#I wouldn’t be here always in pain but having to pretend I am okay all the time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writingsfromhome · 24 days

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Dos and Don’ts III

A/N: firstly apologies for the wait and secondly I absolutely did not want to cut this into another part but here we are 😢 I think this will change some ppls opinions oops dont hate me

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

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I couldn’t put my finger on it but something was off in my life; I felt disconnected from myself, my friends, and most importantly from Gray. But getting Gray to communicate when he didn’t want to could feel like pulling teeth. And I was no dentist.

I figured the solution was to stubbornly throw myself into work. After all, with Harry’s European tour starting March there was always a lot to do.

“Nice of you to get here so early,” Harry says as I step off the elevators just before 9–an hour later than I usually do.

“I had dry cleaning to pick up,” I ignore his sarcasm. “Your tour fits aren’t going to magically appear in the penthouse as nice as that would be for me.”

I keep my tone light, joking, but it’s passive just as he is. And he can’t call passive out.

That’s what working for Harry has been like since December. It was winter outside these walls and inside.

I had originally decided to let it all go after sitting with the party’s events that weekend but upon arriving to work Harry had been particular asshole-ish and I decided two could play at the game. It was like the holiday party never happened. And I was okay with that.

“If they did, I wouldn’t need you would I?” Harry takes on the same tone I do.

Asshole, “yeah, how nice would that be.”

I walk away to his closet to hang up the garment bags.

“You still have two fits that need final fitting. For today, you’ve got a 2pm for your ear plugs and monitors,” I say as I walk back into the main living space. I take in Harry in his bathrobe and bedhead and realize he must be hungover. Which meant extra grumpy. “Also a meeting before noon with Jeff—he’s sick so he’ll do a Zoom. And rehearsals start tomorrow at 8am.”

The long-awaited tour he was rehearsing for was 2 months long and with his tour manager joining him I’d be kind of redundant. We agreed I’d start the tour with him, and then end it as he came back to the UK but I’d take a break in between.

“Good,” Harry sits on a barstool and as the robe parts I hoped he was wearing something underneath. “Are you joining rehearsals?”

“Tomorrow yeah,” I instinctively start tidying the coffee table littered with Harry’s activities from last night. There’s empty bottles and unused rolling papers, takeout containers and unopened bottles.

“Can you stop that,” Harry snaps. He’s wincing when I look up. “The clinking—it’s too loud.”

His second statement comes out softer but it doesn’t make him any less irritating.

“I’ll just toss these ones,” I take the ones I’d gathered in my hand.

“So,” he carries on with the earlier conversation. “Just tomorrow yeah?”

“Yep, to make sure everyone’s there, forms are signed, and all that. Jeff will drop by too. Otherwise I’ll just be there once a week or so since I have other things to complete.”

“So you’ll enjoy the full glory of the show once it’s live on stage?”

“I guess.”

“Please y/n reign in the excitement, it’s just too much.” Harry flexes his sarcasm again.

I look up from the other side of the island and lock eyes with him. With one bottle still in my hand I don’t put it in gently, instead letting it drop onto the others in the bin. His face twists in pain and I get my hit of satisfaction.

“I am excited,” I continue. “I’ll be more excited when you get on tour but right now I’m buried under an insane amount of logistics and stuff. So I’m just pacing myself.”

“Glad you got that out of your system,” he slides off the stool. “Are you sure you want to join tour? It takes a toll.”

“What? Am I taking up the space you reserved for groupies?” I goad.

He pretends to think, “No…we’ve got a whole other bus for that.”

“Great,” I smile. “Then I’ll definitely be there for the start of your tour, cheering you on.”

“Not too hard though,” Harry grabs a water from the fridge and heads towards the bedrooms. “Can’t have all of y/n’s enthusiasm overshadowing my fans.”

I roll my eyes behind his back and choose not to respond, as tempting as it was.

By the end of the week I’ve met everyone that’ll be joining the tour, taken copies of a million contracts and filed a billion papers.

It’s Saturday night and we’re heading home from the studio. Harry, in a twist of kindness, offers to drop me home.

“You don’t live too far,” he comments as we get closer to my building.

“Yeah, I was surprised with that.” It was a stroke of luck having a short commute.

“How does Mr. Duran feel about you coming on tour?”

I throw him a look but he sits there smug, waiting. “Well he’s not keen on me being away from home for so long but otherwise he’s fine.”

“Is he?” Harry extends his knee to nudge mine, irritating me. Just a few more minutes.

“Yes.” I turn to look out the window, no longer interested in the conversation. In reality Gray had been pretty upset that I’d be travelling the continent with womanizer Harry Styles. I’d soothed his fears but he was hard-headed about it.

Originally I’d saved the conversation to be had after New Year’s to not ruin the holidays but Josie had brought up tickets for the tour during Christmas dinner and although I played it off then, he’d been in a mood since.

“You’re an awful liar,” Harry says. I don’t respond. Luckily I’m home.

I figured Sunday, on my day off, Gray and I could catch up and spend quality time together. Maybe iron out some of our kinks. But he tells me he had a few sessions and I’m left alone for most of the day, convinced Gray booked them on purpose but not wanting to admit what that meant.

The following Thursday night, Gray and I finally collide after I’d spent the week stewing in my anger and anxieties.

“Why won’t you just talk to me? I feel like I’m living with a stranger these days.” The conversation starts out semi-tamed as we wash up for dinner.

“You feel that way? Well I’ve seen my fiancée for less than 48 hours a week this last year. Talk about being a stranger.”

“I’ve been taking more time off,” I wonder when he decided to count the number of hours. But it was true—I’d started doing a half-days on most Saturdays and coming home earlier on week nights. Like tonight, I’d been home by half past 6. “I’ve been trying to spend more time at home.”

“Too little too late,” Gray mutters.

“What?”

“I just mean,” he sighs. “I…y/n, we barely get time together. We’re like flatmates these days aren’t we? We haven’t-“

“Don’t you dare Gray,” I wasn’t having this. I refused to hear what he was trying to get at.

“Y/n don’t be difficult-“

“Difficult!? You can’t go radio silent on me and then decide 3 years can just go down the drain.”

“I’m not saying that-“

“Then what are you saying!?”

The silence rings to the corners of our kitchen. The dishes are long forgotten, suds drip down my elbow and onto the floor, and Gray’s towel hangs like a white flag beside him.

“You knew what this job meant—you work with the same clientele, and you encouraged me to go for it. I’m trying to be better I don’t get it.” I finally say.

“I’m saying something needs to change.”

What takes me back the most is the even—even apathetic, tone. It’s the fact that he must have been thinking on this for long enough to be so level-headed about it.

Who has he talked to, I wonder. His sister? Our friends? Who’s advised him to go in this direction because the Grayson I know wouldn’t do me like this. Couldn’t.

Are you even the y/n Grayson knows, a small voice asks in my head.

“We’ve changed, I get it.” My tone takes a pleading ring to it and I hate it. “But you can’t just decide this isn’t worth fighting for Gray-“

“I’m not Y/n,” he puts the towel to the side and grabs my arms. “I’m not throwing anything away but we need to bloody figure something out because…I’m unhappy. And can you really say our relationship is the same? Can you call what we’re in a relationship?”

“Why not?” I whisper, tears choking me. “I thought we love each other and we support each other and-and we see each other through thick and thin.”

“I love you,” Gray squeezes. “And I know we’ve seen each other through thick and thin but…I don’t know if I can keep supporting you at the expense of us.”

“Well what do you want?” I look up into his brown eyes. They’re steady like they usually were.

“I want you, selfishly. I want all of you.”

He had what he wanted, didn’t he get that? He had me. I don’t know what more of me I could give him. And that thought tears me right through.

“What happened to setting a date?” Gray steps back and takes his steady grip with him. I sink into the countertop behind me. “What happened to planning for our future? Marriage and kids and buying a home and doing something more?”

His voice raises as he talks.

“I feel like I’ve been living in limbo for the last year! Just waiting around for you. I don’t know how much longer I can wait-“

“We can set a date,” I say. “We can do all that! You-you haven’t brought up any of it either! If it’s been weighing on your mind why don’t you ever just say something!?”

“I shouldn’t have to!”

I’d hit a nerve. We’d had this conversation a dozen times.

“Of course you do! Like, I’m not a mind reader you’ve been stewing in these feelings for god knows how long and now you’re telling me you’re thinking of-of-of ending things!?”

There, I’d said it.

His face contorts into a flurry of emotions. My body feels ragged just saying these things out loud.

“When I spoke to Stewart and Bex they said-“

“Stewart and…” I was right he’s been talking. “You were talking to Stew and Bex!? Since when did you spend time with Bex?”

“Since I had a lot of time alone at home.”

Fuck, he managed to get the upper hand all the time with that one valid point he had.

“They both agreed with me that this isn’t right. I’m allowed to be upset and ask you for something to change-“

“But why didn’t you talk to me!” The switch to anger is quick when he admits he was talking to our friends. I think about the last few times we saw them—had they been judging me? Had Gray told them by then?

Gray tries to brush past and tell me more about his validated feelings, about how things had changed. I can’t hear anymore.

“This decision you seem to want to make for both of us should involve me too and yet you make it the talk of the town before consulting me. I’m so goddamn tired of the way you shut down Gray I-“

“I’m tired!” He butts in. “I’m tired of watching things change and being forced to move past it.”

I stare at him. He’s not bending whatsoever. He’s not even understanding the frustration at being the last to know his feelings on our fucking relationship. Didn’t he understand how iced out that made me feel? When I’ve been trying to be as mindful as I can?

“You know what Gray,” I sneer. “You talk about us changing but did you ever think that we’ve been changing since we first met!? The only thing that’s different now is we stopped talking!”

I throw the rest of the dishes into the soapy water and storm out to the only safe haven I had right now—our bed.

Everyone wanted parts of me I couldn’t give and I felt torn to shreds! I hardly recognized the girl in the mirror, I hardly remembered what it felt like to be me.

The only time I felt centered, a bit of calm, was here. With Gray.

And now I knew the feelings weren’t mutual. He’d been thinking of ending things while I had curled in his arms. While I had kissed him goodnight and hello. While we had dinner or drinks. While we hung out with friends who were privy to all the cracks in our relationship. Who knows how long it had been a one-sided feeling.

I bury my head into my pillow wanting to scream and cry at the same time. My head hurts but mostly my heart hurts. I feel betrayed by my bestest friend and the person I love the most.

You’re no better, the ugly voice in my head shows up again. You’ve done things you should be ashamed of.

I block the voice out. I block it all out until all I feel is numb.

Gray doesn’t come to bed at all that night. I drag myself out of the nest I’d created some time around midnight, thinking he fell asleep on the sofa. To tell him to come to bed since I knew our sofa wasn’t long enough for him to even fit on.

I sway in the middle of the empty living room. There’s nobody here. Definitely not Gray. He’d left altogether, to wherever he’s been finding refuge recently.

It hits me; I think I’ve done this to myself. I was alone. Really alone.

***

The scowl is permanently etched onto my face as I go about my Friday morning. I feel Harry’s eyes on me a few times but even he doesn’t broach the subject. We silently maneuver around each other until he leaves for rehearsal.

I think about calling my friends to talk about this but I realize all my friends who were up to date on my life had become interwoven with Gray’s. And I already know Gray complained about my job to them based on a few parties last year. So they definitely wouldn’t be unbiased listening to anything I said.

I regret then, not staying in touch more with my friends back home. For the first time in years I feel a bit homesick.

I decide busying myself with work would be the only thing to keep me sane so I throw on headphones and get down to business.

As the day starts to come to an end I put on Harry’s stereo with the mournful songs that had been comforting me today and grab a seltzer from the fridge. He wouldn’t be home until 8 tonight and he’s always been open about using whatever was in the general living spaces.

So I nearly have a heart attack when I see a shadow from the corner of my eyes around 6.

I give a shout when it comes with a voice and once my senses return I realize it’s just a sweaty Harry back early from rehearsal.

“What? Are you doing here!?” I press on my pounding heart. “Alexa music off.”

He’s grinning at the way I reacted and now he laughs, it’s a bending-over laugh and I chuckle myself as I replay how dramatic it all was.

“Wow.” He says when he finally catches his breath. “I wish I had that on video.”

“Jesus,” I swear. “I thought you’d be home a lot later.”

“So this is what happens when I’m not home,” he teases.

“Only on Fridays,” I collapse into the closest chair and tilt my head back. “God, I thought there was like, an intruder or something. Or a ghost.”

He laughs again, moving to the kitchen for a water. “Good thing ghosts don’t exist.”

“They so do.” I reply.

“There’s no proof that’s ever convinced me they exist.”

“You live a sad skeptical life Mr. Styles.” My breathing is finally regulated and I sit up to look at him. “I’ve seen one myself when I was a teen. I wish I could be a disbeliever like you.”

“You’ll have to tell me the story,” he leans on the island looking very amused.

“I will,” I accept his challenge.

“I cut rehearsals short,” he continues. “I’m knackered from this week. I just want to be one with my couch and get drunk and not worry about what moves to do and what song to sing.”

“Yeah,” he looked tired and his hair was getting a bit shaggy. He runs his hand through the damp curls. “I need a shower and I think I should do a trim.”

“Consider it booked,” I pull the phone towards me and text his usual stylist. I hear him move around the space and pause before he disappears down the hall.

“Are you heading home soon?” He asks.

“Hm?” I kill time responding, acting like I didn’t hear his response. I didn’t want to go home at all. I didn’t even know if Gray was home or not and I didn’t want to find out. Harry repeats his question. “No. I wanted to wrap up some things. I can move to the office if you wanted the space to chill out?”

He shrugs and tells me I could go where I want.

I wanted to be out of the way, and not home. So I move to the office. The same office where weeks ago I’d teetered on the edge of a fatal decision and now was faced with the possibility of that decision made for me.

I slump in the seat and take a moment to just decompress. A headache creeps around my eyes and I just feel lost and hurt and alone.

When I break the laptop open again I move like a slug, scraping the barrel of effort and coming up with nil.

“Uh y/n?” Harry’s head pops into the door a while later.

“Yeah?” I blink up at him, still in slug mode.

He stares at me a second, “Do you have plans tonight? You could…join me in doing nothing?”

When was the last time I did nothing? I couldn’t remember. And it sounded like a distraction—not a good one, but one that helped me avoid home for longer.

“Sure?” I respond.

Harry blinks. “Oh. Brilliant. Finish what you’re doing if you’d like or you can join me now. Oh. Could you also order us some pizza or something that’s greasy and bad for us?”

I liked the direction of this. I feel my sluggish feeling slide away. “I can do that.”

“Good. Great. This is going to be a good night.”

He moves away as he talks and his last sentence is shouted from down the hall. I smile, relieved to do something like this.

I consider texting Gray, but decide against it. He left last night without a word, making me worried and today there’s been radio silence. I wasn’t in the mood to take the high road.

I do as Harry asks. Meanwhile Harry had put on some peppier music and brought out a six-pack from the fridge. His head is buried in the pantry rummaging through.

“What do you need?” I come up behind him.

“Oh,” he pops out. “Looking for some sweets. I’m sure I have some somewhere.”

“Oh yeah!” I close the doors he’s looking in and open the top cabinet. His eyes light up when he spots the options. “Food’s on its way by the way.”

He rubs his hands and starts pulling things off the pantry. It’s a different energy than any before, he’s not picking on me or ordering me around. He’s just inviting me to be on the ins with him. My instinct is to stay quiet and see where it goes but I shake it off.

“Are we just playing with beer tonight or is wine on the menu?” I ask. I hated the taste of beer.

“It could?” He unloads the pile in his arms onto the island and starts rummaging through the wines. “How about this one?”

A white. I take it from him and head for some glasses.

We end up making a buffet for ourselves on the coffee table and when the pizza comes we settle in, chatting occasionally about the things around us.

“So what does doing nothing involve?” I ask when we’re situated on the couch. Harry’s left a few feet of space between us which is very appreciated. I pull my feet up. “Because I have to say it’s been a while and I don’t know how to do nothing.”

He laughs, throwing his head back. I find myself grinning in response.

“Touché mon amie.”

“Okay I actually got that,” I nod.

“Do you speak french?” He asks as he opens the wine and pours us both a glass, mine’s a lot more full than his.

“No but I spent a month in Paris when I was in uni,” I savour the sour flavours of the wine as it coats my mouth and settles me down. “So I learned the bare minimum. Now all I can say is bonjour, ca beigne? And also un verre du vin s’il vous plait?”

“So you cut right to the chase—hey are you alright? A glass of wine thanks. Now leave me alone.”

We laugh and I hold up my glass, “I was hoping you’d get the hint. Why is mine so full anyway?”

“I’m just drinking some so you don’t have to drink it alone. Then I’m gonna crack on with the beer.”

“Oh!” There he had to go and be thoughtful again. “Forget it, I will happily drink the bottle. Drink whatever you want.”

“Yeah?” He leans forward to put his glass down.

I lean over and pour his measly amount into mine. “There, you’ve done the sharing part.”

“So y/n,” he asks after we’ve grabbed our respective snacks of choice. “Can I ask why you were listening to all those ballads before I came in?”

“I need to get a bit more drunk before I do that,” I down some more wine, already feeling the buzz of it. Obviously this was not the cheap wine I generally had.

“Alright we’ll get you there,” he promises. His eyes flicker from his phone to me and back to his phone. “Uhh could I show you something?”

“Like what?”

“We’re releasing the MV for one of my songs a week before I go on tour right.”

“Right,” I name the single that’s been thrown around countless times this week.

“I got back the deck for what it’ll look like. I’m excited can I show it to you?”

It’s endearing, in a way, how eager he is to show it. His cheeks even have spots of pink.

“Uh yeah! Let’s see it!”

“Cool,” he grins. He turns on the TV and casts whatever video is on his phone to the screen. He gives me some background on how it was setting up a whole storyline and how they’ve already started filming some of the scenes.

“The shooting starts the week after this one right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be in Scotland for a few days. You’re joining me right?”

“Yes! I’m excited to see all the action myself.” I had signed up for the 4-day trip with zero hesitation. As someone who’s always been making up stories and concepts to most music I listened to, getting to see the bts for an MV was a dream come true.

“Really?” He asks.

“Yeah, it’s real excitement I promise.”

“You’re interested in it?”

“Yeah! I love music videos, it creates a whole new experience for a song we’ve probably listened to on repeat. It’s cool!”

“So this is y/n really enthusiastic,” he leans back in the cushions to get me in full. “Now I really know you couldn’t give a rat’s arse about tour.”

“Stop saying that!” I laugh. “I was just stressed. I am excited about all of it okay?”

“So you say,” with a final glance he presses play and I’m entranced as the narration takes us through the plan.

“Umm all I can say is wow.” I turn to him when it’s done. My wine glass had been emptied and my brain had been itched with the most beautiful location and storytelling I’ve seen in a while. “That’s like a mini movie.”

“That’s what I said!” He exclaims. “It’s going to blow everything out of the water.”

“Look at us, doing nothing.” I realize we’d turned around and talked about work.

“Bollocks we’re no good at this.” Harry slides a hand down his face and I laugh at the dramatics. “Let me refill you at least.”

I happily oblige.

We talk about the mv some more, and move onto the tour. Harry asks me about the concerts I’ve been to and we get the kind of excited when you’re tipsy once we find out we were both at a Coldplay concert four years ago in London.

“That would’ve been before the success so I would have been just another bloke to you,” he notes.

“Yeah, imagine we crossed paths then? That would be crazy.”

“If we did, we might still be doing this tonight, just as mates,” he points to between us. “Or you would have fallen in love with me and I would have sacrificed my music to raise our kids.”

“What!?” It’s so absurdly ridiculous that I nearly snort my wine. “Where did that comes from!?”

“Admit it,” he puffs out his chest. “That would have happened. And I’d be so committed-“

“Well you’re assuming that in a 4 year time-span we would get to the point of having kids. So firstly no, secondly who said you had to sacrifice your career?”

“I-“ he stops mid-sentence, looking into the distance.

“Exactly!” I shout. “You’ve got nothing. You’ve just made up a story that makes you sounds good and noble!”

“Fine,” he settles down. “Fine! We never meet and you end up with your Duran bloke and I end up a musician.”

“Is that all I’m reduced to?” I raise my brow. “Who I’m with?”

“No!” He leans between us to pat my leg. It tingles. “No I didn’t mean it like that. You’ll do great things. I just mean the person you end up with isn’t superstar Harry Styles.”

I roll my eyes, “I need more wine if I’m gonna be subjected to any more of this bullshit.”

“Bullshit?!”

“Mhm,” I pop a gummy into my mouth and ignore the look of shock on his face.

“Fine. Then tell me about your bullshit,” he raises his can. “What’s happening to make you so ferocious this morning.”

Oh god. I hold up a finger and shimmy forward for some more wine. I’d drank 2/3 of the bottle and I was definitely tipsy. Maybe I’ll just sip this one.

“Fine. If you want to hear it.”

“I do.”

“I got into a fight with Gray.”

He raises a brow, I continue.

“He’s upset with me and complaining that I work a lot and that he feels like I’m his flatmate!”

“Flatmate with benefits.”

“Shut up!” I groan. “Not the point.”

“Sorry!” He holds his hands up.

“I don’t think he realizes how much of my head is just Gray like, I’m always thinking about him, about what I could do for him and say to him just to make sure he feels seen and reassured and loved! You know I’ve asked you for half-days on Saturdays when you don’t have a lot going on-“

“Mhm,” he nods along.

“I’m like, making sure I’m being a good partner. And apparently he’s been upset and not saying anything.”

“The old silent on the home front.”

“Yes!” I nearly drip wine as I pump my hand. “Yes, on the home front he’s bloody broody and quiet. I knew something was on his mind but like always he’s tight lipped. Even when I asked him a week ago he said he’s just been working a lot. What a liar!”

I complain about how it felt to be iced out of my partner’s emotions and having to guess all the time.

“Then I find out he’s been talking to all our friends to get advice.” Harry raises his brows in judgement and leans back into the sofa, and the small gesture makes me feel so validated. I didn’t realize how much I needed a third-party to just listen to my side of things. Until now, I’d literally not had anyone to talk to about this especially since I avoided talking about work with Gray. I get misty eyed.

“And when we’re talking he’s like so-and-so said this as if I want to know. And!” Now I was on a roll. I put my glass down in fear of spilling it on the pristine sofa and get on my knees to emphasize my frustration. “And the girl he quoted? Get this, I met her—Rebecca—at a job I did like a year ago? And we got along fabulously and I invited her to this party we threw right because she was new to the city and all that. She met my other friends and she fit in so well they invited her the next event. I got her into the group and now she’s talking shit about me with my fiancé behind my back!”

“She’s probably got a thing for your man,” Harry suggests.

“Oh she definitely does!” I’m animated as I continue. “She so does! I’ve caught her making eyes at him before, and laughing a lot whenever he makes a joke. I even mentioned it to him once but he said he didn’t notice.”

“He probably didn’t,” Harry shrugs.

“I know, the male species is a wonder. You get big flirts like you and then otherwise they’re completely oblivious.”

“I’ll have you know when I was a teen, a girl literally gave me a valentine cupcake and I just thought—well I knew she liked to bake, so I thought she just had extras. I didn’t understand why she didn’t speak to me the rest of the year.”

