise?”

He linked his pinky with yours, “Pinky promise.”

You smiled at each other, and as he leant forward to kiss you, you moved faster, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into the best kiss you’d ever had.

#pope heyward x reader #pope x reader #pope heyward imagine #pope heyward #obx fic #outerbanks fic #outerbanks netflix #Jonathan Davis #outrebanx #jj maybank x reader #jj x reader #obx #pope fics dont get the attention they deserve #outer banks #jj maybank

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jasminevolkan · 3 years

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TIME IN A BOTTLE — self paragraph 001,

& character development TASK #5.

warnings: abandonment issues, divorce, abuse/neglect, death and illness, mentions of christmas, food and alcohol, curse words, jasmine having courage?

JANUARY 1ST 2021, 11:27 am.

Wishes of joy, success and health ended the traditional New Year’s brunch at the Volkan’s residence. Usually, the duo would make this celebration last all day long, but Jasmine had other plans. Instead, she put the leftovers in containers and headed for the exit. She kissed her mother on both cheeks and wrapped her in a tight hug. She earned a pat on the back as a notification she was squeezing her mother’s body too tightly. “Don’t want to let you go,” Jasmine whispered those words like an automatic response. “I’m not going anywhere,” Lana would reply.

They were creature of habits, an inseparable pair. They resembled Russian nestling dolls, there was never one without the other. As years went by, Jasmine grew more and more conscious of the inevitable. She was a star following the moon in a dark night sky, but one day the moon would be swallowed in the void and leave the burning dust nothing but an endless pain, deeper than a black hole. She was no stranger to grief, it did not mean she appreciated the experience. They discussed it often, a little too often to Lana’s liking. Her daughter was so fearless, yet she feared everything in her surroundings. She wished she could fly on her own, but she respected Jas’ desire to circle close to the nest.

They were creature of habits, an inseparable pair. They gifted each other the same thing for Christmas — a holiday they celebrated by choice — however they waited for the first day of the year to open them. Chocolate, candles and promises to spend time together in the future. They made plans to build sandcastles together on a rare calm spot of the beach, where Lana claimed there was a palm tree as old as her daughter. They remembered good and bad events that came out of the previous twelve months.

Usually, they would involve unfortunate recipes or complicated art projects that never came to life. More often than not, they would share a knowing look. The worst that came out of anything was Jasmine’s father. His presence (or lack thereof) impacted them on a daily basis, still. It left a whole in their lives, otherwise complete and satisfying. It fed into Jasmine’s insecurities, it encouraged Lana to relive the constant pain she was in while trying to comfort her daughter. Children to grow old in love and affection. No matter how much love Lana provided, it never seemed to be enough for her daughter.

Love and attention were the same thing as food, for Jasmine. She always craved for more and was afraid she would never get enough.

She walked out of her childhood home and crossed the lawn over to her house. Hidden by the mass of leftovers she carried expertly, she did not notice the box that blocked the door until she bumped her foot against it. She tried to scoot around the obstacle, in vain.

The breeze blew stronger, whipping locks of chocolate brown hair on her face. It sent a wave of goosebumps down her spine. She leaned down to open the box, pulling out stuffed animals, birthday cards and other items she remembered seeing in stores but never having the courage to buy it. Expensive paint brushes and other supplies, sets of gold earrings that sparkled under the sun; the list went on. She picked up a pink bunny, it seemed old and resembled one she had in her oldest memories but could never find again.

Jasmine looked up from the objects, the bunny squeezed tightly against her chest. She frowned and looked around, her mother was not on the porch, the other neighbours were probably asleep or gone. Avalon seemed very quiet, almost surreal.

Surreal like the shadow she noticed standing at the corner of the street. Her eyes squinted and blinked, but they seemed to have washed away the familiar silhouette. Somehow, the bunny felt like it radiated a comfortable warmth. She read the message that was left on the box, the handwriting was printed in her memory.

“I love you. I am sorry it took me your whole lifetime to realize it. Signed, “

The end of the message was scribbled in a whirlwind of blue ink. She had to focus really hard to recognize the three letters. Contrary to the presents or the mysterious figure, the word resonated no familiarity.

“Dad.”

FEBRUARY 14TH 2021, 3:02 AM.

Jasmine kept this a secret, the box and the message. She tried to play it cool, like it did not affect her that her father was trying to build the bridge he destroyed when he left for New York City. She hated New York. She hated bridges. She hated him.

No.

She loved him.

She pulled out a pink gel pen from this same pencil case she carried since high school, it had little doodles and messages written at the back from her friends. She ripped a sheet away from her binder that she used for ideas at work. And she improvised. It usually felt so natural for her, to cross boundaries and to do as she pleased. This time, it was painful and almost impossible to do.

“I loved it when you took me for a drive around the island on nights where I couldn’t sleep. I loved it when you brought me to the candy store after forgetting to pick me up from daycare because you were busy. I loved it when you read stories to me during rainy days so I would be quiet and fall asleep. I loved it when you gave me seashells from all of your work trips, even if they looked identical to those on the beaches down the street. I loved it when you took me to the park and pushed me on the swings just long enough before you got a phone call. I loved it when you wrote notes in my lunch boxes on school days, I saved them all in a bottle of bourbon you left on my night stand that one time you came home as the sun was rising.

I loved it when you acted like a father, even if it was just for a split second.

I love receiving magazines and seeing your name on the front page, congratulating you for all the listings you manage to sell. I love staring at the pages of photos and noticing that I look just like you. I love thinking of new ways to improve myself, because that’s what you would have wanted to. I love thinking you might come back here one day and we can make up for all the time we wasted loathing each other. I love thinking one day we might have a family portrait identical to the one you had in your office of your wife and kids. I love thinking that one day you’ll have one of me with them and hang it on your wall at home. I love thinking that one day, I will get to call you Dad.

I forgive you. I forgive you for leaving mom alone with me. I forgive you for hurting me so much I might just never heal. I forgive you for finding your happiness elsewhere. I forgive you for failing as a father. I forgive you for learning how to do better with your other children. I forgive you for leaving the life you never wanted. I forgive you for having dreams that were larger than what we could give you. I forgive you for breaking the promises you told me of this life where we would be a happy family.