“No way,” I laugh—a lot because the wine was definitely sloshing around in my head, but also I couldn’t imagine Harry being that aloof. “I guess it comes with the ego territory. Were you less of a jerk as a kid?”

His jaw drops. “You just called me a jerk right now. To my face.”

“I did,” I say with glee. I stand to get the full picture of an offended Harry. “And I don’t regret it. So? Were you nicer as a kid?”

“No I’m not answering until you take that back.”

“What! You are a jerk…sometimes! I’m not taking it back!”

“You have to take it back otherwise I will cut you off on the wine.”

I take a step back and stumble as he speaks. Which makes me laugh more. “I think I should cut back. I am a hot mess.”

“At least you’re laughing,” Harry stands too. “It’s world’s different from this morning.”

Just like telling someone not to think of an elephant, I think of the elephant.

“Noo no don’t do that!” Harry rushes towards me and bends down to look me in the eye. “I liked it when you were smiling just now c’mon.”

“Well you reminded me why I was so upset-“

“Can’t stay grumpy, just give me another smile. One smile! Small teeny tiny smile—there it is!”

I can’t help it with his face in mine and the way he’s putting on a voice to get me to smile my face splits in a grin.

“You’re soooo annoying!” I push him but unstable and drunk I fall backwards.

I don’t know what happens next but I’m on the floor looking up into Harry’s concerned face.

“Y/n? Y/n!?”

“Yeah,” my head pounds as I try to make sense of where I am.

“Fuck,” I hear Harry say. He moves away and the overhead light attacks my eyes so I squeeze them shut.

I hear him, panicked, on the phone.

“No!” I try to call out. “M’fine! Don’t even worry-“

“Stay down Y/N,” he’s back by my side. I try to prove to him that I’m okay and sit up but a few inches off the ground and my head feels like it’s full of bees.

“So many bees,” I murmur as I go back down, now a pillow behind my head.

A few minutes later Harry’s helping me up gently. I tell him I wanted to throw up and he helps me to the toilet where I do. Gah. Why did I drink so much.

“I think I’ll head home now,” I hear myself saying to Harry like I was miles away.

“No,” his hands are around my shoulder and holding me upright as we walk out. The lift increases my nausea but I keep my eyes shut.

“I’m going home now,” I tell Harry when we get outside.

“No you’re getting checked out.”

“No!” I shove him away and nearly topple over myself. Why did he have to boss me around all the time? “Stop telling me what to do! My head hurts I’m going home!”

He tries to grab my hand but I yank it off. “Stop! Just stop!”

“Y/n,” Harry’s voice is low and comforting as he gets down in my ear. He smells nice too. “You passed out and you have a headache we have to get you checked out.”

“You’re no fun,” I cross my arms but follow him, only because my headache is so bad. As we get in the car I close my eyes shut as the lights assault them. Harry doesn’t let me sleep on the ride home even though his body is warm and steady beside me. I barely know where I am.

Harry’s POV:

I keep telling myself she would most likely be fine, just like the doctor reassured me but it’s hard not to beat myself up.

I shouldn’t have let her get that drunk, especially upset. I shouldn’t have gotten in her space and caused her to tumble back. I should have done something else.

The guilt is added to when I think of how I spoke to the doctor, demanding they do every scan and not to skip any. I hated who I became sometimes, when I pulled the famous card, but I thought it was necessary right now. Even y/n would give me a pass for using it.

I can’t stop replaying the thud as her head hit the hardwood floor, her eyelids fluttering as I rushed to her, her slack face when she lost consciousness for a moment.

It’s been hours since we came in. The doctor finally heads my way.

“Mr. Styles, your girlfriend is alright,” he holds up his hands before I’m fully standing.

I may have had to say she was my girlfriend after they wouldn’t let me have any say tonight…

“She’ll be alright, you did the right thing getting her here right away.”

“But?”

“No but,” he smiles. “Obviously it’s serious she has a moderate concussion but if she doesn’t exasperate any symptoms—takes it easy the next couple weeks, she’ll be right as rain. We can discharge her once the neurologist confirms. She’s just finishing with another patient right now-“

“She should stay overnight,” I cut him off. His cheeriness was starting to irritate me I felt like he wasn’t taking this seriously enough.

“Oh well,” he laughs but I know I’m irritating him right back. “She will be alright. I can provide you and her with a followup plan-“

“Doctor,” I say. “She’s staying overnight. If I need to rent a bed I’ll do that, tell me what I need to do, but she should stay under observation. Get the care she deserves.”

He pursues his lips, and I wait for him to agree.

“Yep,” he sighs. “I’ll tell the nurse. Just follow me and we can sort the details.”

We do that, I even take a selfie for the nurse’s daughter which grates on the doctor’s nerves even more. He leaves shortly after.

I get y/n’s room and walk there slowly, wondering how to apologize. Ever since December we’ve been playing a game of tennis with words and tonight I felt both of us relax onto the same note. Then this.

She’s sleeping when I get to her. My watch says 1am. She looks peaceful and it hurts even more.

The truth was despite acting like I didn’t, I did like Y/N but she was complicated, and the more I tried to untangle her web the more sticky things became for both of us. I didn’t want to make more mistakes than I have in the past so I’d kept my distance. Even if it hurt both of us.

Tonight was good though. Until it wasn’t. This was why I shouldn’t blur lines. You would think I’d have learned that by now.

I step by her bed, hesitating. Someone has wiped the remains of her makeup off and she looks so much younger. Like a sleeping cherub. My heart gives a squeeze.

I push back a strand of her hair, my hand wanting to do something. I settle for taking her hand in mine, it’s not the first time I’ve held it but like it always does, a flood of warmth rushes through me.

I never understood Victorian romances until her; just touching her hand got my blood pumping.

With a stroke of my thumb over her knuckles, she stirs. I freeze.

Her eyes flicker open, “Hey?”

My voice disappears. There’s too much that I want to say and nothing I’m allowed to say. Maybe a sorry. I open my mouth but she squeezes my hand. I forgot I was still holding hers.

“So much for doing nothing huh?” She cracks a smile and it breaks the marble I’d become encased in. I laugh and collapse onto the sliver of the bed.

“We should never do nothing again.”

“Nope,” she smiles, closing her eyes again.

“Y/N I’m really sorry for tonight. I feel awful-“

Her mouth parts. She was asleep.

I want to sit here with her until she wakes again, until the doctors kick us out. Something about seeing her so vulnerable here makes me want to confess the thing that’s been lodged in my chest for a long time.

I release her hand and move away from the bed. This was dangerous. Maybe I could wait in the waiting room until she’s released. Then take her home.

Something vibrates. It’s not my phone, and then I notice the purse I’d brought with us. Y/N’s.

I peek inside for the phone and her fiancé’s face takes up the screen. He looks younger. And then I remember, it’s like stepping out of the fog this night had put me in and into reality.

I pick up.

“Y/N it’s nearly 2 in the morning just tell me you’re alright? You haven’t been answering your texts I-“

“Hi,” I clear my throat and the line goes dead silent. I decide to continue. “Hey uh this is Harry. Styles. Uhm, don’t panic or anything because she is okay but she’s in hospital and-“

“What?” He comes back with a boom. “Why is she there what happened? Which hospital?”

I tell him which one, explain she bumped her head and I had to take her here. That the doctors said she would recover and be herself again soon. He simply swears and tells me he’d be there soon.

This was Y/N’s life. This was the right thing to do. Still, I stay in the room with my head in my hands and think about the whole evening again and again.

“Just tell me the bloody room…I don’t care about the time…”

The voice travels through as doors open and close in the hall and I look out. Grayson. Like a pitbull. I can see him through the rectangular window demanding to see Y/N.

I open the swinging doors and his nostrils flare as he spots me.

“Why the hell is he allowed in and not me?” He continues his tirade. “Does hospital policy not matter when it comes to the rich and famous now? I want to see her doctor and-“

The nurse turns to me, annoyed but before she can ask the question the doctor is out.

“What’s all this? Do you know the time sir, please follow me and we can talk-“

“I don’t want to fucking follow you. I want him gone and I want to see my fiancee.”

Looks are exchanged between the doctor and the nurse, finally landing on me. I imagine what they’re thinking—just another homewrecking famous rockstar, do we tell the fiancé or act cool?

“He should be able to see her,” I say in an even tone. I can feel the eyes on me, especially the laser beams from Gray.

“I thought-“

“Okay. Visitor pass him and let him in,” the doctor cuts his nurse off as she stares at me. Maybe her daughter wouldn’t get that photo tonight after all, and instead be told to pick better role models. It doesn’t matter to me. Not tonight.

I watch Gray get sorted, watch him walk down and to Y/N’s room. To his fiancée’s room.

I wonder how he feels, fighting with her last night just for y/n to end up here tonight. I wonder if that’s why he was so vocal tonight—the guilt.

But I suspected he was the kind of man that called himself easy-going and only got this raucous when another man was threatening his public image. It was pretty clear the hospital staff thought we had some pseudo-relationship arrangement. I don’t think Duran was daft enough to miss that.

Plus, I’d been the one to bring her here not him.

With a big sigh I take my phone out to call a taxi. It was my turn to go home.

I text Y/N from the car, tell her to rest over the weekend and let me know how she feels Monday morning. She could take the whole week off if she wanted but I also knew her and knew she would try to come back asap.

I try to piece back the marble armour I wore before tonight, it’s ill-fitting and hurts to get on but I do it anyway. This was why I couldn’t be the person Y/N wanted me to be; I tried to mix parts of my life together and it would only end with shite.

Y/N’s POV:

I don’t know who this man in front of me was. Or actually, I hadn’t seen him a long time.

I’d been discharged from the hospital on Saturday morning with odd looks all around. Maybe because Harry brought me in? And ever since, Grayson has been doting on me. Doting.

“Did you want anything specific?” Gray stands at the foot of the bed, asking me what he should make me for breakfast. The last time he made me a special breakfast was…last summer?

“I wouldn’t say no to pancakes?” I reply. “I looove your chocolate chip pancakes.”

“I’ll get it started,” he walks over to kiss my temple and leaves.

The weirdest part is that I feel weird; I don’t know why but Gray doting on me like this made me feel claustrophobic and…weird!

I look out the window to the overcast sky. Same, I think. At least for a Sunday, it felt fitting.

I pick up my phone and check the last response from Harry. Since I got discharged he’d been texting me to see how I was feeling. I think he was feeling guilty even though I told him it wasn’t his fault.

I tried not to drink when I was upset because back in uni it led to some shitty situations but the other night I’d overstepped my rule and done this anyway. And paid for it. I should have known better. And after the absolute misery of yesterday’s aftermath—the migraine and the vertigo and the completely lack of appetite, I don’t think I’ll be doing that again. Ever.

Today I feel a lot better. I still have a headache and I’m looking forward to breakfast with my painkiller, but the light doesn’t hurt as much and the nausea only comes back when I do too much.

You: I’ll be back in no time. Feeling better

Harry: I want you to feel the best so I’m banning you from working until Wed. And that’s conditional on you feeling better

Y: Doc said I can resume a lowkey version of my life after 48hrs

H: I didn’t like that doc. take my advice instead

Y: when did you get your md

H: same time you got yours

Y: I have an md?

H: being stubborn 101

Y: your jokes are a lot better when you text

H: cuz you’re not distracted by my face

Y: ooookay I’m no longer giving you the platform byeee

He was sassy, apparently. I never got this side of him before.

I read through the convo again and smile. But it hits me that it sounded like flirting. And that would be incredibly inappropriate. So I shove my phone in my bedside drawer and inch out of bed to join Gray.

We spend the day talking about a lot, but not about what we should talk about. Which, with the way I was feeling, was fine by me. At the same time it felt like we were both politely playing a role neither of us could put our hearts into. It felt shitty.

Gray has a session around 4 and I crawl back into bed, putting on a romcom I’ve watched a million times for comfort.

My body feels heavy and it has nothing to do with the concussion. The last couple days and my current relationship with Gray casts a shadow over my thoughts. I felt like making any decision was like wading through quicksand and running away just sounded better.

I rub my temples, hoping like a genie’s lamp, I could get an omnipotent spirit cast out and grant me easy wishes. I’d wish for things to go back to normal, for my heart not to be such a wretched thing. For clarity.

I pick up my phone and scroll to the one person I had run away from and have missed since. I didn’t talk to her very often but I thought I could use her no-nonsense approach.

My mom frets when I tell her what had happened. She goes quiet as I tell her I’d gotten drunk to forget about the troubles in my relationship.

“Relationships go through a lot of phases. It’s like going through those cave tunnels all made of rock and you gotta squeeze really tight sometimes just to fit through and continue on.”

“That is an amazing comparison mom, but I don’t know if this is one of those times. It feels like Gray’s already given up on us.”

“Well it’s been a long time he’s waited.”

“But he never said. He never talked to me.”

She sighs. “Your Grayson sure is a contemplative son of a bitch isn’t he?”

I laugh a little too hard and feel a pulse in my head. “I know. But then today he was so dang sweet—since I got home. He was so overprotective. And he made me breakfast mom and it made me realize I haven’t had that Gray in a long time.”

She’s silent on the other end. She knew there was more. How did I ever think, as a teen, my mom didn’t understand me? I think I just never understood her.

“But it felt weird.” I continue. “I feel horrible for saying it but I felt weird!”

“Was there heart?” She asks gently.

There wasn’t.

That’s what it was. And my heart weeps. All those actions without feelings.

“Have you thought about coming home?” Mom asks when the silence stretches. She always asked and I was the worst daughter in the world for never going back. The last time was when I graduated, for 2 weeks in which my family drove me crazy and I had been crazy in love with Gray and eager to get back to him.

“Maybe,” I close my eyes and slide down into bed.

“Your brother’s new girlfriend reminds me of that friend you had where she came on our camping trip and cried the whole time? What was her name?”

“Deanna? Mom I stayed friends with her all through high school! She was just very anxious.”

“I know! His girlfriend’s always darting about, jumping at tiny things. Reminds me of her.”

“Well Jace better be treating her right.”

“He does,” mom’s voice raises. “You should see them together. It’s cute but they’re still teenaged loves so I try not to break his bubble too much.”

Mom had definitely relaxed a lot since I was a teen. She had practically chased my first boyfriend away.

“Remember your first boyfriend?” She asks and I shout how I was remembering that too. We end up talking about old memories, and I feel a little more known and a little less lonely when I hang up.

Gray and I order takeout and I try to watch a movie with him but the strain on my eyes gets too much. I tell him I was going to bed and insist that he stays and finishes. I didn’t feel like watching him play boyfriend.

I’m eager to get back to work, for next week when I can go to Scotland for the MV. The eagerness comes from guilt but I carry both as I fall asleep.

***

I feel like a kid at Disneyland. Or maybe a Disney adult. Either way, I’m blown away getting to watch this MV come to life.

It’s long hours, a lot of waiting, and some shouting. But everything else is magic.

I came back to work last Thursday and other than an ear-splitting headache on the flight and a low-grade one when I stared at a screen too long, I was on my way to normal. When I got back to work Harry kept making excuses for me so I could work from the office but I refused to be treated differently and eventually he relented.

“It’s so freaking cold!” I jump up and down beside Harry by the cliffside. He’s just wrapped up a scene and the crew was taking a look at the footage to see if they needed anything more in this spot.

“Why don’t you put on more layers? Do you want an extra coat the crew might have-“

“No!” I continue wriggling around. “I’m heading back to the car in a few. This is an amazing view.”

“Isn’t it,” Harry turns to the sea that’s churning away much like my own heart these days. It feels calming to see it physically somewhere else.

We stand in silence except for my occasional teeth chattering and stare out to the view.

“Have you seen more of it?” Harry motions to the cameras. “What do you think?”

On this trip I’ve been giving my honest opinion, and I know I’ve offended Harry at least once but I didn’t come all the way here for my dream experience only to stroke his ego.

I tell him my take. We talk about the overall storyline about belonging and sacrifice until we’re interrupted with two hands holding out hot teas.

“You both looked cold,” the woman says. She was another assistant on set and I’m not sure what to do being waited on as a PA myself.

“Oh, thank you!” I make sure she knows I appreciate it. “That’s…that’s super kind thanks!”

She throws us both a smile and I stare at my cup, the heat tingling on my cold fingertips.

“Friendship and belonging yeah,” Harry starts up again.

“Yeah but also I like how you—your character, whatever, knows when it’s time to leave for his better growth. Sacrifice with his friend and sacrifice with the only home he’s known. Plus that’s a comfortable outfit.”

I tap a button on Harry’s jumpsuit. He grins. “You can have it.”

“I would be drowning in that you’re a lot taller.”

“We can have it altered,” he says. A shiver runs through me at we. I blame it on the cold.

I sip the tea now that it’s not scalding and find it’s a lot cooler. The open air, I guess.

“So you really love all this,” Harry says. “You weren’t joking about that excitement.”

“No I told you!” I flash to the night we did “nothing” which feels long ago. “I have a vivid imagination when it comes to music and I spent any spare courses on film so now I can interpret the heck out of any song and music video like my life depends on it.”

“We should get you back there,” he motions to the crew. “Get you on board.”

“Would I get the little clipboard and clapper?”

“Yeah!”

“Goals,” I sigh.

Little did I know, by Saturday as we’re filming our final scene one of the crew members hands me the clapper. He tells me I’m supposed to cut the final scene. I stare at him, thinking I misheard.

The clapboard hangs between us. He shakes it a little and I take it. It’s heavier than I thought.

“Harry asked if you can cut for the final scene, see the man behind the camera? He’ll look to you and give you the nod. Then you step in front and just do the thing.”

“Oh…” I’m still staring at the thing in my hand. My palms feel sweaty like it’s going to crash to the ground and break in two but that thought gets me to hold it closer. “Thanks.”

“Yep,” the guy walks away and I stare at the scene being filmed. Slowly I walk closer to the cameraman and he glances at me, notices the clapper, and smiles holding up two fingers.

He whispers something to someone beside him and they change the lighting. Harry walks off “screen” and I try to catch his eye to show him what I had. We catch it briefly and he winks before walking back onto the screen.

Oh my god! My heart is racing as I hold it in my hands. I had to chill. Or I’m gonna make a mess of things. It’s just a clapperboard and you’re saying one word!

Two minutes. I manage to calm down enough and when I get the signal I step in front of the camera and, as I see it later on, with the biggest grin on my face I clap down and yell “cut!”

Harry lets out a whoop and the crew cheers as the filming wraps up. I’m sure my eyes are wide as saucers as I go to Harry. He puts an arm around me and pulls me in, laughing because I tell him my heart is racing and how does he do tours when just that made me shaky.

“It gets easier,” we walk now with his arm around my shoulder. “One day you’ll be behind the camera shouting at me to move places.”

“Oooh getting to boss you around and get paid for it?” I look up at him and my breath catches because he’s handsome at every bloody angle. “Sign me up.”

He let me go and gives me a few tsks. Then he gets his phone and tells me to pose with the clapper and I do it happily. The picture shows a grinning girl with pure delight on her face.

“I’ll put that as your contact photo right,” Harry says as he gets into a jacket. “And that way at least when you call me with bad news I get to see a smile beforehand.”

“Har har,” I roll my eyes but I don’t hate the idea.

A lot of the crew decide to go out for drinks and dinner and Harry passes but I decide to go. I’d met some friendly faces and I would miss working with them, miss the overall energy, when we got back to London.

As I fall asleep that night, full and content, I realize I hadn’t texted Gray all day. I wake to check my phone and see he’d sent a text a few hours ago.

Sorry I was out for lunch with the crew. Babe it was sooooo fun I can’t wait to show you pictures when I get home.

I read the rest of his message asking how I was. I tell him my headache was gone and ask him about his week but I’ve fallen asleep before he can respond.

***

The morning I have to leave for tour I wake up way too early. Too much nervous excitement. I’d already brushed and checked my luggage was packed before crawling back into bed waiting for Gray to wake.

I watch him sleep, my eyes following the familiar contours of his face. We’d been making an effort at rebuilding the relationship since we agreed we at least had to give it a try after I got home from Scotland a month ago. On one hand it feels like starting a new relationship and also breathing easier because we were both on the same page. On the other, we’d finally started planning the wedding!

I would miss him, nearly 3 weeks away which is the longest we’ve been apart since we got together. Then I’d be home for 2 weeks, and away for the last week before Harry finishes with a couple shows in London. It was going to be epic and crazy as exhausted as I’ve been.

I huddle close to Gray and he stirs slightly but I kiss his neck to wake him.

“Hey,” he mumbles in his sleep.

“Morning,” I press another kiss to his face.

“What time?” He moves his head to kiss me back.

“Hmmm half past 7?”

He grumbles about it being so early but it stops shortly after with both of my legs on either side of him and my hair curtaining our faces.

“M’gonna miss your snooty face,” I say with another kiss. He finally opens his eyes and his hand comes up to hold my chin.

“I’ll be the one here missing you.”

“I’ll call every chance I get.”

“You’ll get to see so many new cities,” he says.

“Barely but I’m gonna try to make the most of it,” the travel schedule was hectic but I know there were a couple slower days I could use to explore cities. If I wasn’t completely exhausted.

“You’ll have a lot of fun,” he pushes my hair behind my ear.

“Remember Josie’s coming this weekend to stay the week.” Gray’s sister had taken the opportunity of a semi-empty flat to stay here while she studied for mid-terms. I had encouraged it so Gray felt less lonely.

“She’s gonna drive me crazy,” he huffs.

“Just behave,” I warn him.

“I don’t know how,” he smiles, rolling us around so he’s on top and showing me what misbehaving means. I don’t mind it a bit.

After a quick shower together we head out to the airport, Harry offered to pick me up on his way but I wanted to make sure I spent as much time with Gray as possible so he doesn’t feel like I was leaving him like before. I hoped he knew, at least, the effort I was making.

***

Stockholm, Hamburg, Oslo, and Copenhagen in one week. It was exhilarating and exhausting and hectic and so fulfilling.

I had seen Harry at small shows before but on the big stage he has a presence with a capital P. It’s amazing watching him perform and dance and be charming all over. He could be cheeky yet command the crowd at the same time. And despite all these sides he’s never inauthentic.

For the first time I’m able to take somewhat of a backseat. He already had his manager, tour manager, stylist, and tour chef with him to manage most aspects I would regularly. I became sort of an extra hand when I wasn’t having sit-down hours. That’s what I called the times I was sitting on the laptop sorting out future timelines for Harry’s life (and my wedding).

But I loved it. I’d pick a cafe close to our hotel and spend a few hours working. I’d call Gray during these times and if he was free we’d catch up on all I saw and he’d share stories with me until Josie crashed the conversation with stories of her own.

My eye bags require more concealer than usual and my body begs for nutrition but otherwise I love every second.

I’m back from my sit-down hours and get off the lift. Harry and his team were placed in the same hotel just down the hall from each other. As I approach my own door one of Harry’s band mates rushes out of his door looking stressed.

“He’s in a mood,” she huffs. “Don’t go in there.”

“Did something happen?” I ask.

She shrugs, “he gets this way. Usually at the start of tour I don’t know why. Kinda snappy just…give him space.”

I do as she says but the next morning as we wait to board our early flight to Paris he continues to be a dick to everyone.

“Maybe take a nap on the flight Haz,” one of his bandmates suggest. “We’re all bloody tired don’t be such a grump.”

“I don’t need a bloody nap stop treating me like a child.”

“What to do when you act like one.”

“You know what-“

“Woah hey c’mon.”

I startle at the commotion, I was starting to doze off but Harry rushing out of his seat and someone else stepping between him and Mitch wakes me entirely.

“Let’s stand there get some space.” Niji recommends.

Everyone follows the group away and it’s Harry, myself, and my bag left.

He glances at me, “Don’t you start too.”

“I wasn’t…”

“I could see it in your face.”

“What the hell? I was just napping I don’t even know what’s going on except that you really are being a dick.”

“There you go!” He points. “I knew you wanted to say it.”

“Guess I’m joining the others…” I pick up my bag and walk to everyone else. They’re all venting their frustrations for Harry and comfort me that he was an asshole to everyone.

It gets worse on the flight when our pilot announces we couldn’t land in Paris.

“What’s going on?” I ask our hostess.

“The weather, we apologize for the inconvenience folks but there is high winds and a lot of fog so it’s not safe to fly.”

“I have a show tonight,” Harry stands and starts to advance on the poor woman. “I need to be in Paris before 4 where are we landing?!”

“Sir we’ll be landing in the Lille airport. This is good because we’re only a few hours from the city-“

“For fuck’s sake,” Harry runs his hand through his hair.

“I understand,” the woman looks back at me and I nod, letting her know I got it.

“Harry we’ll only be delayed by a few hours-“

“I don’t have time for a few hours. We need to set up and run tests in Paris! We were supposed to be there yesterday but somebody booked the wrong shit!”

It was true, his tour manager had booked us for Monday morning rather than Sunday morning but at the time it hadn’t been a big deal since the show was 7 on Monday and we got an extra day to relax. Now it made things more stressful.

“Fuck this,” Harry mutters. The other members on the plane roll their eyes and put on headphones, sighing and looking out the window. It was obvious to everyone but Harry that this was just a minor setback.

I decide to be the idiot who enters the lion’s cage. Harry sits in the back of the plane jiggling his leg and trying to connect his phone to service.

“Are you trying to call Morgan?” I ask.

“No I’m trying to call the pope.”

“He might be sleeping.”

He looks up at me and if I wasn’t aware of how stressed he was I would laugh. Confused doesn’t even cover his expression.

“I don’t have time for this right now, I need to get to the show-“

“We have like a five hour wiggle room it’s just a minor-“

“I can’t perform thrown off like this!”

“There’s no reason to be thrown off!” I try to keep my volume contained but I can feel eyes on my back.

“I don’t need you right now just go.”

“So I guess the one week rule is true.” I mutter.

“What’s that?” He asks with an i-dare-you expression.

“I said the one week rule of you being an asshole on tour, I guess that was true. I wish someone told me I would have skipped it.”

“Well you could have skipped the whole thing and nobody would notice.”

His comeback is muttered but cuts like a machete and I feel like the words were physically slung at me. I stand there stunned, my heart sinking as he continues to fiddle with his phone until the call connects.

The shock wears off quickly leaving me with the familiar heat of anger. This was how I reacted to Harry and his dickish ways. How dare he? Why the fuck does he think it’s okay to treat me like this when he wanted? I clench my fist as his voice rises with Morgan.

But beneath the anger is a raw hurt, his words struck a nerve. The same one Gray had struck once. I was replaceable, and all the efforts I’ve put into my career were unimportant and unappreciated.

I snatch the phone from Harry, annoyed at hearing him talk at Morgan.

“Hey Morgan it’s Y/N, yeah it’s a minor inconvenience but if you can get a bus or something to the airport it should be…”

I look to the hostess and she flashes me two fingers and a shake of her hand.

“About 2 hours to get into the city.” I finish. I nod along to Morgan’s questions and repeat details back. “Yeah just text me on my phone, not Harry’s. We’ll sort this out.”

“Thank you y/n. I’m really glad you’re there today.”

The words are a feather on a pile of nails, it’s nice to hear but Harry’s cruel words still ring in my ear.

I hand the phone back to him, expecting a thank you or an apology, but he just takes it and slinks down in his seat.

“It’s her isn’t it?” Sarah gets up on her seat on her knees to look back at Harry. I pause as I walk up the aisle. Is was who?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry mutters with his eyes glued to his screen.

“It is,” someone else says.

“Who?” Claire asks.

“Don’t take his mood personally,” Sarah says to me. “Paris is a touchy city for him.”

“Do you guys ever shut up?” Harry asks.

“No that’s why we’re your crew,” Mitch responds.

“We understand,” Sarah continues. Who was she talking about!? “Just don’t take it out on us. It’s not nice.”

Harry doesn’t respond but I sense a deflating happening on his side. Sarah’s words had gotten through to him but they’d just made me super curious.

I get filled in as we wait at the airport for our bus—Morgan had saved the day.

I hear about Harry’s french lover and how he got his heart broken a couple years ago. How the last time they were in France he had disappeared for a day and they’re all sure he visited her. How he can’t go to Paris without getting in a mood, either because he doesn’t get to see her or he’s anxious about seeing her.

“That’s like a city-specific booty-call.”

“Kinda,” Sarah laughs. “But I think he grew really attached to her so it’s a bit—he’s coming back.”

Harry stomps back to where we are, a tray of coffee in his hands. His team accepts it without a word. The world’s most famous non-verbal apology.

I watch him wearily. I still wanted a verbal apology from him, was that crazy? What he said was deeply hurtful. And hearing about his French lover makes me feel a way that I don’t like so I shut it out. I stick to the anger instead. It was easier.

He starts to warm up as we board the bus, cracking jokes with his band. I pick a seat near the front and stay there with my headphones. Aside from answering Morgan’s texts I pretend to be asleep. Eventually I do.

Someone flicks my hat, “C’mon sleepyhead! We’re in the city of love.”

“Wha?” There’s a crick in my neck and I feel rusty. But Harry’s right, we’d landed in Paris. He hovers above my seat with a jovial smile but it dies the longer I don’t return it. Serves him right. He doesn’t get to be cruel and wipe it away with coffee and a joke.

He gets the hint and boards off. I grab the last of the bags and join the group in the lobby where Morgan greets Harry like his long lost son.

“The trials aren’t over just yet,” he cringes. “I don’t know why Paris keeps fucking with me but we’re booked tight for rooms.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asks.

“Uhm well,” Morgan clears his throat. “The hotel overbooked. We have 3 rooms between the 8 of us. Luckily I have a mate who lives in town so I’ll crash at his. The rest of you need to share.”

“Morgan you’re fucking with me,” someone groans.

“No I’m sorry. I booked 5 with an en-suite but they screwed up. They’re refunding us half—I fought for that at least. I can use that to put others in another hotel if you’d like but so far I’ve only managed one room with two doubles.”

“Claire and I can share,” Sarah says.

“Good, Mitch you good with the boys?”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Uh y/n…would you like me to book you an extra room somewhere? I don’t want you to be far from the team-“

“She’ll stay with me.” Harry says. “I’m performing tonight and then we’re moving to Amsterdam tomorrow afternoon so…”

I squirm a little as all eyes fall to me. Cool. Casual. “Sure.”

“Sorted! Let’s get these bags up and out of the way. I’ll have a car waiting down here in a half hour so you can all freshen up and meet me again.”

We trudge along and get off on our respective floors.

“The truth is,” Harry says as we scan ourselves into our room. “I’m probably not even gonna use the bed for the night so it’s all yours.”

“Oh,” I look around the room. It’s got a french touch and a lush queen in the middle. I could deal with not having to share it. I’m sure my fiancé back home would be happier too. Even though I want to ask why I don’t. “Okay.”

We settle our things in silence and a part of me wants to break it and start talking about the ride and Paris but I’m still not over his earlier behaviour so I continue giving the bare minimum. He doesn’t seem to care.

We head off for tests and I end up falling asleep in one of the booths. The tiredness was really creeping up. I could sleep through all the noise the band was making.

A particularly loud screeching from feedback wakes me up. I look down to the group, everyone’s mostly broken up while tech crew tapes down some wires and connects equipment. Harry sits on the edge of the stage, swinging his feet and texting away at his phone. He’s different from the grump this morning. He’s lighter.

Charlie catches me looking and waves, I wave back. There’s a pit in my stomach that grows heavier as the day passes into night.

Paris is not the loudest but super engaged. Everyone has some reference to Harry adorned on their clothing or their face and I can tell Harry has a special connection to the group.

“And finally,” Harry says into the mic. “This is a special song for my French friends. Tonight has been a blessing and I want to merci beaucoup for showing up!”

The crowd cheers as the intro to his song comes on. I listen to the lyrics for the first time since hearing the song last year and connect the dots to what Sarah said earlier. Maybe this was the girl. Maybe this was why he wasn’t sleeping at the hotel tonight.

As we’re leaving the venue and I’m going through a mental list of everything we could have forgotten, we spot a familiar face around back.

“Riley?” Mitch spots him first. “Is that you mate?”

“Hey,” Riley like, Harry’s old assistant Riley is standing with a couple other people who are having a smoke. He squashes his and greets the band who apparently still feel fondly when it comes to him. He looks the exact same but my feelings towards him are curdled after knowing what he’s like and how he left us high and dry.

That leaves Harry and I still hovering by the entrance alone, staring at the reunion by the time Riley comes up to us. I guess the band knew his friends because they get to chatting. I remember then, Riley ditched Harry to work for one of his friends. Must be a small world.

“Why the long face you two, c’mon still not holding a grudge are we?”

“Riley,” Harry addresses him. I stay silent, watching Riley from where I stand behind Harry.

“Nice to see Y/N’s still sticking around. How are you liking tour life?”

“Did you come to the show?” I find my voice.

“Yeah,” he nods all friendly like this was casual and he’s done nothing wrong ever. “I might be biased because I worked for the guy but Harry Styles is one of my top artist. And I’m in Paris until the Fall so why not come support him.”

“Well,” Harry says in the same deadpan voice. “Thanks for the support Riley.”

Riley glances over at him, smug. He knows he’s annoying Harry. So maybe I wasn’t the only one who got enjoyment out of doing that.

“Oh c’mon you’re still upset with me jumping ship? It’s been months! Y/N we’re cool right-“

Riley moves to walk past Harry and to me but Harry side-steps to stay in his way. I look at Harry. So does Riley, confusion sliding away to amusement.

“Oh I see,” he steps back, arms crossed. “Harry you sly dog you did it again.”

“We’re going now,” Harry says. “Try not to show up at any other shows.”

Harry tried to leave and I take the few steps to follow but Riley starts again.

“So y/n you fell for his trick too? I’m disappointed I thought you were immune.” Riley continues. “How’d he get you to the bedroom? Lots of booze? Or did you not even make it to the bedroom? Was it being treated like shit that did it for you?”

“What?” Now in the middle, I look between the two, wondering how this conversation took such a bizarre turn.

“You have some obsession with me Riley?” Harry steps back towards us. “Because you sure enjoy making up stories in your head with me starring in it. Don’t rope y/n into them either.”

“Not all stories,” Riley stays smug. “Some of them I’ve seen with my own eyes.”

They had to be talking about the last PA. The story Riley told me. Which means he thinks I…

“You really should watch what you talk about,” Harry reminds him.

Riley turns his attention to me, “Y/N I thought I warned you good enough. But I guess you put out as easily as the last one.”

“Riley whatever drama you’re trying to-“

“Mate,” Harry gets in Riley’s face so he can’t even look at me. I go quiet. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I get security to kick you out permanently.”

“Being the knight in shining armour doesn’t really suit you Haz,” Riley says. With one final judgemental look thrown my way he walks away. I have to lay a hand on Harry’s arm just to keep him from lunging at him but as soon as my hand makes contact he brushes me away.

This whole interaction was ego-bruising. “Why did he think-“

“Ignore him.” Harry cuts me off, his back still to me. His band, having watched the final scene unfold, now awkwardly shuffles back to us. “You okay?”

“Yeah but why-“

“Good.”

He cuts me off from asking anything and I don’t get to push because the group tries to defuse the situation by changing the subject. That includes the girls inviting me for drinks at their favourite parisian place. Harry disappears and so do those answers.

I try to poke whether the girls at dinner knew anything about his last PA but they barely met her. So I’m forced to eat oysters when they find out I’d never had them and the subject changes quickly to new and other things.

“So oysters thumbs up or down?” I’m asked as I slowly eat another.

“Weird texture…ehh?” I hover my thumb in the middle.

“Well too bad your partner—what’s his name again?” They ask. I tell her. “Ooh good name. Too bad Grayson isn’t here to cash in on all these oysters.”

They laugh and I think I’m not drunk enough to laugh as much with.

It’s the wee hours of the morning by the time we get back to the hotel. I crash alone as soon as my head hits the pillow.

***

After three weeks of tour I’m ecstatic to get back home. I wanted to sleep in the same bed for more than a day, I wanted a shower with even temperature, and I wanted a home-cooked meal.

And I wanted Gray.

I even catch an earlier flight—the night before rather than the next morning. I build up surprising Gray so much that I end up being the one who’s surprised when I come home to an empty flat.

I double check I’d set my phone back to the right time but it’s nearly 11. He must be out with friends, not a client.

I want to call him but still hold the idea of a surprise so I take a shower instead, put a load of laundry in, and make myself a sandwich. I crawl into bed at 1, still no Gray.

I end up tapping through our friends’ stories and find him in one. At least I knew where he was. But 2/3 photos I can find of him, Bex is standing too close for comfort.

I can tell by the photos there’s nothing going on. From his end. The most contact they have is his arm around her shoulder but for some reason all of this makes me mad. I’d broken it down to him that he couldn’t talk with people who had a thing for him because they would only give biased advice. But he didn’t listen. He said I was reading into it too much. And here she was, gazing up at him in every damn photo.

I hate that I wasn’t even home for a couple hours and already found something to annoy me.

I must have fallen asleep shortly after because I wake to poking on my side.

“Y/n? Is that really you? Y/n? Y/n?”

Gray.

“Hi,” I turn in bed. “I’m home early.”

“Shit!” He stands and sways back slightly. Wow, he was pissed. I hadn’t seen him this inebriated in a hot minute. “You didn’t say!”

“I know I-“

“I thought I imagined you.”

“Nope all here,” I grit my teeth. Why was I annoyed at my boyfriend for having a life, I scold myself.

Why is he so drunk and is this a new thing or did he only get this way cuz I’m not around?

“You finally came back to me,” he slurs. He smells like a brewery as he climbs into bed and I wish I could force a shower on him but I get swept up in his arms. “Hey you were right by the way.”

“About?”

“About.”

“Gray! What was I right about?”

“I’m getting to it! You. Were right. About Bex.”

“H-how do you know?” Weird coincidence. Or not?

“Sheshe she tried to kiss me!” He falls back laughing in bed. “I said nooo cuz I have a fiancée. Y/N. Oops. She was maaad.”

My heart drops. I knew it. That little bitch! And she had to go and try to kiss my man when he’s drunk! I officially didn’t like her. And the story itself adds to my irritation.

“Wow. Crazy. I’m tired as hell so I’m going to bed.”

I turn and leave my back to Gray. I didn’t want to see him this drunk, this chill about someone I warned him about trying to kiss him.

He splays on the bed where he is, draping an arm over me and pretty soon I hear his even breathing. That annoys me too, that he could fall asleep so quick. His arm is a weight over my body and I feel like I’m sinking into the bed and out of view.

***

It’s like Grayson and I have forgotten how to live with each other.

What starts out as minor annoyances turn into bickering pretty quickly. Our 1 bedroom flat begins to feel cramped and I desperately try to cling onto the idea of us because I can’t fathom us fizzling out like this but my fingernails are raw from scraping threads.

Work is the easiest it’s been in a while. With no set working hours I just spend a few hours everyday doing admin and running errands. Otherwise, unless somebody calls me I’m free.

I thought it would be great. So much free time with Gray, we could continue planning the wedding and catch up again. But he busies himself with work, and when we go on dates he doesn’t make much of an effort to talk. It’s like getting to know him all over again except he’s a broodier version of himself. It makes me mad and I end up picking fights.

I book brunch with some of the girls on the last Saturday I’m home, thinking it might help to have space from Gray and see other people. I thought everything would be fine. And it is, on a surface level—they treat me perfectly normal.

Except the only time they gave me space to talk about myself went something like this,

“So Y/N how are you? Busy touring how is that?”

“Oh yeah it was great! Really taxing but fulfilling too. I went to so many cities I haven’t visited even though I’ve been in London for like 7 years? Copenhagen was one of my fave-

“Ooh. Yeah I really want to visit Copenhagen this summer.”

“Oh I love Copenhagen…”

And I was officially asked out of sharing my own life. The rest of brunch was me reacting to everyone else’s stories and having the subject change quickly after I brought up anything about myself. When I mentioned Gray casually, I could feel the judgement. It’s like they were waiting on me to complain about him so they could pounce. It’s a weird and tiring energy.

As we all say our goodbyes I manage to catch Rebecca alone.

“Hey Bex,” I stop her on the edge of the group. “I know we haven’t talked much lately but I just want to say I don’t appreciate the moves you’re making on Gray.”

She raises a brow, “moves?”

“He told me you tried to kiss him. Those kinds of moves.”

Her face pinches. “Well someone has to make some.”

“Excuse me?” She tries to walk away but I rush to step in front of her.

“It’s no secret you and Gray are on the road to a breakup,” she has the audacity to look judgey in that moment and I want to slap the look off her face.

“What the fuck do you know about me and Gray? Back. Off.”

“Hey what’s going on?” One of our other friends drifts towards us and I notice they’re all looking our way.

“Just a friendly chat,” I say with sarcasm you can’t miss. At the same time Bex responds, “Y/n’s being delusional.”

I was going to get physical, I step back towards her but our friends get between us. I think they knew uni me, and knew I wasn’t afraid of confrontation.

“What the fuck y/n?” I was so tired of the look on their faces, like I was crazy.

“She tried to kiss Gray!” I reveal. “Last week! I’m just telling her to back off and I have every right to!”

It’s news to them. They turn to Bex who’s fidgeting with her sweater as a flush creeps up her neck.

“I-I he did! He tried to kiss me!”

I snort, “I don’t have time for your bullshit Rebecca. I’ve gotta go.”

“Oh yeah we all know you don’t have time y/n, you’re so busy these days.”

“Bex!” Someone scolds her.

“Somebody better teach her hand to keep her hand over her mouth because I will get through all of you if it means getting to her. You know you guys don’t know shit about my life. And you don’t even care to these days! Just because Gray told his sob side you guys treat me like-like shit!”

“That’s not true-“

“It is! You don’t even know my side! And I don’t care to explain because you lot are supposed to be our friends, not the judge and jury of my relationship.”

They stare blankly at me and nobody denies it so I continue: “I try so hard to stay involved in your lives knowing I can’t make it to half of our parties, I’m always messaging you guys and trying to stay on top of your socials to know what’s going on in your lives. I feel like I make all the effort and I’m just made the pariah.”

It feels good getting it off my chest. It feels amazing. I feel like I’m breathing an actual lungful of air now.

“We’re sorry if we made you feel that way.” I look at who’s said this. One of my oldest friends from uni. I scoff.

“You’re sorry if you made me feel that way?! I just said you did!”

“Sorry,” she says, quieter.

“Y’know it’s…it’s disappointing. I thought, when we became best friends first year of uni nothing could shake the bond we had. Apparently a man you met 3 years ago who vented to you about your best friend was just the thing.” All their faces are small and nobody makes eye contact with me. “Anyway, I do have to go. I have an appointment. Let’s not do this again.”

I walk away, proud of myself for saying what I had to and getting it off my chest. For sticking up for myself.

But the farther away I get, the more the adrenaline crashes through me and I end up walking onto the tube on shaky legs and collapsing in my seat. The reality of what’s happened falls into my lap and I see a bunch of burned bridges.

I spend a couple extra hours out after my appointment. I’m not going anywhere in particular, I let my feet carry me through the city as my mind continues to whir.

Harry texts me, asking me to stop by his place before I fly back for tour tomorrow evening. Apparently the concierge needed all his mail picked up and he needed a few of the items. It annoys me that he waited last minute to ask.

When I get home at 4, Gray’s vacuuming the flat. He stops it when I come in.

“Hey.”

“How was brunch?”

It’s the way he asks. I know he knows. Which means a group chat exists with our friends and him without me. It feels like another betrayal. Who keeps their partner out deliberately? Who opens up their relationship like a hockey net, open for anyone to take shots at?

“Why’re you asking?” I feel another fight coming.

“I can’t ask you how brunch went?”

“Did you hear something? Let me guess, did Bex snitch?”

“No, chill out why would Bex snitch?”

“Grayson,” I look at him deadpan. “Don’t bullshit me. If you have any respect for me, which I know now is not a lot, don’t bullshit me.”

He sighs but doesn’t say anything more. Doesn’t lie and doesn’t tell the truth.

“So?” I ask. “Is there like a group chat or something?”

“Let’s just drop it-“

“No! I’m not dropping this when you brought it up. So is there? Did you disrespect me in front of all our friends by talking shit, and then do it even more by allowing them to ice me out in a group chat you knew I wasn’t part of?”

He doesn’t respond. My temper flares.

“The hurtful part isn’t even not being part of the chat, it’s that you didn’t tell me.”

It makes sense now. I was always initiating birthday messages there or privately, thinking everyone was forgetting to wish each other. Now I know I was public fool number one keeping that convo alive when they were probably all wishing each other elsewhere. God. I was an idiot!

“Look I’m sorry y/n, after you stopped showing up to things they just made a new one so they don’t bother you.”

“Oh is that why? Because that was active up until a few months ago. So according to the timeline it was probably when you fucked up and talked shit about me to all our friends and they decided I was a bitch and they should all cancel me! Well I hope you’re happy Gray!”

“I’m not! I’m sorry I didn’t realize-“

“Stop!” I slam my hand into the wall and it hurts harder than I anticipated but I bite back the pain. “Just admit it! You want to paint me as the bad guy so fucking hard, and I am in some ways I know I’m far from perfect Gray! But instead of talking to me like normal fucking people do, you just iced me out and then isolated me from the only friends I’ve ever made in this stupid fucking city!”

I can’t help the tears now even though I don’t want to cry. I want to rage and scream and throw things about but the hurt is bigger and it bubbles over the pot and sears my heart.

I leave my shopping bags where I’ve dropped them and walk back out of the door before he can come up with a response. I couldn’t stand to look at his face. He’s betrayed me over and over and the whole time I was desperately trying to show him I hadn’t changed and I loved him.

I walk the 40 minute to Harry’s and the early evening air helps me learn how to breathe again. I take in gulps of it and try not to cry. I didn’t want to waste tears on Gray and my stupid friends. I didn’t want to do any of this! I just wanted to press pause on my whole damn life and take a nap.

Outside his building I pull out my phone and make sure I don’t look crazed. My hand is killing me and I ignore the bruising blooming fresh.

The concierge spots me just as I enter, and we make small talk about Harry on tour and his last few shows that would happen in London. I make a note to mention to Harry to send him tickets—apparently his niece listened to him.

He helps me load a cart with Harry’s mail and take it upstairs.

It had been over a month since I’d been in here and it’s weird that it feels comforting. Or maybe that was just after two weeks of feeling like a stranger at home.

Harry’s words on the plane echo back to me. Not that I was appreciated here either.