I love you,”

The old pen was running out of ink, so she shook it vividly. She did not bother wiping her tears away, not the stain of pink on her hand that was tinting the paper. She added this short word she had blocked out of her memory all this time. It was just a nickname for all, but for her. She remembered the tone of his voice whenever he said this word, it was calm and posed, loving and caring. He said it rarely, but she could still hear it so clearly.

“Jojo.”

FEBRUARY 14TH 2021, 11:58 PM.

She scrunched the sheets of paper into a ball and threw it on the floor, missing the trash can by two feet at least. She then moved to the couch, grabbing her laptop from the coffee table and logged on her email. Her fingers floated above the keyboard until the screen turned darker. She was looking up to the clock on the wall, watching the seconds fly by.

She took a deep breath, hoping it would slow down time. It had the opposite effect, feeding into this adrenaline rush she desperately tried to repress since the beginning of the year.

She loved him. She never stopped, never will. It would not change. Something needed to change, however, and it was her unhealthy habit of being silent when she needed to speak out the most.

TO: Aleksander Volkan ([email protected])

FROM: Jasmine Volkan ([email protected])

SUBJECT: Receipts and birthday cards

Fuck you. <3

Minnie pressed the button, and sent the email. She shut her laptop close and ran to the abandoned paper on the floor. She unfolded it and held against her chest, disappearing into a room in the search for an envelope.

She was too far to hear the immediate sound of a response.

TO: Jasmine

FROM: Aleksander

SUBJECT:

I love you too.

#self paras.#about.#abuse tw #abandonment tw #death tw #food tw #(( 'love letter' it's not even a letter ~ jas never follows rules that's canon ))#(( the sweater/cardigan and now the letter/email? a true REBEL ))#catalina: task #catalina: love letters #tasks.

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adoredontour · 4 years

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all the fics i read and loved this month, in order from longest to shortest!

For As Long As I Can Remember (It’s Been December) by green_feelings @greenfeelings 128k

After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove 124k

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore 113k

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

nothing worsens, nothing grows by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 102k

and he sits there quietly with harry’s headphones in his ears while his eyes begin to close, totally unaware that he’s listening to the soundtrack of harry falling in love with him.

or, another roadtrip au featuring harry as the misunderstood hipster, louis as the bitter psych major, liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

& more under the cut!

Follow Your Arrow by bitter_leaf @bitter-leaf 78k

Harry was the golden child, blessed in every way; Niall was the charming miscreant, a bad boy; Liam was the future-son-in-law parents of daughters dreamt of, and Zayn was the kid parents wished was their son. But Louis, Harry thought, Louis was the special one.

It's senior year and everything is about to change.

somethin’ bout you by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 59k

Of all the government agents in the world, Louis had to go and land the most charming one.

The Recklessness in Water by LarryOn @larryonsimon 50k

Louis Tomlinson is miserable. He's stuck on a family vacation at a lake cabin in New Hampshire when all he wants to do is bemoan his sorry existence and wallow in his sweatpants. As if the humidity and mosquitos weren't bad enough, he becomes the singular target of an obnoxious lifeguard named Harry.

Missed Connection by littlelouishiccups @littlelouishiccups 39k

Soulmate AU where your soulmate’s first words to you are tattooed on your skin.

With a boring and generic soul mark like Hi, Harry is pessimistic he’ll ever find his soulmate or that he’ll realize it when he meets them. But he could always have it worse, like his new friend Louis who had a drunken one night stand with his soulmate a few years ago and woke up the next morning alone.

before we knew by falsegoodnight @risthebrave 39k

“C’mon Lou,” says Zayn after a moment, He sounds even more exasperated than before. Louis sort of has a knack for exasperating people, especially people like Zayn who aren’t usually bothered by his brattiness. “Can’t you give this guy a chance? Harry Styles? Aren’t you curious about him at all?”

Despite his best efforts, Louis still flinches at the name. He really shouldn’t be so affected after all these years. He’s seen the name printed down the curve of his waist in obnoxiously and uncommonly large loopy letters every single day since his sixteenth birthday eight years ago. He’s very familiar with the name Harry Styles.

It sounds pretentious and Louis hates it.

He hates everything about his supposed soulmate.

He hates his large handwriting that stands out like a claim on his skin whenever he’s walking around shirtless. He hates his pretentious name. And now he hates his supposed curls and green eyes and dimples.

Or Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

what’s mine is yours to make your own by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 39k

sometimes, the closest harry ever feels to home is louis. it's their shared hotel rooms on tour, their shoes toed off in the doorway next to each other, jackets hung on the same post.

it's everything he doesn't notice until it's been taken away from him.

And Touch Me Like You Never by runaway_train @runaway-train-works 35k

“Lets move back a bit yeah?” Harry clutches at his waist with a free hand and tugs him to move through the crowd until they are almost at the back of the group and settles them both beside the far wall. “There. That better?”

Louis looks up at him, as if he’s a tad dazed. “Uh, yeah, thanks. Can’t really see much from back here either though.”

Harry lifts a shoulder and grins at him, placing a hand on the wall behind Louis to pen him in. “We’ll just have to create our own fireworks then, won’t we?” He says it jokingly with a wink, and Louis laughs but he seems nervous. He must know that Harry is harmlessly flirting. Harry flirts with everyone after all, including Louis.

“Do you think this is a good idea Haz?” Louis asks quietly, almost too quietly in the clamour of the room, his head bowed as he scuffs his shoe on the carpet.

“Stop over thinking it Lou, it’s one kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The one where Harry and Louis agree to be each other's New Year's kiss and it ends up being a lot more than they bargained for.

last blues for bloody knuckles by creamcoffeelou @2ofusmp4

Styles was a name everyone knew. It had evolved into something of a fairy tale, a far away problem that normal people didn’t have to deal with. Louis never thought he’d find himself falling in love with him. When he finds himself pregnant with Harry’s child, he knows he has to leave the life, and Harry, behind. For her sake.

He never expected Harry to show back up on his doorstep five years later.

A mob au.

like it’s a game by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 32k

there is little harry hates more than truth or dare.

and louis.

gathered on wings by Brooklyn_Babylon @twopoppies 32k

As Harry lay by Louis’ side, covered in sweat and come, he knew he should feel ugly, messy, ruined, like the life he’d left behind. But something about the way Louis looked at him, the way his eyes stared at him with want and awe, made Harry wonder if he’d ever feel this beautiful again.