If there was ever a time to go back home to the States, it would be now. But that felt like running away. I had to sort my life out here before I made any rash decisions.

With a sigh I dump the paper onto the coffee table. After sorting what looked like bills from letters from miscellaneous I spot the two envelopes Harry wanted and put it to the side. I open the boxes next and locate his custom orthopaedic inserts he asked me to grab too.

I take the extra mail to my office to sort out. In the familiar closed quarters where I’d spent too much time in the last year rolling through a hundred phases, my feelings edge out of me. I try to wipe the tears and continue on but I end up pathetically sat over on the chair crying until I can barely breathe.

It’s pathetic because this is the first space I’ve felt I had the space to cry. And it was where I worked. Where, apparently, I wouldn’t even be missed.

New tears. Less breaths.

“Get it the fuck together,” I say between gasps. “That’s. Enough.”

Through my own self-talk I manage to calm down enough to finish the work. It’s half past 8 by the time I get back to the main living area. I get water to rehydrate myself and stay sitting on the couch staring into space for another ten minutes. I don’t think I had any more tears to cry. Just a rock in place of my heart and another bigger one attached to my ankle.

“Okay,” I finally get the courage to head home.

The end isn’t big and explosive. It’s a simple statement: I think we both know what needs to be done now.

I don’t fight him this time. I have no fight left in me. I just nod.

“I’ll sleep on the couch and still drop you off tomorrow,” he reassures me.

“Just sleep in bed,” I couldn’t even muster enough energy for expression. My flat tone is how I felt. “You don’t fit on the couch. And I’ll get myself to the airport.”

“No I’ll take you. I’ve already made the arrangements-“

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore Gray,” I say. He looks crestfallen and it irks me that he does. I didn’t want him to be sad, it was ridiculous but it was.

“Well I’ll take you anyway.” He says then turns back to the TV.

I wash the day off and make sure everything is packed for my early flight tomorrow. As I lay in bed alone I realize this might be the last time I ever sleep here. Like this. I would have to move all my shit out. Oh god, the wedding. I’d have to cancel my dress shopping dates and the cake testing, the invites we were still designing.

We’d only told our friends it was going to be a winter wedding, I’m glad we never gave them a date. Nobody had marked their calendars. Nothing about us would been permanent.

I look down at the simple ring on my hand. Everything but that.

I keep it on.

I’m still awake when Gray comes to bed but I pretend to sleep. My mind can’t stop making lists to answer: what now.

I’m in a fugue state all night and the only thing that clears the fog is the rays of sunshine peeking through the blinds in the morning. I hadn’t slept a wink.

Quiet, so I don’t wake Gray, I get up and dressed. I order a taxi and try not to linger on the hurt of doing this alone. Of Gray waking up to an empty bed.

The flight to Madrid is a couple hours and I miraculously nap through it. Everyone is happy to see me when I get back, especially when I present them with snacks they’d all said they missed from home while we were on tour. With them in hand, I’m an angel in their eyes.

I hand Harry his mail and he stops me. His eyes don’t stop examining my face.

“What happened to your hand?” He asks.

I’d picked up a bandaging kit and ice pack at the airport and with the help of Youtube, wrapped it up. It had started to bruise even worse but I couldn’t be arsed to deal with it even though it hurt. Nothing a few painkillers couldn’t fix.

“I accidentally got it caught in a door,” I lie easily. I had practiced. “It’s nothing.”

“Did you get it checked?”

“No.”

“Make sure you do, tonight’s show.”

“Sure. It’s really nothing though.”

“You sure?” He asks. His gaze is unnerving.

“Mhm,” I nod.

He’s silent, eyes scanning my face. Right as I decide I couldn’t take the scrutiny he asks, “Why were you crying last night?”

I stare, unsure what kind of trick he was playing.

“Sorry.” He laughs to himself. “I have one of those uh, motion sensor cameras in the entryway. I turn it on while I’m away so it sends like, automatic clips if there’s movement. I saw you come in and leave.”

“Oh.” Shit. Think fast. Think fast. “I uhm, got into it with some friends I had a meal with. Y’know…they were being a bit icy cuz of what they’ve heard. I’m over it though.”

“Yeah?” His eyes flicker down to my hand.

“Yeah.” I hold his green eyes for a moment, to reassure him I’m okay. I don’t know why he cares, maybe because I looked like a right mess last night as I left. How embarrassing. But I do my best acting job ever.

Satisfied, he lets me go. I return to the group asking for updates and any stories they wanted to share. Before long I’m laughing along and creeping out of my depressed mood. But something heavier still lingers.

***

TAGLIST: @boomitsallie1 @indierockgirrl @ndunad @jerseygirlinca @sunshinemoonsposts @ninasw0rld @love-letters-to-uranus @mayamonroem @sassamanda77

#writingsfromhome #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #fic #harry styles angst #harry styles series #dos and donts #harry styles au #like I’m actually annoyed I had to split this up #because it’s supposed to get more interesting #ugh tumblr and its word limit…#musician!harry #well excited to finish the final part tho

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kiritella · 1 year

Text

Red as Iron

Parings: Dad.Bucky x Daughter.Reader

Warnings: Blood.

Words: 1.0k

Type: beautiful and angsty

______________________

“Hello? Bucky said, tucking the phone he answered between his shoulder and ear. A small smile peeked on his face as he looked away from the files on his desk, staring instead out the window of his office.

“Hey, dad,” Y.n said, though her voice was hard to hear. She was probably on speakerphone again while she was working. He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Are you busy?”

“Nope,” he said, flipping closed the file on his desk and holding the phone properly in his hands. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause, and he furrowed his brows. “What did you do?” he asked, teasing.

A chuckle. “Why is it you think I did something wrong?” she asked.

“Well,” he started, “You called me while I’m at work, and you got home from school only…” he glanced at his watch, “Dang, didn’t you just get home?”

“Pshh. Can’t I just call my dad and tell him I love him?” she said, and Bucky grinned.

“Well, I mean, you can,” he said.

She laughed quietly. “Well, I am. I see how much faith you have in me.”

“Hey, c’mon, I have faith in you!” he objected. “You just like to test that faith sometimes!”

“Sure, sure.” She paused again, a sigh on her end and he began to wonder. She must have had a hard day to be calling like this. If she had to call him at work, she tried to be quick about it so it wouldn’t distract him or get him in trouble. He had tried to tell her he wouldn’t get in trouble considering the work he did, but she always insisted.

“We just had something come up in history class today, and it made me think of you,” she said. “You really are amazing…and I’m really lucky you’re my dad. I love you.”

Bucky’s heart swelled in his chest as a slow smile spread on his lips, smothering the mental exhaustion from the work he had to do. “I love you too, Sweetheart.”

“I was thinking of that time in the park when I was like…4? Maybe, no–I must have been 5. You…you picked me up on your shoulders and ran around while I was pretending to fly.”

“You remember that?” Bucky asked, surprised.

“And then how you’d…” she sighed. “You’d always give me the benefit of the doubt, and let me cuddle up in your arms when I was little, and you always give me hugs…” another sigh. “I like your hugs. They’re warm.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head a little. “I’ll give you one when I get home…”

“You’d better,” she said with a short laugh. “I–” she stopped and Bucky looked at his phone when she didn’t continue. The connection was fine.

“Hello? You there?” he asked.

“Yeah, sorry. I just love you, I guess…and I wanted you to know that,” she said, and Bucky’s heart melted.

“I love you too, sweetie. Gosh, you’re making me emotional,” Bucky said, adding a bit of teasing at the end. She was his baby girl. He didn’t understand the depth of connection a person could have to another until he held her in his arms for the first time.

“Hey, being emotional isn’t a bad thing sometimes,” she said and he hummed in agreement. “I have to go and finish homework now, so…I’ll talk to you later?”

“Alright,” he said, “I’ll finish up here and bring home pizza for dinner, okay?”

“That sounds amazing.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, dad…”

“Bye.”

“...Goodbye.” Y.n stayed on the line until she heard the click of his phone as he hung up and the sound of a disconnected line followed. Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks and dripped from her skin. The droplets joined a pool of crimson red on the floor, swirling in spirals together until all that was left was a lighter shade of her blood. She gasped for breath as she glanced over to her cellphone, 911 still open on speakerphone as the home landline rested in her hands with a loud beeping coming from its empty line.

“...The ambulance is just another minute away,” came a choked voice from her cellphone. His voice was desperate. “Hang in there.”

“I’m hanging on…” she said as her head lolled to the side, resting against her shoulder. Pain radiated from her side where her hands covered a deep wound—a couple of deep wounds— Jagged and torn open from a knife plunged into her flesh in a panic. Red covered her side, her fingers, the floor beneath her and she choked on her breath, coughing. The taste of iron spilled on her tongue, dripping from the corner of her lips.

The living room became dark as though hidden in an immense black fog. Several things were out of place, a lamp shattered on the floor from where the side table had fallen over. A vase. She followed the trail of blood from where she lay against the wall to the center of the room where another pool of blood laid with a chilling realism. She closed her eyes as the room began to spin, and she tried to force another breath in, but cried as it entered her lungs. Her hands shook, though she realized now they were incredibly cold. She was freezing.

I like your hugs…they’re warm.

Another tear rolled down her skin. “Daddy?” a sharp breath, a sob. She waited as the sound of a disconnected line beeped over and over and over. The sound grew closer as her body slid from the wall, meeting the wooden floor in a final cold embrace. “Daddy?!” The landline laid in front of her, and she stared at it as the rest of the room disappeared from her mind as a swash of black and gray. It was her only response, her only comfort. She cried at how distant it was. Beeeep, beeeeep, beeeeeeep.

“Daddy?!”

“The ambulance is right there,” the police dispatcher said, urging her to keep it together.

Beeeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

“Brooklyn Fire Department…We’re coming in!”

Beeeeeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

___________________________

Part two

___________________________

Forever Tags: [Add Yourself to the Taglist Here!]

@thelovelydreamer17 @bugsbucky

A.N: I went through and removed all accounts that were deactivated and broken links from the taglist.

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pink-sparkly-witch · 7 months

Text

The One That Got Away - Chapter Eleven

Warnings: angst, language, fluff.

Word Count: 1.6k

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

A/N: I didn’t have a beta for this, so all mistakes are mine.

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

“Are you only here until your father goes, or are you back for good?” Dean asked, and Y/N bit her lip and furrowed her brow.

“It depends,” she finally responded.

“On what?”

“If you and I can be okay,” Y/N said, deciding complete honesty was the best way to handle this, and lifted her eyes to meet his. “I’m not expecting things to go back to how they were, De. Too much time has passed for that, but I’d like us to try to be friends again. But I also need to be completely honest and tell you I never got over you.”

“Y/N…”

“Please, just listen,” she begged, “you read my letter, and you know I had some unhealthy coping methods. I’ve only had one serious relationship since I left, which ended when I turned down his proposal three years ago. He told me that he loved me, but I was emotionally unavailable, and he couldn’t stay with someone who couldn’t love him the way he loved them,” Y/N explained.

“When I finally started dating again after that, I always sabotaged it before it could get serious. That was when I knew I would never let anyone in the way I did you, and I’d never get over you. I understand this is a lot, and I get that you might not feel the same, but if you want to try and be us again, awesome. If you want to try and be friends again, great,” she paused and took a deep breath, licked her lips before speaking again. “But if you don’t want me here… if me being here hurts you, and we can’t fix things between us, I can’t stay because I can’t be this close to you and not be part of your life. It’ll kill me.”

There it was. Everything Y/N needed him to know before they made any decisions on their future. This was where her heart lay, shield and armour down, vulnerability showing as she laid her cards on the table and bared her soul to him.

Now it was his turn.

“Y/N, I…” Dean began, grabbing her hands and smiling softly as her watery eyes found his. “I never stopped loving you. I tried to move on, but I couldn’t. None of them would be you. Not even close. Every day since you left, I have regretted not asking you to stay or coming with you. Even now, having read your letter and knowing it was the best thing for us, I still regret it. I hate that making that decision meant I couldn’t comfort you after the nightmares or stop you from drinking away your pain. The sex thing? Well, I’m just pissed that I missed out on what sounds like it could’ve been some kinky shit!” Dean joked, chuckling as Y/N threw her head back with laughter.

“But,” he continued, “seeing you now, your smile reaching your eyes, the constant pain and sadness in them gone, and the confidence you’ve gained. It makes me realise that as much as I will always hate myself for letting you leave… letting you go… it was the right thing to do because you and I wouldn’t be where we are. You…”

Dean swallowed hard, hating even the thought of what could’ve been. “You would be living your life completely in my shadow, or I would be in prison, and you probably wouldn’t be here at all,” Dean said, wiping away the tears falling down his cheeks.

“I know, Dean,” Y/N smiled sadly. “It broke my heart, and I won’t pretend otherwise, but it was the right thing for us to do. Please forgive yourself for that. I do. We needed to grow on our own. I had to learn to protect myself and not rely on you to fight my battles. I had to learn to take care of myself for once, to put myself first and fix myself. I might have taken the wrong path once or twice, but I righted myself and am incredibly proud of who I’ve become.”

“Seeing you at the hospital and tonight, I love who you’ve become, and I can’t wait to get to know her better. I would be honoured if, once I’m fully healed, you’ll let me take you out to dinner so I can continue to get to know you again,” Dean smiled, anxiously awaiting her response.

“I’d like that,” Y/N smiled bashfully.

“Just so we’re clear, I mean as a date,” Dean grinned.

“A date?” she questioned, “Dean, are you sure?”

“Yeah, I am, Princess. I meant it when I said I never stopped loving you. You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I wanna get to know you again. Try us again. So… what d’ya say? A fresh start?” Dean grinned at her bashful giggle before she lowered her eyes and looked at him through her lashes. His breath caught in his throat as he was taken back to their teenage years when she looked at him like that often.

“A fresh start would be perfect,” Y/N smiled as Dean’s face broke into a joyous grin.

“But,” she continued, and Dean’s smile faded slightly. “I think this has probably been enough excitement for you on your first night out of the hospital, so I’m gonna go home and let you rest,” Y/N smiled softly.

“Come on, sweetheart! I just got you back,” Dean protested, and she chuckled.

“Dean, you look like you’re gonna fall asleep in your seat!” Y/N reached her hand out to cup his cheek and smiled fondly as he leaned into her touch and closed his eyes.

“You’ve got my number now. You can call or text me anytime. I’m heading into four night shifts, so please don’t think I’m ignoring you if I don’t reply right away.”

Dean nodded in appreciation that she’d thought to tell him that. If he had texted or called her and she didn’t answer, he would overthink everything and convince himself that she’d changed her mind about starting over.

“Alright, you win,” he pulled back reluctantly. “I’ll call you in a few days, and maybe we can arrange that date?” Dean smirked, and she giggled.

“I thought we were waiting for you to be fully healed?” Y/N teased.

“Oh, trust me, sweetheart, I will be,” Dean replied.

“Still cocky, I see,” Y/N smirked and leaned forward, kissing Dean's cheek. Standing from the chair, she put her jacket on and slung her purse over her shoulder.

“No, don’t get up,” she protested as he moved to stand. “I can see myself out.”

“You will not. I’m walking you out,” Dean grunted as he stood, the pain in his chest throbbing after sitting idle for so long. One glance at Y/N had him roll his eyes at the ‘I told you so’ look on her face.

“Look, I was gonna have to get up anyway to lock the door behind you and go to bed. I might as well do it now and make sure you get to your car okay at the same time.” Dean opened the door for her and leaned against it.

“I suppose I can’t argue with that, can I?” Y/N chuckled.

“Nope,” Dean said, popping the p.

“Goodnight, Captain Winchester.”

“Goodnight, Nurse Singer.”

The next few weeks passed in the blink of an eye. To everyone’s surprise, Dean had done what the doctor told him and taken it easy until Dr Clark cleared him to return to work. Bobby had put him on light duties on his first shift back, which he’d hated at first, but about sixteen hours into a twenty-four-hour shift, he was grateful that he had it that little bit easier after being out of the game for four weeks.

Y/N had adjusted to life back in Lawrence well. She was in a good routine with work and had stopped taking as many overtime shifts as she had when she first came back. She filled her days off, reconnecting with family and friends and making plans with the new friends she’d made since her return.

They’d kept in regular contact, texting and calling every day. She’d been to his place a few more times in the past few weeks, always, she insisted, to help him around the house or to make sure he ate a decent home-cooked meal. Dean didn’t complain because he got to spend all this extra time with her.

Y/N’s impromptu visits were filled with remembering the old days and catching up with everything that had been and gone since they’d last seen each other. Their disastrous dating lives had them in tears of laughter, and the stories of her time before therapy had them in tears of despair.

They knew these conversations needed to be had, and if Y/N was honest, she’d much rather they have them before they tried their fresh start. If they waited until they were officially dating before having the difficult conversations and Dean changed his mind about wanting a second chance, wanting her, she knew she wouldn’t survive his rejection.

After several heart-to-heart conversations and everything Y/N had gone through in her first few years in Chicago aired to Dean, the relief she felt that he still wanted to go on a date with her took her by surprise. It made her realise just how much he, and this second chance, truly meant to her.

It was overwhelming because her entire future depended on things working out between them. Y/N meant what she said, if Dean didn’t want her, she couldn’t stay in Lawrence, not even as his friend, because it would kill her. There would always be doors open for her in Chicago, and she knew that, but she was done running.

Next Chapter >>

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567

#the one that got away #firefighter!dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester x reader #tw: child abuse #tw: alcoholism #tw: physical abuse #tw: verbal abuse #firefighter!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

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borathae · 1 year

Text

↳ Index [Chapter 01 - Anruf]

• Anruf (German, phonecall)

Warnings: yearning, cute phone calls, the Fluff hits right, but also mentions of loss & grief

Wordcount: 7.1k

a/n: and so it starts! aaaah!! I am so !! i can’t wait to go on this journey with you guys!!

“You know what we should do?”

“What?”

“We should order pizza. I’m starving.”

You look at Hoseok standing in the doorway with his phone in his hand.

“I’m down for pizza. You guys?” you say.

“Sure, pizza sounds good”, Seokjin answers you, not looking up from the game he is playing.

“I’ll do whatever you want to do”, Taehyung says, pressing the buttons on his controller aggressively, “why are you so good at that game?” he whines, addressing Seokjin.

“Because you suck”, Seokjin throws back, kicking Taehyung’s character in the face repeatedly.

“Give me a chance, I wasn’t ready”, Taehyung complains loudly, trying his hardest to block Seokjin’s attacks.

You look away from the television, locking eyes with Hoseok.

“What are the options?” you ask him, peeling yourself up from the couch to hurry to him.

Hoseok hands you the menu and together you skim through it while the others continue complaining to each other about the game.

It has been three days ever since Seokjin and Hoseok returned from their journey. Emma wasn’t with them and while Seokjin pretended as if he was alright, he wasn’t. You know that he wasn’t, because Hoseok tells you that he goes to bed earlier than usual and he always locks his door when he does. And that sometimes he can hear him cry.

If Hoseok hadn’t told you, you never would have figured that he was. Ever since they are back, Seokjin cracks the funniest jokes and he makes you laugh with them. Truly, Seokjin is the uttermost funniest person ever, always laughing and joking and laughing some more. The person, who laughs the loudest at his stupid jokes is always Taehyung. Taehyung, who spends most of his hours kneeling under the weeping willow by the lake tending to Jimin’s grave. Taehyung, who put most of the paintings he did of Jimin in the cellar with the excuse of “them taking up space in his atelier”. Taehyung, who sits in silence when he thinks that nobody is watching.

And Taehyung, who has been regularly disappearing into the dark of the night only to return a few days later with no explanation of where he went. He even left for an entire month in late spring, leaving you all alone and sad at the estate. He never told you where he went and what he did once he returned to you and you never asked, welcoming him back in your arms as if he never left. And Taehyung continued his routine of tending to Jimin’s grave and crying himself to sleep in your arms.

You haven’t heard anything from Yoongi and Jungkook either. The last you heard of them was a text by Yoongi telling you that they wouldn’t come home for beginning of summer. You have been counting the days ever since that text. Sixty eight days. Counting gets more painful day by day.

“Pizza’s here”, Hoseok says, pulling you out of your thoughts. They vary between worry for Taehyung and Seokjin and yearning for Yoongi and Jungkook. You thought of the latter right now.

Hoseok jumps up from the couch, “I’ll get it.”

“Should I come with you?” you offer.

“No, I’m good. It shouldn’t be too heavy.”

And with that Hoseok disappears out of the living room, leaving you alone with Taehyung and Seokjin. They are in the midst of starting a new game, joking with each other way too much. You watch them, feeling sad. They are pretending that they were okay when they so clearly weren’t. You know that they do, because you have been doing the same. You pretend to be strong for Taehyung, because you know that he needed you to be strong for him, when in reality you are plagued with heartbreaking insecurities day by day. Many nights you wonder if Yoongi had already forgotten about you. You wouldn’t even blame him if he did. Your good times with him were brief and over way too soon. If he forgot about them again, you wouldn’t be surprised. You haven’t told Taehyung about your worries yet. Why should you? Your stupid, childish insecurities feel miniscule compared to the loss he suffered. It would be selfish of you to burden him with your worries when he lost so much more. So you hug him as he cries and then cry in the bathroom when he wouldn’t hear you.

Hoseok returns with the pizzas, putting them on the coffee table.

“I gave the delivery guy a big tip because he gave us extra pickles on the pizza”, he explains, opening his carton, “waah, look at that, it looks delicious.”

“I still don’t get why you would put pickles on your pizza”, you mumble, biting into your slice of margarita with corn deliciously.

“You put corn on yours. You aren’t better”, Hoseok murmurs with a pout.

“Corn is really delicious. What are you on about?”

“As are pickles.”

“Touché”, you snicker and look at Taehyung and Seokjin, “do you guys want a slice too?” you offer them your slice.

“Yes, thanks for ordering Hobi”, Seokjin says, taking a huge bite and humming dramatically, “waaah so good. That fits my taste so well”, he says extra happily.

Taehyung takes a slice of Hoseok’s pizza, eating it with his signature chewing pout, “indeed. This pizza is very delicious”, he agrees with happiness in his voice.

You exchange a look with Hoseok. He thinks the same as you. Why are they pretending when it is so obvious that they are in pain?

“You know what we should do tomorrow?” you say.

“No. What?” Hoseok asks.

“We should go somewhere nice and spend a good day together. I bet we could”, you stop talking when your phone begins ringing, “excuse me, someone’s calling me”, you say, looking at your screen, “holy moly.”

“Who is calling you, sweetest?” Taehyung asks.

They all stare at you in question. You are gawking at your phone. Flabbergasted. Shocked. Dumbfounded even.

“Holy cow”, you press out.

“What’s happening? Who’s calling?” Hoseok asks.

“Yoongi.”

Your lips curl into a smile.

“Oh my god, Yoongi.”

With tears in your eyes you pick up, leaving the room in big steps. The others and the pizza are forgotten for now.

“Hello?” you almost yelled the word.

Your breath is held. Your heart is pounding. Your fingers, although clammy, grasp the phone with almost inhuman strength. Will he sound just as sweet as you remember him to sound?

“Hey.”

The sound of him. That distinct, comforting sound of him drags you to your knees. You fall, finding support atop the marble stairs of the entrance hall. They are cold against your naked thighs, but you barely even feel them.

“Yoongi, holy moly it’s really you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Oh”, you press out.

Now you are safe. You are warm and safe.

“Are you crying?”

“Yes, I missed your voice so much.”

“Don’t cry, princess.”

Princess. It is one word, eight letters. Insignificant if one may look at it in the grand scheme of things, but it is the most important in your world. Oh how you missed hearing him call you like that.

“Yoongi, I miss you”, you sob softly, “please say something.”

“Say something? What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t care. Anything. I just want to hear your voice.”

“Mhm, anything”, a short pause where he listens to your sniffling, “hey, princess”, he says in his soft, calming voice, “don’t cry. You’re making me feel bad for calling.”

“I can’t help it. It’s just so much, I’m overwhelmed.”

“Don’t be. I’m here now.”

“Why did you take so long to call?”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“I accept it, just…don’t take so damn long again.”

“I won’t. I’m sorry, I should have called sooner.”

“Yes, you should have.”

You lower your head, sniffling into your palm as you wipe at your nose.

“Hey ___, don’t cry my princess, I’m here now.”

Truly, it feels as if he is engulfing you in the warmest hug right now.

“I know”, your trembling lips curl into a smile, “Yoongi, I want you here. Actually here. With me, so I can hug you.”

Silence at his end. Then a quiet sigh.

“Me too. A hug sounds so nice right now.”

The small tremor in his voice doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Yoongi, why do you sound so sad? What happened?”

Silence. Perhaps he is flustered by the worry in your voice. Perhaps he wonders if you truly saw right through him already.

“I’m just…”

Faltering.

Silence.

Two deep breaths.

“...I haven’t slept in weeks, so I tried tonight. To get my energy back. But I can’t…I can’t fall asleep.”

“Oh Yoongi, I know how you feel.”

“I can’t stop thinking. I’m not shutting up.”

“That’s awful. Tell me about it.”

“No I…actually, fuck”, he lets out a tired laugh, “I wanted to deny you, but that’s literally why I called you in the first place.”

“Yeah?” you give him a sweet laugh, “you’re cute.”

“Mhm.”

You shift into a more comfortable position, relaxing your fingers around your phone just slightly.

“So what’s on your mind? Tell me.”

“I’m tired.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry.”

“I’m tired of all those fucking failures. It’s like he is gone. As if he left this realm. How hard can it be to find one man? Especially when this man leaves trails of bodies everywhere?”

He huffs out air.

“So many times I almost had him, ___. So many times I had your freedom between my fingers only to watch it slither away again. Fuck”, he presses out the last word, “fuck, I’m so mad. I just- urgh, I just want to fucking break something.”

“Don’t. I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

Yoongi laughs. After that laugh comes a deep breath and long exhale. It seems that your words helped him calm down.

“I’m so tired”, he whispers, sounding more defeated than angry, “I should just give up and accept that he will always best me.”

“No Yoongi, don’t say that. You’re a billion times better than him.”

“So why can’t I catch him? Why can’t I…” his voice stutters, a trembling inhale follows, “...why can’t I keep my promise to you?”

A second of heavy silence where you can hear Yoongi exhale shakily.

“I promised you that I will make the world safer for you and I’m failing you so much. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not failing me. I already feel ten times safer ever since we started this phone call.”

“You do?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Fuck”, he presses out and sniffles loudly, “I wanted to be quick for you and I just”, he pauses.

“It’s okay, Yoongi”, you whisper, but he doesn’t hear you.

“I have to break this promise, ___. I don’t think I can be quick. I’m sorry”, he whispers.

“Oh…” you bite back your tears, “...I understand. How long are you still going to be gone?”

“I don’t know. The rest of the year maybe? Perhaps longer? Perhaps till next summer? Next Christmas? I don’t know, I can’t tell you”, he says with painful regret in his voice.

“Ah, okay. I see…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. It’s not your fault.”

“Please don’t cry”, his voice is barely there.

“I’m trying”, you sniffle.

The conversation should be over, but neither you nor Yoongi want to end it. Too big is the yearning for each other, too good does it feel to hear the other’s voice again.

“Where are you guys currently?” you ask him.

“Berlin. The city’s nice. My German’s so rusty though.”

You chuckle, “I didn’t even know that you could speak German.”

“I know too many languages. Long life and all.”

You laugh because you liked the joke. Yoongi chuckles softly.

“You’re so cool, Yoongi.”

He stays silent, most definitely flusters.

“Mhm.”

More silence. You have started to pick at a thread on your shorts. Tugging at it seems to loosen more and more of the shorts’ leg frilled hem. You don’t stop, even if the damage is very visible to you. You just need something to distract you from the aching hole in your chest only his presence could fill.

“I want you here with me”, Yoongi’s voice was barely a whisper.

“What?” you ask.

“I want you here with me. In my arms and against my chest. I miss you so much. Your warmth and your smell and your face. I miss you. I just want you here with me.”

The confession sits heavy in the air. Having Yoongi so openly admit his yearning for you feels unfamiliar because he never did so before, but more than anything it makes you miss him even more.

“I miss you too, Yoongi. So much. I barely have any of your clothes left which smell of you.”

Yoongi laughs, but it is filled with sadness.

“At least you have something. I have nothing.”

“Did you forget?” you ask.

Yoongi knows the deep meaning behind it.

“No, just…memories aren’t real. And they’re cold. I want your real smell with me, the one filled with warmth.”

“God damn it Yoongi, don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry, I know I say so much. Fuck, I’m rambling like an idiot. I think the sleep deprivation is making me chatty. Sorry, it’s not like me.”

“That’s fine. I like talking to you.”

“Me too.”

“I prefer to do it in your arms however.”

“Yes”, he agrees and sniffles.

“Yoongi, can’t you take a short break? Just for a few days come home to me.”

“I can’t. We have a lead and it sounds so promising, I have to chase it.”

“Can’t you chase it another time?”

“I really can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Mhm, whatever.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry”, he whispers.

You sigh, “no. I’m sorry, Yoongi. That was unfair to you. I know you have to chase it. I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that. I’m just so…sick of not having you with me.”

“Me too. I’d fall asleep so easily if you were with me.”

“You know that I’d pet your hair and scratch your scalp if I were?”

“I know, princess. I’d want that.”

“Me too. I bet your hair is so much longer now.”

He chuckles, “I’m not letting you near it.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll ruin it. I told you before.”

“You meanie. I’m great at cutting hair.”

“Mhm maybe”, he says and snickers.

You giggle, hugging your own waist. You imagine it to be Yoongi instead.

“Oh Yoongi, I missed hearing your laugh.”

“Me too. I love your laugh.”

He makes your heart flutter. Sleepy Yoongi is honest, so you realise.

“Where are you right now?” he asks you because he wants to hear your voice again. You were not the only one having missed his voice. Yoongi was aching for a sound of you just as much.

“The stairs in the entrance hall. They are kind of cold on my legs.”

“Are you sitting on them?”

“Mhm yeah, I didn’t want to stand. I came here because I wanted to be alone.”

“So Tae is still with you?”

“Yes. The others too.”

“Really?”

“They came back last week and came over for dinner tonight. They live at Seokjin’s place again while they’re trying to figure out if they should try again or not.”

“So he still hasn’t found her.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“Maybe he should give up. Emma probably changed. He will only get disappointed.”

“I guess, but he is hoping that she didn’t.”

“Mhm, I get it”, he breathes out loudly, “it seems that we are all chasing some sort of stupid lead then.”

“I guess, yeah.”

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?”

“What? Why would you?”

“I don’t know, because I’m asking stupid questions like where are you like some desperate idiot who can’t take a hint.”

“Don’t say that, Yoongi. I’m happy you want to keep talking.”

“Okay.”

He seems to shift in bed as the sheets make the faintest of ruffling noises. Then a small yawn.

“Did you just yawn?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m getting sleepy.”

You smile.

“Good, that means the call’s working.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

More ruffling of sheets.

“Shit princess, I don’t want to end the call.”

“Then don’t. I’ll stay with you as you fall asleep.”

“Mhm”, he lets out a breathy laugh, “I can’t believe I’m actually doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Just…wanting to stay on a call with someone. It’s so silly.”

“No, it’s not, you’re just a grumps who thinks it silly.”

“I’m not, stop”, he whines, making you giggle.

“Sorry. Gosh, you’re so cute.”

“What are you doing?” he asks as he hears the distinct sound of your naked feet walking around.

“I’m going to your wing, I want to pretend to fall asleep with you.”

Silence.

“That’s stupid”, he mumbles, sounding so cute and tiny that you just know that he is pouting in shyness.

“Maybe, but we have to make the best out of the situation.”

“I guess.”

“I’m renovating my wing these days.”

“You are?” he asks, listening to you opening his door. He imagines you wandering through his hallways. The thought is relaxing him because it makes him feel closer to you.

“Yes, it’s so much work oh god. I really underestimated just how big Jimin’s wing is. I barely even got one room finished and bear in mind that’s only the bathroom.”

“Are you doing so much? Jimin’s wing was in a good state, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it’s kind of…covered in blood at some parts. Although some is an understatement. The blood has soaked into the joints and wood in most rooms.”

“Ah. I forgot that he was a disgusting bastard.”

You snicker.

“Gosh Yoongi, you have such a loose tongue sometimes.”

“I know. Sorry, I’ll curse less.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re hot when you curse.”

He chuckles lazily, “you’re something else.”

You turn the lights on in his bedroom. There you are again. Just like almost every second night, you find yourself in his bedroom with its ocean blue walls and azurite curtains. You have developed a great liking for blue these days because of his bedroom. Blue calms you down. Just as Yoongi does. You hurry to the bed and climb on top of it, pulling the blue satin sheets over your body.

“Ah yes”, you say and sigh.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m in your bed”, you say and giggle.

Yoongi smiles in his tiny, depressing single person bed. He strokes his hand over the empty sheets next to his pillow, wishing for just a touch of your hand.

“Is it comfortable?” he asks.

“Yes, but it misses you.”

He chuckles, “my bed misses me?”

“Yes, it says that it’s way too big for one person and that you should be here with me.”

“I’m sure it says that”, he says and feels giddy in his chest.

He has his phone on speaker ever since you left for his wing. It rests beside him with a dark screen. Yoongi reaches for it and begins dancing his fingers up and down the screen, imagining it to be your face instead.

“So now we are falling asleep together”, you say.

“Yes, right. I don’t think I ever did something like that.”

“Me neither”, you giggle.

Yoongi isn’t aware of it, but you are doing the exact thing to your phone. Looking at it with longing eyes while you imagine the hard, cold screen to be his soft, delicate features instead.

“Your phone bill is going to be so much.”

“I don’t care.”

“Mhm”, you say and snuggle deeper into his pillow. It doesn’t smell like Yoongi these days because you had to wash his sheets a few times already. But the thought that this was Yoongi’s pillow is enough to make you feel closer to him. It is also a terribly comfortable pillow. Yoongi truly knows comfort.

“How are your plants doing?” he asks you.

“So good. Oh Yoongi, you should see how green the greenhouse is these days. I also have so many room plants in my wing. It’s almost a jungle these days”, you tell him in a shy laugh.

Yoongi laughs with you, finding immense happiness in the thought that you are making part of his big castle your own. This is all he wants. For you to find your home in his belongings. After all, he doesn’t want to share them with anyone as much as he wants to share them with you. That is also why he loves the thought that you regularly wander around his wing, because it means that you see it as part of your home as well. Yoongi likes that thought.

“I can’t wait to see them”, he says softly, closing his eyes with a content smile.

“Me too, you’ll be so impressed.”

“Of course I will”, he whispers.

“Yoongi, are you falling asleep?”

“I think.”

“Gosh, okay I’ll talk quietly from now”, you whisper.

“You don’t have to, just talk comfortably. I can fall asleep even if you yell.”

“Really?” you snicker.

“Mh-hm, I’m so fucking exhausted. Ever since my emotions are on, I feel my insomnia so much. When I’m tired, I get so fucking tired.”

“But that’s good, at least like that you get your sleep. It’s important to sleep, even for a Creator like you, Yoongi Boongie.”

Yoongi twists the sheets upon hear his nickname. It is just two words, thirteen letters but they make him feel so alive. And tonight they bring tears of yearning to his eyes. They roll down his cheeks and soak his pillowcase.

“I know. I think I can do it tonight”, he says and yawns.

You yawn as well, smacking your lips afterwards, “good. Yoongi, lets hold our own hands and pretend that we are holding hands instead.”

Yoongi smiles softly and intertwines his own fingers. You do the same.

“Okay”, he whispers.

“Are you doing it?”

“Yes, you?”

“Yes, I’m currently giving your hand a little squeeze.”

Yoongi does it to his own hand and with his eyes closed it almost feels as if you were truly there with him squeezing his hand.

“I can feel it”, he breathes, “I’m caressing your knuckles.”

You caress your own knuckles, shivering because it feels as if he was doing it to you.

“It’s nice, Yoongi”, you whisper, feeling droopy in sleepiness as well.

“Yeah, it’s nice.”

“Good night, Yoongi”, you tell him before it is too late.

“Good night, princess”, he answers you then smiles when he hears you make kissing noises.

“I just smooched your cheek.”

“You’re adorable”, he says and makes a tiny kissing sound as well.

“Where did you kiss me?”

“Don’t know. Forehead or the tip of your nose. I like them both.”

“Then give me another kiss.”

“Mwuah”, he says quietly and oh so cutely.

You giggle, “you’re so cute Yoongi Boongie”, you say, squeezing your own hand oh so tightly.

“You too, princess”, he lulls, his head feels so droopy in sleep.

And so it happens that you and him fall asleep whilst holding your own hands and listening to the other’s changing breathing.

Sunlight is waking you the next morning. You forgot to close the curtains last night and now it is shining right onto your face.

“Mhm”, you let out, opening your eyes and closing them instantly, “ah too bright.”

“Good morning.”

You peel your eyes open.

“Yoongi?” you gasp, lifting your head.

“Hey.”

“Oh my god”, you reach for your phone, checking your display. Eight hours and forty minutes and the time is still going, “you are still here? Good morning.”

“I’m still here. I woke ten minutes ago and waited for you to wake up too.”

“Oh my god, you are so cute. I don’t know what to say”, you feel tingly all over, “did you sleep well?”

“I did. Like a stone.”

“Good. I slept well too, but I’m so hot right now.”

“Why?”

“The sun’s shining right onto my face. It’s too hot. I think I’m going to get sunburned.”

“That’s not good, you should stay in the shadows. Skin cancer is serious.”

You chuckle, “gosh, you sounded like such a dad right now.”

“I did not”, he gasps.

“Yeah, you did”, you giggle, “thank you, Yoongs. I’ll try to stay in the shadows.”

You hear sounds from his side of the phone. It sounds as if he is sitting up and doing something.

“What are you doing?” you ask him.

“Opening the blinds. Ah fuck, it’s so sunny”, he says and groans.

“Is it so bad that it’s sunny?”

“Yeah, hurts and it’s hot. I don’t like the sun.”

“Okay, but it’s only hot because you are always walking around in long black clothes. You’re basically a heat magnet.”

“Hey.”

You snicker, “I’m just teasing you.”

“Whatever, you’re a brat.”

“No, I’m not”, you giggle and sit up as well, rolling out of bed, “do you want to listen to me make breakfast?”

“Sure, what are you making?”

“Mhm, I don’t know yet. My preferred breakfast would be you, but you’re not here so I have to be creative.”

Silence.

“Yoongi?”

“You’re so stupid”, he murmurs, sounding flustered.

You snicker, “did I fluster you right now?”

“No? I never fluster.”

“Of course not. Not you, not at all”, you tease him, which makes him sigh in annoyance.

“I see that sleep has made you playful.”

“Yeah, I slept so well, so I feel good.”

You lock the door behind you and store the key in your shirt’s front pocket. You take on the way to the kitchen.

“Did I tell you already that I also planted so much food?”

“You did?”

“Yeah, outside. In the garden behind the greenhouse. I planted so many fruit plants and lots of vegetables too. But they’re still really small because I started way too late. I have to start in early spring next year.”

“That’s so great, princess. I’m sure you’ll get so much out of them.”

“I really hope so too. I’ll make lots of jam from my berries and then you can try them too.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Just eat it yourself.”

You roll your eyes at him fondly. Of course he would deny you.

“Well, I’ll still feed it to you. Maybe I’ll just put it on my lips and make you kiss me.”

“Princess…” he warns, making you snicker.

“I’m just messing with you again.”

“I know”, he chuckles quietly, “you’re so cute, my princess.”

“You’re cuter, Yoongi Boongie.”

“Mhm, no.”

You smile because he is so adorable.

The kitchen is filled with sunlight. The windows are open and a soft breeze is making the curtains dance. Someone must have opened them. None of the others are here however.

“That’s weird”, you say.

“What’s weird? Are you okay?” Yoongi asks you, voice spilling over in worry.

“Yes, don’t worry. It’s just that the windows are open, but nobody’s in the kitchen.”

“Ah, I see.”

“I’m sure they’re somewhere else.”

“Probably. Do you spend a lot of time with them?”

“These days more, yeah. You know, Tae and I started university again to help Tae take his mind off of things, but we’re on summer break these days.”

“You started university again? Why would you do that to yourselves?”

“I mean, why did you do that yourself last year?” you ask in a chuckle.

“I was only doing that to make sure Namjoon didn’t either kill or turn the entire campus”, he says, very obviously pouty.

“Gosh yes, that makes sense. Is that why you always napped in our human anatomy classes?”

“You remember that?”

“Yeah”, you giggle, “I thought that you were so rude at first.”

“Ah shit, sorry”, he lets out an embarrassed laugh, “I’m embarrassed now.”

“Don’t, it’s okay. I was a rude bitch to you too.”

He chuckles, “no it’s fine. I can still remember when you slammed your books on the table. I’m telling you my princess, I wanted to slam you on that table when you did that. I spent my entire night having to compel the entire rugby team to forget about Namjoon almost killing their captain and then you slam your books on the table.”

“No, don’t tell me that. I didn’t know”, you whine, “gosh Yoongi Boongie, I feel so bad now. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t actually sleeping either way. I don’t do that, you know me.”

“Mh-hm yeah”, you smile, “of course my big, strong Creator doesn’t sleep.”

Silence then a little huff of air.

“Whatever”, he mumbles, kicking his feet in the air at the aspect of being your big, strong Creator. He is resting on his tummy as he does it, grinning to himself.

You giggle, “you’re so cute, Yoongi Boongie. Gosh, I was honestly always asking myself what exactly you were doing all day, but now I know. Did you have to do a lot of work?”

“Yeah. Namjoon’s such an idiot, you know? He and Jimin always caused some sort of ruckus and then I had to clean it up or fix it.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry. That must have been so much work.”

“Yeah”, he whispers, “you know, I saved you from Namjoon once.”

“I know, I’m still so grateful for you. You looked really hot in your mask, by the way. I’m a little sad that I didn’t ask you for a dance back then. Maybe we could have fallen in love magically that night.”

“No, not the masquerade ball.”

“The thing that followed?”

“No, uhm. Nevermind, forget it.”

“Nono, now you have to tell me. What do you mean?”

Yoongi huffs out air in defeat, “I saw you sitting at a park bench with him once. He was touching your thigh and you looked confused and talked about experiencing memory loss, so I made sure that you were safe.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I drove you home and then made sure that you were safe. You acted really out of it and I knew it was because he messed with your mind, this cunt.”

“Wait”, you realise a few things, “do you mean that time I was at the library?”

“Were you at the library before? I saw you sitting on a bench outside the library.”

“Yes exactly. Namjoon made me follow him outside and made me feel as if we were dating. Oh my god, Yoongi”, you gasp, “you saved me again? Once I knew what had happened back then, I always wondered why Namjoon would compel me to go home and sleep it off.”

“No, he was trying to turn you that day. He told me once I confronted him. I told you to go to sleep and think that it was all a dream in order to protect you from our secret.”

“Holy shit. Wow okay, I just felt cold shivers run down my spine. This is so scary to imagine. Yoongi, I could have been a Glutton by now if you hadn’t saved me.”

“Yeah well, I’m sorry I didn’t do so sooner.”

“No. No, you were early. You saved me, thank you so much.”

“I just want to keep you safe.”

“I know and you do. Gosh, now I miss you even more. Yoongi, you are so unfair, you can’t just tell me that you have always been my protector when you’re not here. I want to hug you until you have to physically fight me off.”

He chuckles, “I’m sorry, I know. I don’t know why I told you, it’s so cringe. I never show off with shit like that.”

“You just wanted to impress me, be honest”, you say, finally jumping off the kitchen island to prepare yourself a cup of tea. You have been kicking your feet like a lovedrunk teenager for way too long and you are craving tea.

“Maybe a little”, he confesses, “are you making tea?”

“Can you hear the water cooker?”

“Yeah.”

“Mhm yeah, I’m making tea.”

“That’s good. What kind?”

“Tae got me this really expensive black tea from India and I’ve been drinking it every morning.”

“That sounds very good. Do you like it?”

“Yes, I like it a lot.”

“That’s good to hear. Does he treat you right?”

“He’s still really sad because of what happened to Jimin, so he hasn’t really been the same than he was before, but he is trying.”

“I see. Grieving is the worst.”

“Yes, it is. I’m worried for him, you know?”

“Mhm.”

“I cannot even imagine how it must feel like to lose your best friend after so many centuries together.”

“Yes, it’s hard.”

You pause. You wonder if he agrees with you because he understands how Taehyung feels. After all, there were times where he considered Namjoon to be the closest to a best friend he ever had. He told you so himself.

“Do you want to change topics?” you ask him.

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like our conversation is becoming so sad. Do you want to talk about something else?”

“Yeah, I think I’d like that.”

“Well, then tell me about Kook. How is he doing?”

“He is doing really well”, life returns to Yoongi’s voice.

“Yeah? Really?”

“Mhm, he is making lots of progress. He wanted to go to a club in Berlin a few nights ago because he learned how to kiss humans without biting them. So we went and he kissed a few people. He was really happy that night.”

“Gosh that’s so good to hear. I’m happy for him. You teach him so much, Yoongi Boongie.”

“No, it’s not much.”

“Oh hush now”, you say, preparing your tea as you are talking, “but you in a club, huh? Did you make out with someone too?”

“No of course not, why should I have?” he sounds offended.

“I don’t know, maybe you’re already forgetting about me.”

“Shut up, that’s not funny. I could never”, he grumbles, making you snicker. It was supposed to be a joke, but it still feels really good to finally have the spoken proof that all your insecurities were wrong. He didn’t forget about you yet.

“I’m sorry, gosh, I’m sorry. That was a terrible joke, I admit it.”

“Yeah”, he mumbles and huffs out air, “maybe I’ll make out with someone later though.”

“Now you’re just messing with me”, you say in a cackle.

“Yeah, I am”, he laughs, “it’s not funny, is it?”

“No, gosh let’s never do that again”, you snicker and Yoongi snickers right with you.

You sit back down on the kitchen island, tugging at the thread of your pants leg again.

“Shit, I miss you”, Yoongi says, “I just wanna kiss you, princess.”

“Me too, Yoongi Boongie. It’s so unfair.”

“Yeah, it’s so unfair”, he agrees.

“How long are you still staying in Berlin?”

“Princess, I told you, I can’t take a break.”