Harry rolled his eyes at himself for his momentary romantic dreaminess. As good as this was, he knew it was nothing more than sex. He literally couldn’t afford to fall for just anyone, no matter how fit they were.

-----

What Harry Styles wanted was to be taken seriously as an artist. What he needed was a new sugar daddy to pave the way. Louis Tomlinson is an artist who isn’t what Harry is looking for. Somehow he still manages to turn Harry's world upside down.

let’s make a thing of cream and stars by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 24k

It doesn't explain why he's lying on the floor, with Harry Styles, of all people, planking on top of him.

As in, seventeenth most influential person in London, pop-star-turned-rock-star Harry Styles. The same Harry Styles who has had countless model girlfriends, left, right and centre. Also the same Harry Styles who has been the subject of Louis' wet dreams since he was about eighteen.

(Or: Louis is a Radio 1 DJ and Harry is a pop-star he interviews.)

Strong Enough by jacaranda_bloom @jacaranda-bloom 21k

The biggest obstacle is still in place, firmly ensconced as a roadblock, cemented in their path and preventing them from moving forward. The thing is, it’s not actually Harry that’s the problem. Harry, for all his faults, for whatever decisions he’s made to lead to him to where he is in his life right now, would move heaven and earth and all that’s in between to help Liam, to support him. No. It’s Louis. He’s the one that has to reach out. He’s the one that has to let go and get the fuck over himself. It’s been five years for Christ's sake. It’s time to move on and suck it up.

“So…” Liam starts, and Louis instantly knows where this is going. He’s actually glad that it’s Liam that drags the subject out from the shadows and into the world. Louis turns to face him, mirroring his position on the couch and nods, ready for him to continue. “Have you spoken to Harry recently?”

Five years after Vertigo goes on hiatus, the band comes back together for a benefit concert. Can Louis and Harry work through their complicated past, or are some wounds too deep to be healed?

you flower, you feast by stylinsoncity @aliensingucci 18k

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry".

The Orchards of Jessop by jaerie @jaerie 15k

At age 40, there isn’t much excitement in widower Louis Tomlinson’s life, but wasn’t that the reason he’d moved to Jessop Island in the first place? Back then he hadn’t thought retiring before he reached 30 and moving to the countryside would mean that he’d be doing it alone. Now, just to fill the space, he welcomes lodgers into his home that pass through working as temporary labourers at the orchards just up the road. They’ve all been young adults eager to start lives of their own after one last summer of freedom.

All of them have been much the same, coming and going from Louis’ house with just enough social interaction to keep the house from feeling so empty. But when a global pandemic shuts down the world, being quarantined with a quiet twenty year old who keeps to himself might turn out to be an awkward arrangement. By the time the restrictions have been lifted, their relationship has developed into something Louis isn’t quite ready to give up. With their twenty year age difference, Louis has to be prepared for the inevitable outcome when the reality shatters the private world they’ve been living in. He’s not sure he’ll be able to let it go.

if i had the chance, the things i would do to you by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 14k

Niall sighs. He leans forward, pushing his mug of tea carefully to the side, before bracing his elbows on the table, chin in his hands. It makes him look like some sort of bottle-blonde cherub. "You have quite the fanbase, Harry. I'm not denying that. And you've done a good job of popping out every once in a while in the past two years, just to make sure you're still talked about. But that's all you've done, and I'm not satisfied. I want more." He blinks at Harry. "Don't you want more?"

(Or: AU where Harry and Louis compete in the Lip Sync Battle)

One Way Road To Something Better by femstyles @femstyles 12k

Four years ago when Louis and Harry moved in together, Louis promised Anne that he’d take care of Harry no matter what. But things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes risky choices have to be made.

Inspired by Don't Let It Break Your Heart

baby look what you’ve done to me by ballsdeepinjesus 9k

The next day kind of turns everything upside down, though. Louis gets another lingerie catalogue addressed to Harry. He’s about to toss it when he sees a personalized note stuck to the front; it thanks Harry for his previous purchases and offers him a complimentary six-month subscription to their magazine free of charge. It’s a unisex lingerie catalogue. Lingerie specifically designed to allow for the existence of penises, apparently, judging from the bulging cocks covered in lace that he sees as he flips through the pages. His breath catches in his throat at the thought of a faceless Harry -- mysterious, odd Harry -- dressed up in his purchases, whatever they may be.

He thinks he needs a lie down, to be honest.

[louis moves into harry's old flat. harry gets a lot of mail.]

golden hearts (light their way back down) by fairytalelights @lookslikefairytale 4k

“..So, top or bottom?” Louis asks when Harry tunes back in. And... what? Harry knew he should have been paying more attention but he has no idea how in the hell Louis explaining camp rules to him could have led to discussing sexual preferences this quickly. He must have smiled and nodded at the wrong place one too many times.

or, the one where Harry’s first day as a summer camp counsellor doesn’t go quite as planned.

Still, Somehow, You’re Perfect Now by FallingLikeThis @fallinglikethis 3k

Harry Styles is Captain of the footie team and all-around popular dude-bro-pal to the entire senior class. He’s kind to everyone from what Louis Tomlinson can tell, and kinder still when he thinks no one is looking. Of course, Louis has been looking. Ever since he transferred schools at the beginning of the year and noticed Harry for the first time, it’s been hard to look away.

All My Friends Are Here by abrighteryellow

He is about to decline, though. If he has to sit through forced merriment, the least he can do is avoid participation at all costs. He is about to, but then the guy with the microphone is looking out into the crowd. He’s saying things, too — about rules and prizes and team names. At least, Louis assumes so. He can’t really hear him over the ringing in his ears.

“Alright, mate. I’ll play.”

A pub quiz has invaded Louis’s favorite dive. Fortunately, it comes with a charming host.

Front porch and one more kiss by Femstyles @femstyles <1k

A goodnight kiss on a front porch

BONUS: (rereads)

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry @isthatyoularry 136k

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

Close to Nowhere by angelichl @angelichl 34k

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

led by your beating heart by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 24k

Nick leans over. "Oh," he says, his voice smug. "Who is that?"