“God why?” you whine, “I just want to kiss you, my Yoongi.”

“Me too and then fuck you against a wall.”

“Jesus, don’t say that so casually.”

He chuckles lazily, “sorry, I was thinking about making out with you and let my tongue run lose.”

“Goddamn you, now I’m all hot.”

“Sorry”, he snickers, “you are so cute, it’s fucking unfair.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t pick you up and hold you”, he whines.

“Then come back to me.”

“Princess, stop trying to tempt me”, he warns in a raspy voice. He makes you laugh.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop, I’m sorry.”

The alarm for your tea goes off.

“Is your tea done?” Yoongi asks.

“Yes. The alarm startled me”, you confess, holding our phone with your shoulder as you finish the tea.

Yoongi chuckles. He has his phone on speaker as he is busy putting on his clothes. He knows that he can’t talk to you for long anymore. Responsibilities are waiting for him. He wants to cancel every single one of them and hurry back to you. He really does. He hurries to the bathroom as he listens to you open the fridge and then pour milk into your tea. You stir it. The spoon makes a sound each time it hits the mug. Then he hears you slurp and hum.

“Is it good?” he asks you.

“Yes, really good. It carries a hint of vanilla in its aftertaste. I really like it.”

“That sounds very good. I’m glad you like it.”

“What are you doing?” you ask him, hearing sounds in the background.

“My hair. I have to leave soon.��

“What? Really? Why?” you gasp, “don’t go yet, please.”

“I have to, my princess. I’m meeting up with an old acquaintance who will help me hunt down a few of Namjoon’s followers.”

“I see. I’m so sad now, I don’t want to stop talking to you.”

“Me neither. I want to talk to you all day”, Yoongi says, flustering you greatly.

“You are so cute”, you whisper, eyes flitting to the doorway. The others are entering the kitchen. You give them a nod as a greeting.

“Mhm”, Yoongi hums, “did someone just join you?”

“You can hear that?” you gasp.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, they all joined me. They are saying hi.”

“Tell them I said hi too”, Yoongi says, “hey, princess?”

“Yes, Yoongi?” you ask him, hurrying out of the kitchen for privacy.

“I really have to go now. I’m already running late.”

“Do you really have to go?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“I understand”, you say, huffing out air, “can you promise me to call again really, really soon?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll call you tonight.”

“I would love that. Maybe we could do a video call?”

“I’d love that, my princess”, Yoongi says with an obvious smile in his voice, “but I really gotta go now, Kook’s been knocking since five minutes.”

“Yeah okay, you have to go”, you pout, “gosh Yoongi Boongie, I’ll miss you like crazy all day.”

“Me too, my princess.”

Silence filled with yearning.

“Uhm…I hope you have a good day today”, he whispers.

“Me too and I hope you stay safe”, you say.

“I will. Until tonight.”

“Yes, till tonight. I love you Yoongs.”

“Me too, my princess”, he says and makes kissing noises.

You retort them, giggling which makes Yoongi chuckle fondly.

“Later, my princess.”

“Yeah, later.”

The phone call ends. You look at the screen. Nine hours and twenty minutes. It feels like too little time. Oh how you miss him. But you also feel happy. Yoongi hasn’t forgotten about you yet.

You giggle happily, stroking your finger over the now dark phone screen.

“I’m his princess”, you whisper, wiggling happily, “oh, he is so awesome and cute and amazing”, you say, hurrying back to the kitchen afterwards.

“Good morning guys”, you greet them, picking up where you left off.

“Good morning”, Seokjin greets you, busying himself with making coffee.

“Good morning, sweetest”, Taehyung says, acting as if he was alright by sending you a bright smile.

You turn on the toaster, getting two slices of wholewheat toast ready for their little tan. You also take out butter and the last slices of turkey ham.

“Did you talk to Yoongi?” Hoseok asks, “you were suddenly gone last night and we couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Yeah I did. Sorry, I was in his wing, talking to him”, you say.

“Uuuh all night long?” Hoseok asks, wiggling his brows.

“No, we actually fell asleep and continued the conversation today”, you say and sigh sadly, sagging your shoulders.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just miss him like crazy.”

“I get you. Does he already know when he’ll come back?”

You shake your head, “maybe he’ll take till next Christmas. I don’t know how I should handle that”, you say, plopping down on top the kitchen island next to Hoseok. You lean closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder, “I miss him so much”, you whine.

“Poor ___”, Hoseok says, patting your cheek, “it sucks to be separated from your lover, I get it.”

“Me too”, Seokjin agrees and sags his shoulders sadly, “guys, I can’t give up on Emma yet. I cry everyday because I miss her so much”, he finally confesses.

“Really? What do you want to do?” you ask him, reaching over the counter to hold his hand. It feels good to have him confess his feelings. It means that he is finally ready to accept help.

“I have to leave again and look for her. I don’t want to accept that this was it. That she is just gone”, Seokjin says.

Taehyung sits down on the counter next to him, swinging his legs back and forth mindlessly.

“Do you think that she will want to see you again once you find her?” he asks.

“I can’t think of that yet. I have to find her first.”

“Of course.”

“Where are you going to next?” you ask Seokjin.

“Berlin. I haven’t looked there yet.”

“Berlin? That’s where Yoongi and Kook currently are”, you gasp.

“Wooah, hardcore coincidence”, Hoseok says.

You all exchange a look.

“Okay crazy idea, but what if we all go with Seokjin and surprise them?” Hoseok suggests.

“Hobi! You are a genius!” you exclaim, “are you guys down? Please say that you are down!”

The vampires exchange a look.

“I’m down”, Hoseok says.

“I’d be in Berlin either way, so yeah”, Seokjin agrees.

“Tae?” you ask him, “please?”

“Maybe a change of scenery lessens…the pain”, he says, touching his chest.

Hoseok reaches out to give him a soothing touch.

“You guys are the best! I’ll call Kookie right away and organise the surprise”, you babble, jumping from the counter to hurry out of the kitchen for your phone call.

“Well that was quick”, Hoseok says, “I didn’t think that she’d like the idea so much.”

“I did. I miss Emma like crazy, so I get her”, Seokjin says, turning his attention to Taehyung afterwards. He places his hand on his thigh, “I’m sure that you are right and a change of scenery will do you well.”

“Do you truly think so?” Taehyung asks quietly.

“Yes, I really do”, Seokjin gives him a little smile.

Taehyung retorts it, “thank you. I really hope so too”, he confesses.

“Okay good news you guys”, you enter the kitchen again, “Kook is down for the surprise and he’ll make sure that they’ll stay in Berlin until we arrive. I’m already looking up tickets. Should we go by train or plane? I’d be down for both.”

“I have never seen you be so passionate about anything”, Hoseok teases, which earns him a look from you.

“That’s not true. I’m passionate about many things. Now concentrate. Bus? Plane? Train? Car? What should we do?”

“Okay, okay fine. Let’s plan this trip”, Hoseok gives in with a fond chuckle.

You spend the entire day planning and preparing for your trip to Berlin. Later that night Yoongi calls, painting the brightest smile onto your face. You end up talking until you both fall asleep. Your surprise trip to Berlin you keep from him even if it was terribly hard to do. You are oh so excited to see him again.

250 notes · View notes

aph-america · 3 months

Text

National Anthem - HWS Anthology Zine - SFW Version

In the summer of 1992, Ivan gets sent on a forced vacation to Alfred’s house.

Submission for the 10 year celebration Hetalia World Stars Anthology Zine @hws-anthology Was so happy to be apart of it!

! Warning, the adult version is on my Ao3 !

______

“I’m so happy you’re here!”

An excited voice echoed through the mansion. Ivan was sitting down, legs crossed. A cigarette hanging from his lips, he took it in between his fingers as he inhaled and blew out the smoke. The nicotine sent some relaxation down his stressed body. He had spent the entire plane ride anxious. Hell, he’s spent the last year anxious.

And here he is, sitting upon an overly expensive chair, in the middle of a luxurious home he hasn’t visited in years.

Alfred approached Ivan, with a pep in his step. He had a bright smile, one that lit up the room. Freshly shaven face, perfectly white teeth, and baby blue eyes that were excited. He genuinely seemed thrilled to have Ivan in his house. He took off his suit jacket and put it behind a chair. Alfred walked to Ivan, leaning down to place a kiss on his cheek. He would've kissed his lips but Ivan’s mouth seemed busy with the cigarette.

Ivan didn’t move when he received the kiss. His large, hooded eyes glanced down before meeting Alfred’s baby blues. His tired eyes contrasted with Alfred’s youthful, energetic expression. How Ivan envied Alfred’s full of life energy. He forced a gentle smile, soft lips turning up in the corner.

“I am glad you feel that way… I was dumped on you after all…” Ivan’s voice turned bitter, lifting the cigarette to his lips. A quick inhale followed by more smoke. Alfred playfully fanned it away with his hand, chuckling at Ivan’s response.

“You weren’t dumped on me. I was so happy when Yeltsin called! I was already pretty excited to hear you were coming for the Washington Summit, and now you are staying for the summer…” Alfred's eyes widened with glee, his arms extending. Ivan noted his animated body language. He appeared genuine, and Ivan wouldn’t take that away from him.

‘The entire summer…’ Ivan repeated in his head. It’s been decades since he’s stayed outside his own country for more than a few weeks. The past fifty years his travels were restricted to a time frame. Always expected back in Moscow in at least two weeks, ready to work. And ready to offer any information to his boss.

It wasn’t until the 80’s he got to travel more freely. Less questions on where he’s going, the figurative leash Ivan wore got loose. But now, this was an entirely new situation. His boss had looked him in the eyes and told him he needed a vacation. A break from the chaos surrounding him, and said vacation would be in America, because he had ‘such a good relationship with Alfred’. Nevertheless, Ivan saw right through all of this. Ivan hadn’t been sent on a three month getaway out of the kindness of his boss’s heart. Every act had a motive, including this.

“I think it was a good call for him to let you have a break. Your boss’s are usually so strict and never let you relax. You deserve a few months to pretend you're just some guy named Ivan Braginsky!” Alfred winked, chuckling as he walked to Ivan's suitcase. He gripped the handle, pulling it close to him. “I’m gunna put this in my room, okay?” He said, wearing a smirk as he quickly walked off with his luggage. Alfred had energy Ivan envied.

‘His room…’ Ivan thought to himself. He sighed and took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke leaving his pink lips slowly. He had to think of a way to gently tell Alfred that he’d prefer his own room. He couldn’t recall the last time he shared a bed with someone for months . A few weeks, yes, but months? He’d need a few nights by himself here and there. This is the exact opposite of Alfred, the bubbly extrovert. He could spend every waking moment with Ivan and not feel the same emotional exhaust.

Ivan put out the cigarette in the ashtray and stood up. He felt a pain in his lower back, causing him to stretch and let out a small whine before he followed behind Alfred. He’d been here countless times before and knew where the master bedroom was. His eyes lingered to the rest of the house. Large, luxurious, and decorated beautifully. This home in particular had an antique look to it. Ivan enjoyed the dark wood, velvet furniture, and oil paints that were displayed in the living room. Walking up the staircase, he eyed the details on the railing, and the glass chandelier above their heads.

Although in Ivan’s eyes, it’s unnecessary big. Other than the little girlfriends Alfred would entertain, he lived alone.

Alfred caught Ivan’s eyes wondering. “Heh, beautiful, isn’t it?” He questioned.

“Of course.” Ivan replied.

“Funny since last time you said my house was a ‘gross display of capitalism’.”

“Both things can be true.” Ivan retorted, rolling his eyes. Alfred got a glance of his facial expression and snickered. He took glee in their constant back and forth, more so than Ivan.

Up the stairs and down the hallway, they arrived at Alfred's room. Ivan’s hooded eyes scanned while Alfred pulled his suitcase near the closet.

“I cleared some space in my closet for you!” Alfred’s hand extended towards the walk in closet. “If you need anything, let me know.”

If Ivan hadn’t been emotionally drained, he would have asked to simply put his belongings in one of the spare bedrooms. It would have given him the opportunity to have his own personal space away from Alfred. Nevertheless, the American was keen on keeping them as close to each other as possible. Ivan couldn’t decide if it’s out of clinginess, distrust, or a mix of both.

“Okay…” Ivan let out a defeated sigh, walking to the bed and collapsing. The velvet sheets pressed against his face felt promising of a good night's sleep. He caught himself imagining being in someone’s arms while he slept, but he ended up pushing that thought deep away.

Alfred chuckled at Ivan’s display, getting on the bed with him. Laying next to him, one hand went to his neck tie to loosen it. A raised brow with a smirk placed on his face. “Ha, you’re tired? Didn’t sleep on the plane at all?”

“No, not at all…” in a weak voice Ivan confessed. “I am going to take a nap…” Heavy eyes closed, his body giving in to the chance to rest. He couldn’t be bothered to change out of his clothes. The bed smelled like Alfred, which he found comforting. A fact he despited. His mind blocked any disturbance as he fell asleep.

What was supposed to be a nap turned into an over twelve hour slumber. Sun shining down on his face, his eyes opened to the sight of a bare chest. Surprised, he flinched while his eyes trailed up a tan chest to meet baby blues. He sat up, looking around, confused and disheveled. In his underwear only, and he couldn’t remember changing out of his clothes.

“Mornin’ baby.” Alfred sweetly talked, arms folded behind his head. “You slept for a loooong time.”

Ivan rubbed his eyes, looking around the room. He noticed his clothes on the floor. “I don’t remember getting undressed…”, confusion lingering in his voice.

“You woke up in the middle of the night and just started to take off all your clothes. You were mumbling that you didn’t feel comfortable… And then you went and snuggled against me, it was super cute, man!” Alfred bragged, grinning ear to ear. Ivan’s own cheeks went red as he turned to look away. “Oh, stop lying…” He accused Alfred. Giving Alfred satisfaction through cutesy or needy behavior isn’t his prerogative.

“Heh, I’m not lying… But anyway, speaking of clothes, I was planning on taking you shopping.” Alfred sat up, stretching his arms until he heard a crack. Ivan’s eyes went to his abs, noticing the toned muscle. Alfred caught his staring and patted his abs, “Wanna feel?”

This only caused Ivan’s face to burn harder, his eyes rolling as he shook his head. He didn’t understand why his eyes had lingered, it only brought embarrassment. Ivan couldn’t let Alfred swoon him, let him win whatever game Ivan had imagined in his mind.

“Why do I need new clothes? My clothes are fine.” Ivan stated, raising a brow.

“Eh, if you’re gunna be here all summer, you’ll stick out a lot…” Alfred attempted to approach the topic with grace, at first. He looked to the side, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

“Why would I stick out?!” The statement felt like an attack in Ivan’s head.

“How do I say this nicely… You dress like an old, sad, gay, Soviet bookkeeper.”

Ivan scoffed, officially offended.

“Also, you’re super tall. If you don’t want people to notice who you are, you gotta dress a little less… Soviet …”

____________________________________________________________________

“I told you Alfred, I don’t like jeans, they are uncomfortable.” Ivan said, shaking his head as he held up the pair of Levi jeans picked out for him. Picky and dismissive, he couldn’t stand the idea of wearing a pair. It’s all so American.

“You don’t like Soviet jeans. Ours is better because we use way more cotton than yours.” Alfred explained, pulling at the jeans to prove their stretchiness. “Soviet jeans barely use enough cotton.”

Ivan’s face twisted into annoyance, as he began to defend the reason. “We have rations for cotton. We cannot use it just for fashion…”

“Yeah, we don’t have fucking cotton rations, sugar.” Alfred spat back, leaning into his ear. Ivan could hear Alfred’s smirk; it made him want to vomit. “We don’t live like it’s still World War II.” The air of condensation of Alfred’s voice irritated Ivan. Alfred could care less if he offended Ivan; the Russian had nothing to say back. Nothing that mattered at least.

“... I wonder how you get such a cheap abundant supply of cotton-” Ivan attempted at a comeback, but Alfred quickly cut him off.

“Save it for your manifesto.” Alfred sighed, walking back to the chair in the dressing room. Sitting down, he leaned back and took in a deep breath to relax. He’s not in the mood to argue with Ivan over ideals that he found silly.

“Now, just try them on. Just once, for me?” Alfred’s voice went from exhausted to sweet. A soft smile on his face, he used it to butter up Ivan. There had to be sugar thrown into his offensive and condescending commentary.

Ivan wanted to say no, but emotional exhaustion got the best of him. Putting the jeans down on a chair, he undid the dress pants he had on. Once they were pushed down, he could feel Alfred’s gaze on him. He didn’t dare to look, as acknowledging it would cause Alfred to be cocky and let a slick comment slip from his lips. He could already hear “But you’re so hot, how can I not stare?” In Alfred’s boastful tone.

Grabbing the Levi’s, Ivan put his legs through them. He had to jump to get them past his hips, and a snicker hit his ears. Ivan rolled his eyes, buttoning it together. Standing straight, he looked at himself in the full length mirror. He looked…

“Yeah, those look so good!” Alfred praised, his smile wide as he watched Ivan. It was an award to see Ivan in jeans; a piece of clothing Ivan swore he’d never own. To Ivan, jeans were a symbol of America and its capitalism. Consumerism, all the aspects of the West he hated. And while his country had embraced the free market and all its commodities, Ivan still attempted to keep his original communist values. That fashion was bourgeois and decadent, an obsession of the West. Clothing shouldn’t be used as a status symbol, but those values were hanging by a thread. He adored how the soft denim fit his body, but couldn’t bear to admit it to Alfred.

“... They look fine…” Ivan said quietly, turning his hips to check himself out in the mirror. The black turtleneck was fitted, as his entire outfit let the viewer see his figure. He had a tendency of wearing baggy sweaters, long coats, and ill-fitted dress pants due to the size of his hips.

“Fine? Baby, they look great. Better than what the fuck you usually are wearing…”

“Don’t call me baby!” Ivan snapped back, his hands balled into fist out of frustration. “And try not to insult me constantly.”

“First of all, you love that I call you baby.”

“No, I do not-“

“Second of all, I love you but… I don’t even think it’s you being a Commie with how you dress, I think it’s just a you thing.”

Ivan took a deep sign before turning around to face the mirror. “I know you hate how I dress, you don’t need to throw it in my face how ugly you think my clothes are…” he complained, a hint of hurt in his voice.

Alfred sighed and attempted to repair the situation. He had a habit of having zero filter, which conflicted with Ivan’s more modest talk. Standing up, he calmly walked over and placed his hands on Ivan’s hips. Standing behind him, Ivan’s expression would have been out of view if it wasn’t for the mirror.

“I just think that you hate your body, so you try to hide it through clothes. That’s all.”

Ivan couldn’t help but to pout, as he had no response. Constant talk of how much he hated his figure, there’s no point in denying it. But he despised giving Alfred any props for being correct.

“… I like the turtleneck.”

“Get it, and get another color too.”

______________________________________________________________

“I’m glad you took my suggestions, you really look great!” Alfred boosted, grinning as he watched Ivan. After their shopping trip, they explored and went out to eat. Alfred insisted they go out for dinner as well, but Ivan pleaded that they stay in, as he felt jet lagged still. He had changed his outfit to one Alfred had bought him. The American sported a smirk the entire time.

Ivan smiled softly, turning his head to look at Alfred. “Thank you.” He took the compliment, agreeing that he did look dashing. Nevertheless, he’s cautious to admit it.

“Wanna cuddle and watch T.V.? I can throw a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner later.” Alfred asked, expanding his arms. Ivan chuckled and nodded, “Sure, why not.” He agreed, following behind Alfred. His eyes wandered as they went up the stairs. “Thank you for taking me out and showing me D.C… It was nice…” Ivan stated, truthful. Alfred had a habit of spoiling, and it’s challenging for a man like Ivan to get used too. But he saw the love behind it, and is aware that it’s Alfred’s love language.

Alfred’s head turned, matching the smile Ivan had. “Of course… Anything for you.” He spoke truthfully, pleased to receive any compliments from Ivan. Once they were in the room, Alfred remembered how thrilled he is for the next few months.

“I’m so excited for you to figure out where you wanna go after the Summit.” Alfred said, sitting on his bed. In a week, Ivan’s boss would come to meet with him regarding aid and future plans. Alfred promised to take Ivan anywhere in the country for a week or two afterwards. Going back and forth between different locations and D.C. were Alfred’s plans for the both of them.

Ivan shrugged, glancing around the room. His eyes went to all the gadgets and possessions Alfred had. In fear of being viewed as materialistic, he held back interest in such items. “Like I said, I really don’t mind where we go… You can just… take me where you think we’d have fun…”

“But that’s so many places, Ivan!” Alfred exclaimed, laughing boastfully. “America has so many great places, babe. Don’t worry, we’ll figure out where to go.” He reassured.

Ivan snorted, leaning against the wall. He crossed his arms, his eyes lingering to a watch Alfred had on a dresser. “I just… take everyone to either Moscow or Saint Petersburg…” His previous bosses were strict on where he could have peers visit.

“Yeah, but Russia has a lot of other cool places, right?” Alfred complemented. His eyes watched Ivan’s, noticing him staring at the watch. “Wanna try that watch on? It’s a Rolex.” He offered.

Ivan twitched and shook his head, embarrassed that his staring had been noticed. “No, no, it is fine.”

“Are you sure? You can have it if you want. I have like, a lot.” Alfred laughed, shrugging. He’d hand over any material possession to Ivan if he so much as showed interest.

“I own a watch. It is somewhere in my bag… It tells time. It works.” Ivan stated, sighing as he crossed his arms. It isn’t a fancy watch, but he cherished it since a human he’s fond of gifted it to him years ago. “Not a fan of luxury watches…” Ivan whispered to himself. Nevertheless, Alfred of course still heard him.

“Why not? I think they look cool.” Alfred stated, tilting his head. He adored watches, and had amassed a collection too many to count.

“Watches are for telling time. Not as status symbols.” Ivan bluntly stated. He couldn’t hold back his opinion, even if Alfred would have a snarky comment to say.

“Oh my god…” Alfred groaned, rolling his eyes. He got up from the edge of the bed and went to the side. Sitting back down, he hunted for a cigarette and lighter in his pocket. “Are we still doing this?” he asked. Finding the cigarette and lighter, he lit it and took a drag. He leaned back against the bed, eyebrow raised.

“Doing what?” Ivan asked, shaking his head.

“This act.” Alfred used his free hand to make a circle motion in the air.

“What act?” Ivan questioned, his voice defensive.

“This commie act.” Alfred stated, his expression not amused.

“Excuse me?!” Ivan scoffed. He isn’t going to let Alfred get away with such a response. This isn’t the first time Alfred had made a similar comment, questioning his morals and integrity.

“Yeah, you heard me. This ‘I’m too good to wear jeans’ act.” Alfred used his fingers to make quotations. “Your boss isn’t going to throw you in jail for liking pretty things anymore… We can drop it now.” Another drag, Alfred thought Ivan had begun to deprogram himself from Communism. He’s discovering that those beliefs were still ingrained somewhere.

Ivan blinked, appalled but not surprised. “I am sorry, do you think my morals and beliefs are an ‘act’?” He questioned, raising a brow with a disgusted expression on his face.

“A little bit, sometimes.” Alfred confessed with a lack of shame. “Communism is dead, the Soviet Union died with it, why are you still talking like a mouth piece for the CPSU?” He looked around, faking a confused expression. “When is it going to end!” He dramatically cried out, rolling his eyes.

Ivan stood in silence for a moment. He had to deal with Alfred’s little jabs all day, and they were getting to him. Only for so long could Ivan be insulted on his status as a nation and values from Alfred. His heart racing from anger, he attempted to control himself. For now.

“When is the act of you being an arrogant asshole going to end?” Ivan spat out, tilting his head. His voice is tense, but quiet. He rarely yelled and kept it that way. He handled a desire to yell by going quieter in his tone. “When is that going to end?” He clenched his teeth, his fingers digging into his forearm.

Alfred took no offense to being called an asshole. “Yeah, I’m an asshole for living in reality.” Another drag from his cigarette, he sat up. Ready to argue, they both had this problem. The pair could go from lovey-dovey, to attacking each other at a split second. A cycle that plagued their relationship for the past few decades.

“Communism doesn’t work. Let it go.” The harshness in Alfred’s voice triggered Ivan. The American kept up an act of being happy and go-lucky, but Ivan knew the real Alfred. He could just as easily be cut throat, rude, and arrogant.

Ivan closed his eyes. He snorted, shaking his head at Alfred’s carelessness with his feelings. “You… Are…” Ivan fought to find the words to describe his emotions. His pause is taken advantage of by Alfred.

“Right? Yes, yes I am. I’m glad you finally are admitting it.” Alfred said in a calm voice, taking another drag. Ivan wanted to punch the smugness off his face, but he barely had the energy to argue. He’s tired. Emotionally and physically, in every way. The usual back and forth they’d do, he’s lost on the words for a comeback.

“Alfred…” Ivan began to speak, opening his eyes. Suddenly, without a warning, his throat dried up. A lump formed and he fought by tears. Swallowing it, he took a deep breath and held it together. For the moment at least.

“I get it. You think Communism is stupid…” Ivan took another breath, looking to the side. He’s tired, truly is.

“You think my ideals and beliefs are stupid. I get it. You won.” He emphasized. His teeth clenched, holding back the urge to scream. “The Soviet Union ended. The Berlin Wall fell. Everyone wants to join NATO…” He listed off, walking slowly towards the bed. “My economy is in shambles, my government is in ruins, there’s no food on the shelves… Thugs are running the streets…” Ivan let out a sad laugh, shrugging and shaking his head in defeat. “I couldn’t compete with the free market… I get it. I get it… I get it all, so please, it would be nice…” He inhaled, feeling out of breath as he wanted to shout on the top of his lungs. Repeating all the terrible things that had gone on in his homeland since the introduction of capitalism broke his heart.

“It would be nice…” His voice cracked, as he couldn’t hold back anymore. “If you didn’t throw it in my face constantly! I get it Alfred! I get it!” He yelled, shaking his hands above his head. It wasn’t overly loud, but it’s loud enough to be unusual for him. Fighting back tears, he took additional deep breaths. It’s a battle to deal with Alfred’s mix of love bombing and constant degrading comments. How is he supposed to cope with one minute Alfred expressing his love, and another relaying back all his failures to his face?

Alfred sighed, eyes expression appearing tired. It hid the shock of hearing Ivan yell. Perhaps he’d gone too far, he was simply annoyed in the moment. His lack of filter bit him in the ass. Aware that he needed to change his approach, he knew just how.

“Listen, I- I’m sorry. I love you. Come sit next to me, baby. Please?” Alfred’s tone changed to gentle and sincere, a contrast to earlier.

“Don’t call me baby! And no, I’m leaving!” Ivan yelled, anger and pain in his voice as he turned on his heels and headed towards the door. His heart raced, the pounding in his chest made it hard to breathe.

“Nobody loves you like I do, so why are you trying to leave?” Alfred kept his voice calm, knowing that yelling would trigger Ivan more. He needed his lover to cool down and feel less attacked. When Ivan feels defenseless, he’s the type to flee.

The statement had Ivan pause, his chest tingling for the first time in a while. He gave into the urge of defending himself against Alfred’s manipulative words. “That’s not true. You don’t love me.” His tone hurt as he shook his head. Ivan had enough awareness to know that statement isn’t true, but debuffing Alfred’s claims of love were his only defense at the moment.

“That’s a fucking lie dollface and you know it.” Alfred retorted, taking a drag from his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray next to him. His expression unamused, he changed it to a more sympathetic look.

“Name someone who would have happily taken you in for months? Who? I was so fucking happy when your boss called. All I could think was how I’d get to wake up next to you everyday, all summer. Who else loves you like that? Who else wants to be around you like that?” Alfred raised a brow as his manipulative speech was presented as a declaration of love. “Other than your weird ass sister… Who loves you, like I do?”

Ivan had nothing to say, his mouth opened but no words left. No names came to mind. Not even Yao, they were on rocky terms at the moment. Ivan lacked an argument, and he despised it. No comeback to Alfred’s mind games.

Ivan backed up, his eyes wide. He shook his head, as if he’s shaking out Alfred’s words from his mind. “No, no… I’m not falling for this again…” Ivan whispered, talking to himself more so than Alfred.

“You aren’t falling for anything, because it’s the truth.” Alfred replied, shaking his head back. “Listen, I’m sorry. You’re stressed out and tense, and I’ve made it worse. Let me make it up to you, you need it.” Alfred offered a soft smile, tilting his head as he pointed to the other side of his bed.

Ivan’s breath hitched as he backed up again. Shaking his head more, he fought back the temptation of being in his arms. The idea of having a warm embrace around him, the allure of being loved. But to him, it’s a fantasy that he needed to escape.

“You don’t know what I need.” Ivan replied, returning to walking towards the door. Alfred is getting inside his head, and he’s desperate to leave.

“I do, because I know you, baby. I know that even though you tower over most people, and have to be strong and cold in nearly every aspect of your life- you wanna feel loved.”

That statement made Ivan freeze in his tracks. His eyes lingered at the doorknob, but he couldn’t find the strength to grip it and walk out. Alfred didn’t have to look at him to know.

“No one’s gentle with you, but I’m gentle with you. I love you. I’m sorry for being such an asshole earlier. You’re right… I… I don’t want to fight, baby, please. Just sit next to me.” Alfred pleaded. Ivan stayed in his spot, his mind and body at war on what to do. Alfred is being kind, but Ivan had a gut feeling that this was all an act. That Alfred desired to pacify him rather than genuinely make up for such arrogant behavior.

“I love you. You’re breaking my heart, don’t leave.” Alfred pouted, leaning back against the headboard. He didn’t want to have to get out of bed and chase after him. He’d do it, but he rather have his moody love come back to him.

A guilty sensation grew in Ivan’s chest. “You are the one breaking my heart by being so cruel…” Ivan replied, standing up for himself.

“And I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.” Alfred pleaded, lifting up the blanket to reveal the empty spot next to him. “I promise I will if you let me.”

Ivan stared at the bed. He had several choices. He could leave, and teach Alfred a lesson. It would be in vain since he knew Alfred wouldn’t change as a person any time soon. Or he could give in. Sit next to him and forget this argument happened. His pride desired revenge, and hated the concept of rewarding Alfred. Who would he be if he ran into his arms? Is it weak?

‘I love you.’

‘No one loves you like I do.’

‘You’re breaking my heart.’

Alfred’s words echoed in Ivan’s mind. Such rare phases, they stuck out when said to him. And the only person who did was Alfred.

‘I’m gentle with you.’

Ivan felt so tired. His body ached, and his heart hurt. He looked at Alfred’s face, and the idea of turning his back on such a smile began to torment him.

“Please?” Alfred begged, looking like a puppy who’s just been kicked.

Ivan rolled his eyes, sighing but still walking over. He couldn’t stand this. But yet he sat next to Alfred on his bed. The mattress creaked when he sat down.

“Fine. You want to make it up to me? How so?” Ivan asked, placing his hands on his waist. His expression annoyed but had softened.

Read the rest here on Ao3! Warning it is adult content!

#aph russia #aph america #amerus #rusame #hws russia #hws america #hws anthology #hws anthology zine #aph fanfiction #Alfred f jones #ivan braginsky #so happy to been able to work on it!

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steddieas-shegoes · 10 months

Note

Hello my love! ❤️

I would LOVE to see what you could do with a 4th of July prompt, especially considering the trauma Starcourt brought!

(For some godforsaken reason it’s the FIRST of July and there’s a whole-ass fireworks show in my neighborhood because I live in the pits of Conservative American South so. That’s… fun. Honestly the fireworks don’t bother me I just don’t understand why it ends up being a week-long celebration. 😂)

I feel your pain my star ✨ Where I live is the same way pretty much the whole week. It’s very “god, guns, and country” where I live so I am very grateful to be in the mountains this whole week 😂

- - -

Steve wouldn’t admit it, but his nerves about July 4th had gotten almost unbearable in the last week.

The amount of people hoarding fireworks on their porch was enough to make him want to run away.

And of course, most people started on the 3rd and continued until they ran out of supplies.

He arranged to stay with Eddie for the week, knew if he had someone who could hold him through it all he’d probably be okay.

Robin didn’t have the same problem as him, was even planning on attending a fireworks show with her parents in Indy.

When he heard some going off down the road from the trailer, he flinched, his whole body curling against Eddie.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. They won’t do a whole lot tonight. I’ve got ya.”

Eddie was right, they only lasted about five minutes, but it felt like the longest five minutes of Steve’s life.

He relaxed into Eddie’s chest, knew he would fall asleep soon with the way Eddie was playing with his hair.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Steve tensed for a moment.

“About what?”

“Last year. Why you hate fireworks so much. Any of it.”

Steve could say no. Eddie would drop it and pretend he didn’t ask if that’s what Steve wanted.

But Steve wanted to be honest with him, especially because Eddie had always been honest with him.

“It’s just like, my brain can’t just hear fireworks anymore, ya know? It hears the way Robin was begging to be let go, and the way I felt like I was going to die because I had to protect her and the kids. It reminds me that I was so concussed, I barely remembered the 24 hours after I got out. It reminds me how much we all lost that night. Every single firework going off is a reminder that we don’t always win.”

Eddie’s arms tightened around him, his lips softly pressed against the top of his head.

“I know I wasn’t there and can’t imagine what it was like, but you made it out. You may not have won, but you didn’t lose everything. You all grew closer, you got Robin!”

“And head trauma, don’t forget the head trauma.”

Steve and Eddie both laughed, though Steve still felt too on edge, too close to crying.

Eddie could tell from the way he held himself against him that words weren’t going to help, not now.

But a distraction might.

“You wanna go to my room?”

“You trying to distract me?”

“I’m not opposed to distracting you without our clothes on.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. Best distraction in town according to the locals.”

“How many locals have been in your bed?”

“Just you, sweetheart.”

“Well, I guess the locals are right then. You are a good distraction.”

It wasn’t really a fix, but it was a bit of a band aid, especially on the 4th.

But Steve barely heard anything in town with Eddie whispering everything he wanted him to do, and everything he loved about him in his ear as he touched and kissed every inch of his skin to help him stay focused here instead of the past.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #headcanon #mentions of PTSD #hey just saying ptsd symptoms are not cured by sex or a good partner #but they can help and since this is just a headcanon we can assume that steve is still very much struggling #okay thanks just needed that little side note

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nwjn-z · 10 months

Text

candy hearts [smau]

[09]

You close your phone just as the bells ring. You take a deep breathe before making your way up to Kyle,

“Hey” you say with a smile in attempt to conceal your nerves.

“Oh hey! Follow me I’ll show you were my car is.” he says returning your smile while you follow him out of class.

“Thanks again for helping me with my notes I really appreciate it”

“No problem it’s my pleasure”, his words make you feel a heat rise to your face but you pretend not to notice.

“So uh I heard your going to my friends party? Stan’s that is.” Kyle states,

“Oh yeah, I don’t usually go to things like that but I want to be there for my friend so…”, you trail off feeling more nervous than usual, was it always this hot?

“That’s nice, and plus it’s a good way to get familiar with everyone.” he says.

“Yeah”

As Kyle leads you to his car you start to feel a lot more nervous than before, the reality of the situation sinking in.

You were about to be driven home by a boy.

When you reach Kyle’s car he opens the passenger door for you

“Thanks.” Is all you’re able to muster before getting inside. Kyle just nods and makes his way to the drivers side.

“Dark Meadows right?” Kyle asks when he gets in the car.

“Y-yeah” you stutter, was this really happening?

“Gotcha” he states.

The drive to your house was quite lengthy considering your neighbourhood is on the other side of town from school.

During the drive you couldn’t help but notice the way Kyle kept looking at you, you’d be a liar if you said it didn’t make you anxious.

“Is he judging me?”

“Do I look weird?”

“Maybe I smell bad! Oh god what am I gonna do?!”

“Hey we’re here.” Kyle’s words snap you out of your thoughts and back to reality.

“Oh uh follow me.” You step out the car and make your way up to your door step. Kyle does as told and follows along.

“Woah nice house” he says in awe of the large abode.

“Thank you” you say in response as you unlock the door and lead him inside.

“Your parents still at work?” He asks

“Oh I live alone my parents are back in my hometown.” You state blankly as if was the most normal thing ever.

“WHAT?! I’m sorry I mean what do mean you live alone, you’re just in high school that’s kinda crazy.” Kyle says, being bewildered by what he’s hearing.

“Yeah well my parents think it will be good for me besides even when I did live with them it always felt like I was living alone anyway with my parents being so busy working and all.” You say matter a factly.

“Wow I’m sorry, if you don’t mind me asking what do your parents do?” He asks

“Both of them are business owners and are often overseas for work.”

“And do you have any siblings?”

“Yeah I have a younger brother and we were close when we were little, since we kinda only had each other, but we’ve drifted apart.” You say feeling sullen over not being as close with your brother.

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what it’s been like for you I mean I wouldn’t know what to do without my parents.” He tells you with the upmost sincerity.

“It’s fine plus it’s nice having my own place and not having my parents tell me what to do or my brother annoying the hell out of me is pretty nice.” you say lightheartedly.

“Tell me about it, you know I have a little brother too and he can be such a pain” Kyle responds with a chuckle.

You can’t help but giggle as well, “But you can’t help still loving him to death”, you say with a warm smile

“Of coarse” he says returning your smile.

You make your way up to your room and pull out your notes and textbooks on your desk while Kyle does the same. You sit down and wait for him to start, stomach fluttering as you watch him roll up his sleeves as he is about to begin.

“What about the notes are you having trouble with?” He asks.

“Im not sure which parts of the passage we are supposed to take notes on, she never specified.” you respond.

“Oh okay let me show you.” He shifts closer to you and start flipping through your book to find the page to show you. You can smell his cologne. It smells nice you think.

“Here it is.” He tells you, face mere inches from yours.

“All of the passage is important really but you only need to write down key sentences from paragraphs one, two, five, and eight.” He explains.

You listen attentively as he guides you on how to determine which parts of each paragraph are the most necessary. You pick up quickly and begin writing.

“Wow you’re a fast learner.” He tells you with a small smirk that makes your face flush with embarrassment.

“Well you’re a good teacher.” You respond innocently not realising how flirtatious your tone was. Now Kyle’s own embarrassment matched yours as he stutters out a thank you.

Kyle’s confidence dwindles as the minutes go by being so close to you. The close proximity of you two has let him further study you in a way he was unable to before that made his heart skip a beat.

He noticed the way you bite your lip when concentrated, how you lean into him when asking a question, and the way you bat your lashes while looking up at him waiting for a response. He became more obsessed by the second.

“Hey what time is it?” Your words snap Kyle out his trance “Oh it’s 6:25… HOLY SHIT ITS 6:25?!” Kyle blurts out, “Oh god I was supposed to be home an hour ago!” he says as he looks at all his mothers missed calls and texts freaking out.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry I kept you here so long!” You say worried it was your fault for him loosing track of time.

“Oh no you’re good it just completely slipped my mind but I do have to get going now…” he says.

“Okay! But before you go thank you so much again for helping me.” You state

“Don’t sweat it you can ask me for help anytime.” He says with a reassuring smile.

You bid your goodbyes until the next day and he makes his way downstairs to head home. But as he heads to the front door he noticed a sparkling orange outfit sprawled out on your couch. “Is that a broncos cheer uniform?” He thinks. After a couple of second he realises what you have the costume for

Stan’s party.

In that moment his face turns beat red thinking about you in the skimpy outfit.

His drive back home was spent with an uncomfortable tightness in his pants.

“Oh god I’m just like Kenny!” Is all Kyle can think for the rest of the day.

masterlist

TAGLIST IS OPEN.

@c1rice , @cyberrmishh , @ja3s3sin4life , @lacunaanonymoused

#🎬 — nwjn z!#south park #kyle broflovski #kyle broflovski x reader #south park x reader #candy hearts series ☆

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bloody-bee-tea · 6 months

Text

BeeTober 2023 Day 18 - Tackle

Suguru isn’t entirely sure how it happens. One moment they are in their usual groove during a fight and the next moment Suguru sees one of the curses aim for Satoru from his blind spot.

There’s not enough time to think, not enough time to remember that Satoru is basically invincible these days and before Suguru knows it, he’s moving. He knows he’s going to be fast enough the moment he pushes away from the ground and even though that means he’s going to take a–probably devastating–hit, there is nothing but relief that Satoru is going to be safe.

Suguru collides with Satoru just in time to tackle him out of the way and the last thing he hears before everything erupts into pain is a panicked “Suguru!”. After that, there’s nothing but darkness.

~*~*~

Suguru wakes up to an ache in his side that almost borders on outright pain. He takes a moment to breathe in and out, trying to get used to it, before he opens his eyes. He is, of course, met with the clinical ceiling of the medical room and really, with his side hurting like that it shouldn’t be a surprise.

It still is, somehow, until Suguru remembers just what happened.

“Satoru,” he breathes out, because he doesn’t know what happened after he got hit, after he lost consciousness and the thought that Satoru still might have gotten hurt is enough to force Suguru into a sitting position.

“I really wouldn’t do that yet,” comes Shoko’s voice from behind him and when Suguru whips his head around in surprise everything goes dark for a moment.

He’s clearly not at his best at the moment.

“Shoko,” he whispers, once the spots that dance in front of his eyes are gone. “Where’s Satoru?”

“You’re such an idiot,” she says, and there’s more emotion in her voice than Suguru is really used to. “You should really care more for yourself instead of him,” she chides him and Suguru grimaces.

“What’s the damage then?” he sighs out, because clearly it must be bad if he’s still here and subjected to her care.

“The damage is that you’re a stupid idiot,” Satoru’s voice rings out and Shoko rolls her eyes before she vanishes to god knows where, leaving Suguru to suffer under Satoru’s furious glare alone.

“You’re okay,” he still can’t help but to whisper under his breath but he flinches when Satoru’s glare goes even more murderous, if that’s even possible.

“And you probably think that’s because of you, dipshit, but news flash, I’m the strongest. Of course I’m okay. I’m always okay.”

He seems genuinely furious and Suguru busies himself with laying back down, if only so he can escape that gaze for a moment. Or at least pretend to.

“I’m glad,” Suguru gasps out once he managed to return to a reclined position, though even that brought cold sweat to his forehead.

He really must have been hit hard if he still feels this badly.

“Well, I’m not,” Satoru bites out and if Suguru still had the energy for it, he’d probably flinch.

“I don’t understand–” Suguru starts because he’s at a loss as to what could make Satoru this angry.

“What’s there not to understand?” Satoru interrupts him. “I’m the strongest. I do not get hurt. I am untouchable. I am invincible. I certainly do not need help from the likes of you.”

His words sting worse than whatever left-over pain he has from his injury and Suguru can’t quite manage to meet Satoru’s eyes anymore. Of course he’d be angry. Suguru basically implied that he is weak by budging in and taking that hit for him and Satoru always prides himself on being the strongest. Of course he wouldn’t take kindly to what Suguru did, no matter if it came from a place of worry.

“I’m sorry,” Suguru somehow manages to get out and Satoru huffs in a way that makes Suguru’s stomach turn.

He has seen Satoru this angry a few times but never before had that anger been directed at him. It’s not a nice feeling at all, Suguru finds.

“You better be,” Satoru snaps out, his voice shaking with how angry he is and Suguru wonders if things would be better if he fell unconscious again.

Since that is not something he can do on command, though, he chooses the next best thing.

“I’m tired,” he mutters, but is stopped by a sharp pain in his side when he tries to turn his back to Satoru.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” Satoru mutters under his breath and Suguru flinches with the reminder that he’s no match at all for Satoru.

He doesn’t even remember the last time Satoru truly needed to sleep and of course this is just one more thing that makes Suguru look weak in his eyes. Before Suguru can even try to come up with anything else to say, Satoru disappears between one blink and the next, clearly too impatient to get away from Suguru to simply walk out on him.

Suguru didn’t know it could hurt this much to have someone teleport out on him.

Sleep does seem like the better option in face of that, and to his own surprise it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep at all.

~*~*~

When he wakes up the next time it’s to Shoko standing next to his bed instead of Satoru.

“Morning,” he grumbles out, still more asleep than awake and Shoko gives him a look.

“Evening, actually,” she informs him and then watches as he struggles to sit up, not even lifting a finger to help him.

“When can I leave?” he pants out once he finally manages to sit properly and the look increases.

“You nearly died twice over, I don’t think leaving should be on your agenda for now. You can count yourself lucky that I managed to stitch your arm back on.”

“I–nearly lost my arm?” he asks and looks down at his torso. He doesn’t see much, of course, with the shirt he’s wearing, but it would explain the pain, actually.

“Nearly is generous,” Shoko shoots back and then rattles off a downright staggering list of injuries he sustained when he took that hit for Satoru.

Suguru can indeed count himself lucky that he’s still alive.

“How did I get back here?” Suguru asks, still trying to wrap his head around just how close he came to dying.

“Gojo. He teleported right into the room, clutching you to his chest.”

“He can’t do long distance teleportation,” Suguru mutters, because it’s one of the few things Satoru still struggles with.

“He can when it comes to you,” Shoko instantly replies and Suguru flinches with her words.

It’s just another reminder that he’s not nearly as strong as Satoru, but Suguru guesses Satoru will at least be grateful to him for making him learn that.

“So, when can I leave then?” he asks again, because staying here is not something he wants to do.

Shoko regards him for a long minute before she sighs.

“There’s a tray in the room next door I need. Get that to me without having to sit down and you’re free to leave,” she tells him and just by her tone Suguru knows that he’s not going to make it.

Still, he has to try.

By the time he’s on his feet, he’s drenched in sweat, his entire side is screaming at him and his knees feel like jelly. Shoko clearly has no sympathy for him.

“I’m gonna make it,” Suguru grits out and Shoko huffs out a disbelieving laugh.

“Sure. Don’t break something when you faceplant into the ground,” she tells him with a wave as she leaves the room.

Suguru is almost thankful that now there won’t be witnesses when he does exactly that. Still, he clenches his teeth and shuffles forward. He’s not going to stay in this room for a day longer, not if he can help it.

He refuses to acknowledge the fact that his stubborn–and possibly stupid–desire is entirely born out of the urge to prove to himself and Satoru that he’s not as weak as Satoru clearly deems him to be because that is only going to make him spiral.