Harry just blinks at his phone. "Um," he manages to stammer out.

"Who's that, Harry?" Nick asks again, but this time he raises his eyebrows and smirks. Harry knows Nick is just teasing, and that he's not really looking for new Harry Styles gossip, but, um. He might have found something. Accidentally.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another 'um'. He really needs to work on translating his thoughts into words. But then it probably wouldn't be any helpful right now, would it? His mind is as blank as a newly erased etch-a-sketch.

"Oh," Nick says again, this time gleefully, seemingly having picked up on Harry's distress. "Looks like we've got a story here! Are you going to call or delete her number?"

Her number. So Nick thinks it's a girl. Well, Harry can't blame him: 'Lou' is kind of an androgynous nickname. His stylist's name is Lou.

But this Lou, well, Louis, he's kind of, really, really not a girl. He's really pretty though, which, is something.

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

#monthly fic rec #rec #28th appreciation #fic rec

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blu-joons · 4 years

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He Surprises You On Your Birthday ~ Kim Namjoon

The morning of your birthday felt like any other day, the other side of the bed was empty, your phone was typically silent, and yet another day of work at the office was the only thing you had to look forward to. What made your day different? The scattering of four birthday cards that sat in your mailbox, waiting to be opened.

When you got to work, it was as if everyone had forgotten, as usual, you were greeted by quiet, a sheer nod of the head the only acknowledgement you got from the receptionist, until you found your best friend, sat at your desk.

“You didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you?” She smiled, pointing to the bouquet of white lilies she’d bought, sat beautifully next to the computer on your desk. “I know it’s not going to be the best day, but I can try and make it somewhat enjoyable for you.”

“I really don’t feel like celebrating, it just doesn’t feel right,” you replied.

Your first birthday without Namjoon was something you always dreaded, he treated you like a princess on your birthday, all expectation was exceeded. But this time, as you woke to no text, call, or present from Namjoon, all excitement for your special day had gone away, there was nothing to celebrate without him beside you, making your day as special as he could.

Your best friend smiled sympathetically; you vented enough times to her during your lunch break about how much you missed him being around. “Has he been in contact with you today?”

Your head shook, looking down to the floor. You knew he was busy, but most mornings he managed to find the time to at least send a text and check in with you that things were going well, but on your birthday, there was simply nothing.

“I just can’t wait to go home tonight and pretend today never actually happened.”

“You don’t mean that, I’m sure he’ll call when he’s got a free moment.”

“I’m trying to convince myself you’re right, but this is so out of character for him,” you complained.

Your whole day was a nightmare from start to finish, you lost count of the number of times you checked in the hope there would be a message from Namjoon, but each time, you were left a little more broken-hearted.

A few of your colleagues tried to convince you to head out with them that night, but after all the disappointments of the day, you simply couldn’t wait to get home and just forget that your birthday had ever even happened.

You walked up the stairs to your apartment, a bottle of wine in hand, a last-minute present from your boss. Unlocking the door, the same silence greeted you that had seen you off to work that morning. You reached across, switching the light on, dropping your bag to the floor.

“Happy birthday jagi,” a voice spoke, emerging from the doorway into your kitchen.

“J-joon,” you stuttered, looking up to be greeted by the wide smile of your boyfriend, open arms wide.

You ran over, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. He stumbled back, catching you safely, peppering kisses along your cheek. It felt like a dream as he held you, all the anguish and hurt you felt throughout the day had all been forgotten about.

“Now, I’ve not had the time to get you presents you, but I hope the presence of me counts for something.”

“It’s the best present, I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

Your hands came up either side of his face, cupping his cheeks gently, studying the tired features of his face, the effort he went to, just to visit you, took you by complete surprise.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text or call sooner; I just didn’t want to risk spoiling the surprise.”

“As if I can hold that against you when you came back home, just for my birthday Joon.”

He chuckled, placing you back down on your feet, taking your hand in his, walking back into the living room where you both sat on the sofa. Your eyes were fixated on him, making sure he was real, the whole situation felt too good to be true.

His heart was pounding, he’d missed you terribly, counting down the days until your birthday. “The boys all wanted me to say hello too.”

“How are they all doing? I’ve missed all of you so much.”

It was the boys that convinced him to be with you, whilst Namjoon didn’t want to let them down by leaving, they knew how important the short reunion would be for the two of you.

“They’re happy I could come home, they miss you, all they do is ask about you.”

“It must break your heart knowing I’m secretly the favourite,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his lips. His head shook, refusing to believe such a thing.

From the start of your relationship, the boys adored you, secretly they wanted to be with you on your birthday too, but a busy schedule and adoring fans left them stuck on the other side of the world. With the promise from Namjoon that you would ring them that evening, they finally, and happily, stood back and let him come home alone.

As a silence finally came between the two of you, the realisation of Namjoon being before you hit you. You felt your cheeks darken, eyes watering, as two tears rolled down either side of your face. Namjoon quickly spotted, using his sleeve to wipe them away. “What’s with the tears?”

“I’m just trying to come to terms with the fact you’re really here, I’d given up on any good happening today,” you replied.

“It’s a good job I’m here to save the day then.”

What was looking to be the worst birthday in the world, somehow ended up being one of the best, no matter how long he was home for, being able to spend some time with Namjoon again was the only thing you could have ever wished for.

No cake or candles were needed, the one wish you ever had, had come true, your boyfriend sat before you, his hand intertwined tightly with your own.

“We may not have many hours left of your birthday, but I want to make the most of it,” he whispered, “have you eaten yet?” Your head shook before he reached across, grabbing the takeout menu that you always left on the coffee table.

“You don’t need to worry about food, I had a big lunch at work,” you spoke, not wanting him to waste any of his money on you.

He shook his head, already knowing what your favourites were, he ordered before you could protest anymore. “I was thinking of just starters and mains, I can think of a better desert that might just be the perfect finale to your day.”

You giggled anxiously, running a hand through his grey locks. “You really do know how to spoil a girl on her special day.”

His frame leant towards you, lips locking sweetly with yours, his big hands held your waist, pulling you closely to him, before he broke away, resting his forehead against yours.

“They’ll be more of that later,” he whispered, leaving you with one last peck on the lips to savour before he laid back, cuddling you closely into his side.

“Namjoon, you have no idea how thankful I am that you came all this way just for me, it means the world that you made such an effort to be with me,” you admitted.

He smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “there was no way I was going to miss your birthday, whatever it took, I was going to be here, just to see the look on your face has made all of this worthwhile. There really is no place like home.”

You nodded in complete agreement, no matter where the two of you were in the world, it was your apartment, the beige sofa that the two of you sat on that always bought the two of you back together, it was a small space, but it was your space, no matter when, and no matter why.

“I might not be able to be home for long, but I’m going to make up for missing out on today, tomorrow, you’ve already got the day of work to spend time with me.”

“Namjoon!” You shrieked, “you really didn’t have to do that.”

“I did, I wanted to spend time with you, I’ve really missed not having you around, and I don’t think there’s ever going to be a better excuse than your birthday to have some fun together.”

“Do you know what? I couldn’t agree more.”

---

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starman-john-tracy · 3 years

Text

Radiation Poisoning | Chapter Eleven

by @starman-john-tracy and @asteria-star

In which John Tracy gets exposed to uranium and nearly dies, The Hood is evil, and Star generally freaks out a lot.

Chapters: [One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Twelve]

Once it becomes very clear that John is asleep - and not about to wake up and catch them talking about him - Star slumps. One hand grips the edge of the bed until her knuckles are bleached white and the other snaps up to clamp over her mouth, cutting off a ragged, slightly hysterical laugh.

“Ooh my god, I think I’m going to be sick… I can’t believe that worked, oh thank god.” When she pulls her hand away, still grey faced, she’s grinning at Virgil. “I didn’t think I was going to be a match.”

“Me neither.” Virgil huffs, deeply worn down by all the anxiety he’s been through recently, “Geez…”

“Well, that’s one good thing at least,” Star says. Virgil opens his mouth to remind her it's a choice, that she doesn’t have to do this, but Star’s already shaking her head. “Don’t start: of course I’m going to do it. There’s no way I wouldn't.”

Virgil just flashes her a tired, grateful smile, the words for just how incredibly grateful he is escaping him for the moment.

Star unclips the monitor from her finger, tosses it to the side, and eases back until she’s lying down on the bed with her head in her hands. She already knows the next words out of her mouth are about to start an argument, and they haven’t even told the other brothers yet.

“I feel fine, Virgil, so when can we get started?”

She peeks through her fingers, and to say Virgil doesn’t look convinced is an understatement.

“As soon as your blood work starts coming back clean.” He narrows his eyes at her, she might be able to bluster and bluff her way through how she feels, but the statistics don’t lie. “And that’s not just for your benefit, John needs the healthiest stem cells he can get, to reduce the risk of them being rejected.”

He pushes his hands hard against his knees, bones crunching back into alignment as he gets to his feet and stretches his arms above his head with a groan. Star knows it’s the truth, but she can’t help but feel like she’s being played, and that it was a low blow anyway.

“I need you to eat your vegetables, take your tablets and get a lot of good quality sleep.”

“Jesus,” She groans, pulling a face at Virgil. “Now I know how annoying I must sound to John.”

Virgil just pats a hand the size of a dinner plate down on her shoulder.

“I know it’s frustrating to wait, but in the long term, this is the best thing for him. Gordon’ll be down for his shift soon.” He adds, his eyes flicking over to John to check he’s still sleeping soundly. “Are you alright to keep an eye on John while I go up and update the boys with his treatment plan. They all need to be aware of what’s going on, so we can keep the Island as clean as possible.”

It doesn’t escape Star’s notice that Virgil wants to tell the other brothers their developments without her there, but she can’t quite bring herself to care mind. He doesn’t mean to intentionally exclude her, he just needs someone down here on babysitting duty.

Even with the tiny chance of a match, they should have tested her first, gone down by age or something, at least then Gordon and Alan would have been spared; even if that wouldn’t have kept Virgil off the table, and even though Gordon would have complained endlessly about the handful of days separating their birthdays. Sure, she might not have been the one to take off John’s helmet, and John looks set to spend an hour lecturing her if she mentions what happened on the station being her fault again, but she can’t help but think about how it is her job to keep John safe. That was what her freedom was spared for, and he’s her best friend, and they keep ending up in these messes.

“Yeah, I can watch him. Not like he’s going to be causing any problems,” Her eyes dart to John’s sleeping face. “Touch wood. And can you ask Fish Sticks to bring me a snack when he comes?”

“Yeah, will do, anything in particular you fancy?” Virgil looks, somehow, even more tired than John. It’s starting to worry her, even though Virgil is usually one of the Tracy’s most likely to take care of themselves instead of working themselves until they drop- looking at you, John.

“Come here,” she gestures at him until he complies with a sigh, grabbing his shirt once he’s within arms reach. No matter how compliant and relaxed Virgil tends to be, Star is pretty sure she’s about to get a resounding no. “Can you please take a nap? Or something? I’m worried about you, Virg, I think you need to take a break.”

“Hmm.” It’s hardly an agreement as he folds his arms around her shoulders and pulls her in close for a good, firm hug. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.” He lets what he thinks is a good point hang heavy in the air between them, “John’s health is just so delicate right now, and the family needs updating and…”

Star sighs, thoroughly frustrated by the damned Tracy stubbornness, as if unaware she herself possesses a similar trait. She lets Virgil have his hug without complaint, even if it isn’t entirely what she meant. Her arms come up to wrap around his middle and giving him a squeeze, careful of the still sore biopsy site.

“Let Brains do something, or delegate. I’m sure even Alan can manage to disinfect the house, even though his room is a biohazard.” She rubs a hand between his shoulder blades. “Hell, set me to work. It’s what I’m here for. Just stop doing this all yourself, like this is all your responsibility, or I will make you take a break.”

He sighs again, hot and heavy, into the top of her head, where he’s rested his mouth against her crown.

“...I’ll get something to eat and catch a few hours, but the hard time I’m having is nothing compared to what he’s facing,” He tilts his head a John, still sound asleep, “I can’t let him down.”

“Yeah, and he’s got all of us looking out for him,” Star murmurs in response, all traces of the underlying danger in tone usually, in place for anyone but John, gone from her voice. “This is me looking out for you too.”

She pulls back a little so she can see him, unsure how he’s going to respond. Virgil is so very different from John, and Star spends so much time with John alone, she’s nervous she’s going to overstep boundaries she’s forgotten are there.

But Virgil just smiles warmly at her, the expression soft and fond.

"Now you really sound like part of the family." He points out, a little teasing but mostly incredibly sincere, as if he's really, truly pleased to fit her into the mad, chaotic family dynamic they've got going on down here on Tracy Island. Of course, he could just be grateful that she's offering her blood to save his brother's life but… there's a look in the young man's eyes that makes it very clear that it's more than that. "Thanks, Star." He reaches a hand out to give her shoulder another warm squeeze - the man is far more tactile than his sleeping brother, and it's a nice change to not have to chase him for it. "Just you look after him, like you always do." His fingers chuck her under her chin, as if she really is his little sister, "I'll be alright for a couple more hours on my feet, then I'll head to bed, alright?"

“Yeah, yeah,” Star grumbles, only half joking and shoving him away by his arm, a light grin on her face. “Off you go there, rip off the band aid, take the bull by its horns, all of that. Call me if you need backup, I may be able to call in some favours if you need to hide from the law.”

Virgil is smiling at her, a fond tug on the corners of his lips that must run in the family, because Star is ever so in love with the expression on John. Virgil bids her farewell, still limping and tired but happier than he had been with four negative tests, and Star is alone with John.

She sighs, rolling to her side on what she is sure is about to become her bed, to gaze across the room at the sleeping astronaut.

There’s something we can do for him, she tells herself, when her eyes snag on IVs and monitors and bruises littering his skin. We’re not done for yet.

Very little happens until the next morning. The grim but hopeful news gets delivered with no problems and a little circle of avidly listening Tracy’s. There’s a lot of questions but Virgil is nothing if not diligent in his explanations, and he seems happy to try and reassure them all as much as is possible, in the situation. John sleeps peacefully through the night, fighting the radiation poisoning in his cells with good old-fashioned R&R. Scott finds Virgil passed out where he’d collapsed on the sofa, just as sound asleep as his brother downstairs, and had found a pillow and a blanket to fling over him, quietly thankful that Virgil isn’t as tall as he or John are, as if either of them had tried the same thing, they’d have a crick in their back for days. Gordon pops in to take over the shift from Star, bringing her a couple of roughly made ham sandwiches (he must have put them together himself), a packet of crisps and a warm, slightly flat lemonade - just in case her stomach needs settling after.

The morning dawns altogether too bright and cheerful, the sun like a big, fat tangerine lazing on the horizon, and it brings Scott down to the beach for his daily jog, only to find Alan sat out by the tide - staring miserably into the sea and chucking in small pebbles, letting them to be nibbled up by the lapping waves. Ever the perceptive big brother, he takes the kid to see John, and so his and Star’s morning starts with a slightly rude awakening as John gets a warm ball of Alan Tracy bundled up against his side.

“Come on Allie, don’t wake him!” Scott hisses, but it’s altogether too late for that, and John strokes his fingers sleepily through his little brother’s hair. All in all, it’s not the worst way he’s ever woken up.

“Jesus Christ,” Star grumbles before her eyes are even open, woken by the sound hissed ‘whispers’ that are too loud for that time of morning. She’s ditched the sweater at some point, leaving her in a tank top and sweatpants, and one bare arm snakes out from beneath the sheets to scrub at her face. Bleary blue eyes peer out from her bird's nest of lank hair, landing on the gaggle of Tracy’s across the room. “Oh my god.”

John is smiling sleepily at his brothers, then at Star, looking none the worse for wear for his rude awakening, especially compared to yesterday. Star is more than happy to keep up slightly grumpy appearances on his behalf. She manages to push herself into a crumpled sitting position in the centre of her bed, frowning sleepily at the clock, and then them. Her skin crawls, like she’s intruding, which might have something to do with the frosty not-look Scott gives her.

John gives her a breathless chuckle.

“Good morning.”

Star scowls, not heat behind it for him.

“This isn’t morning, this is the ars-“

“Language,” Scott scolds, looking meaningfully at Alan. “Please.”

Star raises an eyebrow. Alan finds it hilarious.

“You good there, Johnny?” Star asks, clambering out of the bed and stumbling over to where he’s nodding sleepily. She runs a hand through his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead and murmurs, “I’m going to take a shower before Virgil considers me a biohazard, and probably steal some coffee. You alright here with Alan?”

He nods again.

“Alright. I’ll be back.”

Star tries not to be too obvious about the stiffening of her shoulders when she hears Scott move to follow her out of the room, or the way she tracks his movement.

“I… uh… owe you an apology.” Well that’s not exactly what she’d been expecting to follow her up the corridor. Scott Tracy is loitering, stiff and awkward and thoroughly unused to apologising, a little way behind her - as if he thinks she might lash out at him and he wants to be well out of range. “For my behaviour, uh, you know, earlier.” It’s very vague, as if to prevent him from having to come out and explain, like a toddler, what the bad thing he did was and why it was bad. “Virgil explained what happened better and, um, what’s happening now,” Now that she’s the key to saving their brother’s life. “So, uhhh, I’m sorry. I guess….” His nose is all scrunched up, like that was hard. “Um, you know, I’ve been on a lot of rescues,” Scott doesn’t exactly laugh, but it’s clear he’s trying to make the conversation lighter. “Gotta admit, the two of you have been up there with some of the most… scared, when it comes to each other.”

Star nods slowly, chewing on her lip.

“I mean, he’s… I’d do anything for him. I quite literally love him more than life itself.” Scott looks distinctly uncomfortable about that declaration, “But it’s also… different. Up there, I mean. If an alarm goes off down here or someone is hurt, you’re more likely to find them than not, and you can get them help. Up there, an alarm goes off and you don’t find whoever you’re with quickly, there’s a good chance you’ll never see them again. Hell, if there’s a hull breach or a leak or some kind of glitch… there's just never a lot of time, or help. It’s just us, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, not that we really have days either.”

“I… yeah.” Scott seems to be struggling with all-the-ways-his-brothers-could-die-in-space, but to his credit, he shakes it off pretty quick. “Sorry, I should let you go, I just… wanted to make sure you were ok.” And that might be the most honest thing he’s said to her since touchdown. The Ex-airforce pilot might have a terrible quick temper and a fierce overprotectiveness when it comes to his siblings, but he can see when he’s wrong about someone and maybe Carmen Daines isn’t all as bad as her paperwork had made her seem. Not that he’s been snooping on her GDF file because he… yeah ok he definitely has. But it was for John’s benefit really, so he doesn’t feel all too bad about that.

He’s read some pretty… grim things in that should-have-been-confidential file.

But the girl in the too-big jumper with wild brown hair and knobbly knees in front of him has just offered up her own bone marrow to save his brother’s life.

So she can’t be all bad.

“Uh, I should leave you to your shower, Carmen.” He waves a hand around airily, a lopsided half-smile on his face like he’s just done a great thing, and righted all the wrongs in the world with his apology, “Take care up th….”

Star is almost about to accept it, until that one, pesky little word came up. It stopped her in her tracks, a physical jolt like electricity that didn't come when it was spoken by John, and no one else knew or dared try.

The name.

“I’m sorry,” Star smiled sweetly, words dripping venom. “Apology… almost accepted. But call me by that name again and I’ll break your nose.”

Scott blanches white at that. She means that very literally and he’s not the kind of man to assume that just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean she hits hard. Both of his hands shoot up, defensive.

“Ah!, Uh, sorry. Star?” He tries again, tentative, wondering if he dares ask why no one uses her real name. It seems like a nice, solid name to him at least. “Doesn’t John call you, um, that?” He points out, confused and, if he doesn’t lie to himself, a little afraid of a girl half his size.

Star smiles slightly at him, like somewhere in the back of her mind she regrets the threat, but still wouldn’t take it back if she could. Part of her, the part that doesn’t feel entirely real, like she’s a name on a page and not a real person, wants to tell him everything for the sake of being known. It would bring the total number up to four, if you counted Colonel Casey, which seemed ridiculously low considering the infamy that had followed her around in the life before this one.

“John’s allowed to, because he knows better than to call me that around other people… at least I thought he was, but he can be forgiven for the odd slip.” She eyes Scott off, eyes raking up and down from where she stood on the staircase, a handful of steps above him. “There’s a reason I don’t use it. That name belongs to someone you would be killed for knowing, and not by me. There are very dangerous people in the world who are hoping I am dead, but still sleep with one eye open just in case I’m not. Because-” There’s a thickness to her voice that surprises Star herself, and she has to look away from Scott’s wide-eyed staring. “-they ruined- they ruined the life that I had, and they know I could do the same to them. So it’s safer for everyone involved if we all just pretend the owner of that name doesn’t exist.”

Star isn’t sure what Scott had been expecting, but she’s pretty sure it wasn't that. His face alone says that when she turns back to him, and she has to snort. His eyebrows have practically disappeared up into his receding hairline.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt anyone,” she slouches against the banister, looking down at the man. “But I am going to ask why you know that name. Because I know why Virgil knows it, and I know why John knows it, but I don’t know why you do.”

“Uh.” Says Scott again, very eloquently, as if suddenly realising he’s probably in big trouble. “It got, um, mentioned once.” He rolls his shoulders through a shrug, lying through his teeth because god forbid she finds out he’d been snooping where he shouldn't. Evidently though, he missed a lot back then. “Might have been John… in his sleep?” He offers, sounding like he can’t quite remember, when really, he’s making it up as he goes along. The idea that John might have been calling out for her in his sleep, while she was snoozing, is a heart wrenching one. Especially as it’s a downright lie.

Scott Tracy has bluffed some of the best councils in the world, for IR and for Tracy Enterprises. His power to lie is one he wield much, much lighter than his brothers ever would.

Must be a corporate thing.

“Speaking of John, I should probably get back and see what Alan’s up to…” He waves his hands around dramatically, excusing himself, “Enjoy your, um, shower?”

There is no good scenario Star can conjure up in her mind as to why John would be mentioning the name Carmen in his sleep, and the idea is tangled up with the speed with which Scott threw his hands up. She can’t stop thinking about it, not digging through John’s clothes for a clean sweater to wear with her own pants, not in the shower, not when she’s braiding her damp hair back again in the hopes of keeping the mess it was this morning from happening again.

To her, and anyone else who knows, she supposes, the name Carmen is something violent and wild and so terrifying she hates it. But John uses that name like its synonymous with Star, like it’s something soft and precious to him to have the privilege, so does that mean-

Virgil is slouched at the breakfast bar when Star wanders past the kitchen, falling asleep over his mug of coffee. She considers him for a moment, picking a loose thread on her sleeve, before deciding to just bite the damn bullet.

“Hey, Virgil?” She asks softly, but he jumps at her arrival anyway. “Can I ask you something?”

He grunts something that might have been a yes.

“Do I scare people? Do I scare you and… John?”

Virgil moves his face from where it’s smushed against the hand propping it up, and raises an eyebrow, running his fingers backwards through sleep-mussed hair.

“No?” He sounds tentative about that, like he’s worried he might not be awake enough right now to say the right thing. A fist scrubs sleep from his eyes, “Where have you got that idea from?”

He gives her an appraising look, up and down, taking in the baggy sweater (emblazoned with a NASA logo in a way that strongly hints it’s been stolen) and her pale face and damp hair.

“Are you alright?” The eyebrows crinkle, and he pats a big hand down on the bar stool beside him. “Hop up, I’ll make you a coffee.” She looks like she needs one, “Or, uh, a tea?” He seems suddenly uncertain, “What would you prefer?”

Star raises an eyebrow at the offer, and the fact he’s told her no earlier. “Am I allowed coffee?”

She hauls herself up onto the offered seat, watching Virgil blink tiredly on his way around the kitchen.

“John’s not, and it’d be best if you keep off the caffeine the day or so before the transfusion, but your heart rate was looking good last test, so there’s no reason that today you can't have something, if you want. No offense, but you look like you could do with it. There’s fruit tea or a milkshake if you’d rather though.”

He potters around the kitchenette, collecting mugs and filling Grandma’s old electric kettle. The coffee he’d made for himself had long gone cold during his snooze and it gets dumped unceremoniously down the sink so he can replace it with a fresh, hot cup.

“Now, what’s got you all worried about how scary you are?” He asks, distracted, but listening all the same. John’s not the only Tracy who's a great multitasker.

“I think I scare Scott,” she tells him in a way of explanation. “He was apologising and it was almost going well for him, and I really didn’t mean to tell him I’d break his nose but-“

She takes a breath, mostly in awe of the complete and utter dazed confusion on the brunette's face.

“Scott knows my real name. Did you tell him it?” She doesn’t sound angry, just… wondering.

“No?” Virgil’s eyebrows go through a violent wiggle of emotion, leaving them high on his forehead. “I make a point of calling you Star, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable… or to threaten to break my nose.” She gets a look with that comment, “But I even document your medical records under your pseudonym, it’s just what we all know you as, so I don’t think Scott would have picked it up from me.... I can’t imagine John would have told him either though,” Virgil frowns, “unless he overheard you guys.”

“John doesn’t use it often enough…” Star muses, counting back all the times she’d heard him say it, most of which occurred on Thunderbird Five, and rest when they were alone. Virgil slides the hot mug across the table, and Star wraps her cool fingers around the warmth. “I suppose it doesn’t matter, was just curious.”

She sits in silence for a moment, gazing into the dark brew like it might be convinced to give up all of life’s secrets. Eventually she gives up, in favour of peering up at Virgil.

“Still strikes me as odd.” He comments, considering.

Star chews on her lip. With Virgil’s confirmation of confidentiality, she knows how Scott knows her name, and she’s not sure how bothered to be by it, or what else he saw.

“So how are things looking? Does a normal heart rate mean we can… get started?”

Virgil continues frowning, but it drops away as he’s distracted by her eagerness to get stabbed with big needles. He laughs, all teeth.

“Not quite yet.” He reaches out and pinches her skinny arm, making a point that she needs to get some nutrients in her first, “I got some more tests that still need to come back clean, there’s more than your heart I’m worried about.” He looks ever so apologetic.

“And anyway, John got to start on the chemo conditioning first.” Virgil runs his fingers through his hair again - she’s starting to notice he does that a lot when he’s stressed. “I’m reluctant to begin when he’s already so ill, but it’s the sooner the better, in the long term. We’ll probably give him the first transfusion later today. I want to get him back to his own room first though, so he’s more comfortable. It’s a horrible process and it’s going to be a really stressful time, so the less he has to see that medical room the better, I think...” He takes a long swig of hot coffee, eyelashes fluttering as the caffeine hits his system.

“Grandma’s up there deep cleaning his room for us.” He smiles wearily at Star. “Once she’s done, do you want to help me get John up there?” Virgil wants to preserve his brother’s independence while he can, and won’t force him to use a wheelchair while he can still walk, but John’s balance has always been a tricky thing, so an extra pair of hands on his side would definitely help.

Star nods absently, staring in the deep dark depths of her coffee like it holds the answers to all of life’s questions. It won’t be the first time she’s hauled John around, whether from lack or sleep or food or injury; but being arguably good at it doesn’t mean she likes it any better. The image of sick John in his room makes her chest give a savage squeeze of anxiety. That’s not where he’s supposed to be, maybe when he’s had a little too much gravity or a handful of stitches, but not when he’s dying.

But she knows John would prefer it, and whatever makes him happy wins.

She takes a long drag of her coffee, and tells Virgil, “yeah, of course I do.”

She pushes the half empty mug of coffee across the table and stands, only wobbly the tiniest amount. “I take it there’s going to be a lot to bring with him, and I think they’re having a party down there, so we should probably-“ she makes an awkward gesture in the direction of the stairs, as if looking for permission, “-go?”

Virgil laughs at her keenness; it warms the cold, tired parts of him that, though he’d never admit it to anyone, just want to give up and go to bed. He downs the rest of his coffee in one, enjoying the burn. There’s a heavy, satisfied sigh as he slams the big mug back down on the tabletop.

“Alright, you win.” He smiles, flicking open his Comm. “Grandma?” They both watch the little holographic representation of the woman startle as John’s bedside holocomm flashes on, “Are you ready for us up there?” She’s got big yellow rubber gloves on and a pinafore over her purple jumpsuit, the wispy grey strands of her hair all twisted up in pin curls.

“Virgil!” Her voice is full of scolding, but it softens when the idea of John being brought up comes into the mix. “Yes dear, everything is dusted and disinfected.” She sounds very proud of the accomplishment. She’s had to put a lot of his things into storage boxes though, just to keep the amount of objects that could be holding germs to the minimum, and she feels a sort of weary melancholy about it. It makes it feel almost like he’s already gone, and she’s having to pack up his things. Ruth shakes her head, forcing those thoughts out. “John won’t even recognise how clean it is up here!” It’s a joke, but her voice wobbles at the end in a way that makes Virgil’s heart clench.

“I’m sure he will, Grandma.” He says, very soft, but he knows that with the amount of time John spends in space, his bedroom is probably as unfamiliar to him as the med room is anyway. Maybe he won’t even notice the changes she’s made. “Thanks for this. Give us ten minutes and we’ll be up there with Johnny boy.”

There’s a warm FAB on the other end, and her mop-armed figure flickers out. Virgil slings an arm around Star’s shoulders.

“You need anything to eat before we go down?”

The answer should probably be yes, but Star shakes her head anyway, loose strands of her fringe brushing up against Virgil’s chest from where she’s pinned beneath his arm. Her stomach is tying itself in knots at everything, and she honestly doesn’t think she’d keep anything down if she had to eat and then move John… which is unlikely to be an entirely pleasant experience. She feels very small standing next to him, in a way she doesn’t next to John, even though he’s almost a good head taller than his younger brother. Leading the way to the stairs means Virgil can’t protest, so that's what she does, taking them back the way she had only just come from, following the sound of voices.

Both Scott and Alan are still there, and miraculously John is still awake, smiling lazily around the room and whatever Alan was chewing his ear off about. When he sees her, she smiles back.

“I’m here to perform a prison break,” she tells him, “how about it?”

#Radiation Poisoning RP

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