Suguru thought they were friends. Equals, even, as much as anyone can be that with Satoru. And maybe even–Suguru cuts himself off there, because that is absolutely something he does not need to think about right now. Satoru’s derision for him was more than clear earlier. Suguru pushes that thought away too and instead focuses on shuffling through the room, always keeping a hand on the wall; it’s not as if Shoko told him to not do that, and he’ll take any advantage he can get, no matter how small it might be.

Somehow he makes it to the door besides his like this, knees wobbling, sweat rolling down his face, hand shaking where it’s steadying him against the wall. It’s barely a victory but Suguru will take it. He does not think about the way back.

He pushes the door open, leaning on the handle to keep his balance but when he sees what’s inside, he freezes up completely.

Satoru is draped over a bed, a TV stashed in the corner, his clothes flung around the room as if he’s been living here for months.

This doesn’t add up.

“Have you been hurt?” is the first thing out of his mouth and it would almost be comical how fast Satoru shoots up from the bed if Suguru wasn’t so worried. “Satoru, have you been hurt?” he asks again, more insistent this time when Satoru fails to answer him and he knows he shouldn’t, knows that Satoru is just going to take it as another offence against himself but Suguru can’t help himself.

He needs to know if Satoru got hurt.

“No,” Satoru finally gets out and Suguru almost stumbles where he stands. “Are you allowed to be up? Shouldn’t you be laying down or something?”

Right, because he’s too weak to even stand on his own, Suguru bitterly thinks.

“I just–Shoko said–what are you even doing here?” he finally asks because he can’t understand what Satoru is doing here if he hasn’t been hurt. “Did you burn your room down?”

It’s the only other thing that makes sense to Suguru but Satoru only glares at him.

“I did not.”

“Then what–”

“You should sit down,” Satoru interrupts him and carries a chair over to where Suguru is still standing in the middle of the doorway. “Sit.”

“I can’t,” Suguru faintly says, even though there is nothing else he wants to do more. “Shoko says I can only leave if I make my way back without having to sit and I really want to leave.”

“You’re an idiot,” Satoru mutters and puts a hand to Suguru’s shoulder.

Suguru is ashamed to admit that even that faint weight is enough to make his knees buckle.

“Fuck,” he whispers when he heavily sits down on the chair, because there is no way in hell Shoko is going to let him leave now. Suguru is so not looking forward to spending another night here.

Speaking of–

“How long has it been? Shoko didn’t say.”

“A week,” Satoru says, his voice barely audible in the room and Suguru almost chokes on nothing.

“A week,” he wheezes out because even with how serious his injuries were he didn’t expect that.

“A week,” Satoru repeats and Suguru can’t quite place the emotion in his voice. Before he can puzzle over it more, though, Shoko’s steps ring out behind him and Suguru groans.

“You’re staying then,” she says when she sees them, a pointed look at the chair Suguru is sitting on. “And you,” she continues as she glares at Satoru, “get the hell out of my hair. He’s alive, what more do you want? I’m sick of having you live here.”

She doesn’t wait for either of them to answer before she walks away and Suguru can do nothing but stare after her before he slowly turns back to Satoru.

“Live here? Why would you live here?”

“I don’t,” Satoru lies and Suguru pointedly looks around the room; the very lived-in room and he can’t quite hide his confusion when Satoru goes red in the face. “This is not about me,” he then hisses. “This is about you and your stupidity.”

“I already said I’m sorry,” Suguru snaps out. “What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to stop being this stupid! I’m invincible! No one and nothing can touch me, so what the hell were you even thinking!”

“I wasn’t!” Suguru shouts back and his eyes widen in shocked surprise when Satoru falls silent at his admission but it seems he can’t stop himself now. “I wasn’t thinking, Satoru. I saw that you were about to be hit, that you were about to be hurt and I didn’t think. I just knew I had to protect you.”

“I–”

“—don’t need your protection, yeah, I know,” Suguru bitterly mutters because Satoru has made that more than clear. “Sorry for caring about you, I guess,” he quietly tacks on and isn’t proud of the way it makes Satoru flinch.

“I’m invincible,” Satoru mutters—yet again—and Suguru is so fed up with hearing this that he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I get it! Would you stop saying that already.”

“I’m invincible,” Satoru still says one more time and there’s something desperate in his voice. “But you’re not!”

“What?” Suguru says, a frown now on his face. “Thanks for reminding me just how inferior I am.”

“No, no, it’s just—” Satoru reaches out for him, though he doesn’t quite touch him. Suguru can still see the faint tremor in his fingers. “There was so much—” he trails his fingers along a line and Suguru guesses he’s going to find a scar in the exact spot under his shirt. “I thought you died,” Satoru weakly finishes and then plasters his usual cheerful and entirely fake smile on his face again. “But I guess you didn’t, so good for you!”

Suguru is almost getting whiplash from how fast his mood changed and he’s glad that he’s already sitting down.

“What is going on, Satoru?” he weakly whispers, too tired to try and puzzle this all out for himself, though he’s slowly getting an inkling as to what this could be about. “Explain it to me.”

The smile drops from Satoru’s face as if it’s never been there and Suguru startles when he crouches down in front of him, his gangly limbs all tucked up.

“I thought you died,” Satoru evenly says, not meeting Suguru’s eyes. “Your arm was just dangling about and there was so much blood. I thought you died.” His voice breaks over the last word and Suguru sees how he clenches his hand into a fist. “Everyone always keeps telling me how I’m the strongest, how Limitless makes it almost impossible to hurt me and it was the only thing I could think about. If I’m so strong how come you felt the need to protect me? If I’m so strong how come I almost lost you?”

He pillows his head on his arms, burying his face so he can’t see Suguru anymore but Suguru still smiles softly at him.

It makes sense, now. Satoru is just feeling what Suguru felt when he moved to protect him.

“I didn’t think of you as the strongest when I pushed you out of the way. I just thought of you as Satoru and how I had to make sure you don’t get hurt,” he softly says and watches how Satoru’s entire frame shudders. “I just wanted to keep you safe,” he adds, reaching out to push his hands into Satoru’s silky soft hair. “That’s all.”

He lazily scratches Satoru’s scalp until the shudders stop and Satoru turns his head to finally look at him again.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispers and Suguru laughs.

“I can’t promise that,” he honestly says, because if something like this happens again, he has no doubt that his body is going to move once more before he can form a proper thought. “You stayed here to keep an eye on me?” Suguru then asks and again, a faint blush dusts Satoru’s cheeks.

“Couldn’t bear to be all across campus,” he mutters, clearly embarrassed but Suguru thinks it’s sweet. Kind of over the top, really, but sweet nonetheless.

“Mind to share your room with me tonight?” Suguru wants to know. “Yours is much less clinical than mine. Easier to keep an eye on me that way, too,” he adds with a grin, though his exhaustion is quickly catching up to him.

Satoru must notice, because he’s quick to get up, carefully helping Suguru across the room to the bed.

“You need to rest more,” Satoru chides him as he tucks him in and if Suguru had more strength he would laugh at how incredibly overprotective this is.

“You need rest, too, strongest or not. Come here,” Suguru says and tugs at Satoru’s hand in an attempt to get him into bed with him.

“I guess I can sleep,” Satoru agrees surprisingly easily and slides into bed with Suguru.

Suguru doesn’t have the energy to tease him over the way he curls around him but there is one question on his mind, even as sleep tugs on him.

“How come I can touch you?” he slurs out, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Satoru’s wrist and he’s not sure with the haziness of sleep but he thinks he feels Satoru’s lips against his forehead.

“You’re always the exception,” he hears Satoru mutter and then everything goes dark once more.

But this time, he falls into it with a smile.

#bt writes #jjk #satosugu #stsg #geto suguru #gojo satoru #ieiri shoko #hurt/comfort #serious injury #misunderstandings #confessions #of a sort #fluff

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tinkerbelle05 · 11 months

Text

Awfpang

Characters: Ao’nung x Neteyam

Genre: Angst, Hurt/ Some Comfort

Word count: 2K

Warnings: Death, Mourning of a loved one, Stages of grief, Aftermath of war

Summary: Neteyam dies and Ao’nung has to deal with the aftermath of it.

Translation: sa’nu = mom, sempu = dad, tsmuk = sibling, tsmuke = sister, yawne = beloved, ‘itan = son, ‘ite = daughter

Taglist & Masterlist

Note: Don’t like, scroll away. Any and all hate comments on this ship will be delete and you will be blocked.

Special thanks to @nyababymao for allowing me to use your ideas to make this. Sorry, it took so long.

When Ao’nung saw Jake and his family carry Neteyam’s still body back to Awa'atlu, he felt numb. Empty and cold inside. Like this was all just a weird dream and Neteyam would wake him up with feathery kisses like he usually does. The sun would be shining and the wind would blow cool air in his face. The world wouldn’t feel so empty.

But as he made his way to them, looking at their solemn expressions, the tears rolling down their cheeks. He knew that this was not a dream. That this was happening. This was happening. Everything just stilled to a stop and he couldn’t hear anything. People’s mouths were moving but a white noise replaced their voices.

He screamed. He wailed in despair, in agony. He grabbed Neteyam from Jake’s arms, desperate for some sign this was all a cruel joke. His vision was blurred with his tears but he could see that Neteyam’s eyes were closed and the usual warmth of his body had now grown cold.

“Ma Neteyam! Ma Neteyam, please come back! Please come back, please!” He sobs for Eywa to hear him. To answer his pleas. To bring the boy he loves back to him.

He knows that the crowd is looking at him with sympathy, knowing the pain of losing another. But he doesn't care. He doesn't want their sympathetic stares, he just wants Neteyam to open his eyes again.

To see his honey yellow eyes stare at him again, to make him feel soft and warm again. But he knows that his Yawne will never come back to him and it just breaks him. His Sempu approaches him, slowly and inching forward as if not to trample on the boys already broken heart, “‘itan, we need-“

But Ao’nung hisses at him with bared teeth and flattened ears. “Go away! You're not taking him! Leave us!” Tonowari looks at his son with pitiful eyes and sighs slowly. He crouches down to his eye level. “ I know grief but not like this, so I will not pretend to. But please, we,” He pauses and places his hand atop of his sons, “you have to let him rest, my ‘itan. You have to let him rest.” He opens his arms to him.

The tears don’t stop coming down Ao’nung’s face as he looks down at his lover one last time. He lets his father take Neteyam from his arms and gives his body back to Jake. Now the emptiness of the world consumes him further, his body cold.

Later on, he is on the shore, the same one he and Neteyam always used to go to. Neteyam always went to this particular spot at the eclipse because he loved the way the plants glow and the quietness this place offered him. The peace of mind it gave him.

The tears have dried by now and Ao’nung is no longer wailing but his heart is still heavy in his chest. He isn’t sure if his heart will ever know weightlessness again. He thinks back to the time when they first met here.

—Flashback starts—

“What are you doing here, jungle freak? This is my turf.” Ao’nung sneers with a teasing smirk. Ao’nung isn’t sure why but teasing the oldest Sully was always the best pastime.

Neteyam’s only response was an eye roll in an exaggerated way and ignored Metikayan. The way he did it was more cold than usual. He’ll usually bite back with a heated come back and then they’ll get into a fist match.

Ao’nung knew that he took it too far with his latest prank. He remembers how scared Neteyam looked, his trembling voice and his shaking hands.

“Okay, fine. Listen, I am sorry for what I did to your brother. I swear I didn’t mean him any harm.” He apologized, saying sorry was unfamiliar to him. He never had to admit that he was wrong and most of the time he acted like he didn’t. But something about Neteyam made him want to. He didn’t know why.

“ I do not believe a word you just said. Your parents probably made you say that.” Anger radiated off Neteyam as he yelled at him. He gets up from his spot and gets in Ao’nung’s face. “You’ve lived here your entire life, you know what could’ve happened, what would’ve happened, you skxwang!” He screams at him.

Ao’nung put his hands up in a surrendering position, he still remembers that punch he gave him. “Dude, I said I was sorry. Okay, I didn't mean any harm.”

Neteyam still seemed agitated by this. Honestly, Ao’nung really didn’t get it, the relationship dynamics between Neteyam and his younger brother. He seems like half of the time he was either busy trying to stop Lo’ak from doing dumb shit or trying to get Lo’ak out of trouble with their parents.

The Omatyican is always chasing after Lo’ak like that is his responsibility, and whenever has Ao’nung ever had a filtered mouth?

“Why?” Was the only thing Ao’nung asked Neteyam.

Neteyam looks over at him and raises an eyebrow, “What?”

Ao’nung swallows and feels the sweat on him. He’s unsure why. Every time Neteyam’s gaze holds him he feels…weird. He’s aware of everything when he does that. He’s aware of what he’s saying and aware of how close they are. He’s just aware.

“Well, I just noticed that you take..a lot of responsibility for Lo’ak. Like more than I do for Tsireya, so I was just wondering why? Like is that something your Sempu is making you do?”

Neteyam stares at him dumbfounded like he asked a stupid question. “Because I’m his older tsmukan, and it’s my job to do that. My Sempu doesn’t have to tell me that for me to know. Besides, I’m or was–the future Olo’eyktan of my clan.”

“Oh” was the only thing that came to mind for Ao’nung. Maybe this was Neteyam’s way of proving to himself and others that he could lead his people. It made sense. “Yeah, I get that. The pressure coming from everyone sometimes feels suffocating. Like whatever you do is never enough for anyone, especially for ourselves.”

Neteyam looks up at him, stunned. The expression changes to something that is less guarded and more open-like. It's the first smile Neteyam has given him. It looks good on him.

“I gotta go now, my parents will be looking for me.” Neteyam walks closer to the village. But before he walks further on though, he looks back at Ao’nung with a gentle expression that makes Ao’nung’s heart flutter. “Goodnight, Ao’nung. Maybe…maybe you're not a complete asshole after all.”

—Flashback ended—

“Tsmukan, you should come back. It’s getting late.” He heard his tsmuke call out to him but he blocked her out. He wanted to block them all out. Despite his silence, she came closer to him. “Please, you have to come home and eat something or..”

“Please, Reya,” his voice was still hoarse and scratchy so he could only manage a whisper, “I just want to be left alone. Just go away, please.”

The only thing he hears is her retreating footsteps.

He goes to a big tree and climbs it. He remembers the first time Neteyam taught him how to climb the “correct” way. He ended with him falling on his hind a lot of times, a chuckle escapes him thinking of the memory.

Then that heaviness reappears when he realizes those moments he shared with Neteyam will only exist in his head. He sits on the sturdy branch and just lays there. Soon sleep calls for him.

He doesn’t expect to wake up in his family’s Marui but he does. Last night’s revelations come crashing down upon him when his mind drifts to Neteyam. He wonders how many mornings would he wake up feeling like this.

“Ao, come eat something,” His Sempu appears above. The small smile that seems to always be on his face has dissolved into a somber one. At least he wasn’t looking at him with those pitiful stares. He still didn’t want to be bothered though so he turned his back to him.

“Please, just one bite is all I am asking. You missed dinner last night.” He presses on and Ao’nung can hear the desperation in his father’s voice but he..he just can’t bring himself to leave his hammock. He just can’t so he hopes his silence will speak for him.

It has been a week since Neteyam died and funeral preparations were almost done. They would lay Neteyam to rest in the anemone at eclipse and then his mother would sing his Songcord for him. It just feels like it all is too real. Lately, all Ao’nung has been doing was avoiding people, and avoiding and running from acknowledging that Nete is really gone. Going to the funeral, and being a part of it, it’ll cement the fact that Nete is dead.

That he won't ever come back to him, for him.

He has made some progress though. He still hasn’t left his Marui but he left his hammock. Walked around the place and does some stretches so he won’t get any bed sores.

“Hello, Ao’nung,” Tsireya comes into the Mauri, her steps are light and tentative. He hates that. How his family is handling him like he’s fragile, like he might shatter into pieces at one wrong move or word. He hates that it’s true.

“The Sullys’—Jake and Neytiri—want to talk to you. About the funeral,” she says the words fast like she wanted to get them over with. And won’t meet his eyes. “You…you should go, Ao’nung. Maybe it’ll give you closure.” She says as a question unsure if she should be saying this, if this was the right thing to say.

Dread weights down on Ao’nung. He doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He doesn’t want to face it. To face them.

But, how long will he keep running? Avoiding it won’t do anything. He already begged Eywa to bring Neteyam back, to wake him up from this nightmare. But nothing has changed. Nothing will change.

“Okay, I’ll go.”

Walking to the Sully’s Marui pod reminded Ao’nung of the multiple times he’ll sneak under the darkness of the night to meet with Neteyam.

Stifled giggles and quiet footsteps took him back to better times. When they first started their relationship, both of them were inexperienced at these new feelings but excited for what the future will bring. Should’ve brung.

He wanted to turn back around, and he could’ve without being seen. But he remembered his sister’s words. Of this meeting bringing him closure.

He walked through the entrance. It was nearly empty, all of the children were gone—and that new demon, Spider was with them. Ao’nung was glad, he didn’t want to see one of them.

Jake and Neytiri were talking in hushed tones, their eyes still wet from the crying. They noticed him instantly, yellow eyes stared at him.

Yellow eyes like Neteyam’s. A bright color, a beautiful color, one he wanted to get lost in forever.

“Um,” his voice cracked and a sense of awkwardness filled the space. He never really interacted with the adult Sully’s. He didn’t know how to act or what to say around them. “My tsumke said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, we did,” Neytiri answers, getting up from her position to welcome him in. A slight smile graced her lips. “I knew about you and my son’s relationship. He was so happy about it, for the first time since we got here, he was smiling genuinely. So, I would like to say thank you for making his time here more bearable.”

“And, because of that, we would like you to offer you a place on the boat? When we lay him to rest,” Jake offers, hesitancy surrounds him.

With good reason too. A place on the boat is a sacred position, one left to the family of the that was passed. Not a relationship like theirs.

“I know that your relationship was new so you might not want to,” Neytiri starts,” but my son loved you. He’d tell me about how he wished he could share his culture and home with you as you did with him. How he was going to make you his mate once he completed the rite of passage.”

A new memory came to Ao’nung with what Neytiri said. “He told me that too, about wanting to mate with me. He was so excited when he learned about our spirit tree. He dreamed of performing his mating bond before Eywa like you did and didn’t think it was a possibility anymore when you left your old home.”

Smiles, bright and wide, made their way onto the Sullys’ faces. He smiled too, for the first time in a while. It was nice to remember Neteyam like this, not just focusing on what he would never have. But what he did have, no matter how little time it was.

The funeral came before Ao’nung knew it. He was on the boat with the Sullys, each of them wearing white and black ceremonial markings, but was muddied up from their tears.

Ao’nung saw Rxoto and Tsireya comforting each other and how his clan was mourning the loss of Neteyam, even if he wasn’t well-known or well liked. To see that did lift his spirits up a bit.

He, Jake, and Neytiri took Neteyam underwater after his siblings gave their last goodbyes to him and Ao’nung watched as the anemone swallowed Neteyam’s body, returning his body back to Eywa like his soul did.

Taking a deep breath to center himself, he connected his queue to the Spirit Tree and when he opened his eyes he was in a forest.

Multiple trees of different varieties towered over him and animals of all types ran around him. Dirt and grass tickled his feet, a different sensation from the hot, grainy sand back home. It looked like the one Neteyam was always telling him about.

“It’s beautiful, isn't it?” He heard someone say. That voice, that voice.

He turns to see Neteyam smiling at him with delicate eyes. Ao’nung didn't say anything, he couldn't say anything. What can he say? What can he do? Does Neteyam knows he’s dead?

“Yawne, what’s wrong?” Neteyam askes closing the distance between them and cups his face. “Why are you crying?”

Ao’nung blinked quickly to get the tears to stop but they wouldn't so he turned his face away instead. “Nothing Nete,” he lies but his voice is cracking and the hiccups gives him away.

He should be happy, jumping for joy, right? But he isn’t. He knows that this is fake, that is all a dream and once he leaves reality would be there waiting for him.

“I know, it sucks, Ao’nung. That I left you and all of our plans behind, and I am so sorry for that,” Neteyam whispered and Ao’nung sees the tears on his cheek too. “But I still want to show you my home and ride my ikran with you. We can’t do any of those things in the real world, but we can do them here. So, please?”

Despite everything in him telling no, and that this would be a bad idea, Ao’nung nodded and took Neteyam’s outstretched hand. Together they made their way throughout the rainforest with Neteyam excitedly pointing out all of the beautiful plants and his favorite animals.

He also shares funny family stories, and many embarrassing ones with them mainly featuring the misadventures of Lo’ak. Ao’nung found himself laughing in a way he hadn’t in a long time now, it was almost strange to hear it with his own ears.

Now Nete was leading him over a large branch that was acting like a bridge connecting two land area. The middle was a long abyss.

“Oh my Eywa,” Ao’nung grabbed on to Neteyam’s shoulder to stabilize himself with clammy hands. One wrong move on this branch and he’ll go falling into a void of trees until he hits the ground. The back of his head was saying that this wasn’t real, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Yawne, do you have to have such a tight grip?” Neteyam questions with a grimace on his face.

“Did you have to take me so high up?!” Ao’nung responded in kind.

Neteyam laughs at his terrified expression, “Well, you’re the one always saying you wanted to see my home. But look, trust me the height is so worth it.”

Ao’nung rolls his eyes but then he looks to where Neteyam is pointing and sees beauty. Tall trees and white fluffy clouds greeted him. Birds of all sizes flew around them chirping loudly and the light breeze cooled the sweat he had from hiking up the branch. It was absolutely beautiful.

Neteyam put his chin on the dip of Ao’nung’s shoulders and held him tightly. “So about after this, I'll introduce you to my ikran.”

“You mean the giant beast with wings that was growling at me?”

“Yes, I do but don't worry, she’s really nice once you get to know her,” Neteyam beams at him.

Despite the fear settling into him Ao’nung lets Neteyam drag him over to the ikran both of them laughing on the way towards it.

Things are still hard and there will be challenges along the way, but things are getting better, slowly.

Like, reblog, or comment if you wish. See ya in the next one, friends.

Reminder: My asks, suggestions, and requests are all open so don't be afraid to pop in.

Taglist: @theycallmesia, @cupcaykes, @iwaslikeblah, @adrunkskeletonsduck, @emperor-oikawa,

#aonunete #aonung angst #ao’nung x neteyam #neteyam #ao’nung #jake sully #neytiri #tonowari #tsireya #atwow fic #avatar #na’vi #atwow neteyam #atwow ao’nung #avatar 2 #avatar 2022

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give-soup-please · 2 years

Text

Rest (out of context comfort)

(When you try and write headcanons and then something else pops out. OOPSIE DOOPSIE!

Quick note. The problems presented in this fic are no one's fault. I have several issues due to my upbringing that I'm working on fixing. I don't want anyone to feel guilty for participating in what this blog does. Most days are fine, but sometimes I am more nerves than man. This is just a ventish hurt/comfort fic, not directed at anyone in particular. It's a long one, you may wish to open it in a new tab. Okay have fun!)

(Also I'll be taking tomorrow off, for personal reasons.)

“You need to rest, writer.”

I glared at him.

“This isn’t the time for stubbornness. You’ve been packing boxes for the move all day. You injured your hand because you wouldn’t stop writing. And your thoughts- your head is in such a scramble I can’t make anything out.”

I was not in the mood to hear this. I was not in the mood for gentleness, or the soft call out of someone who cared.

“Stay out of it. This isn’t your problem, it’s mine. Just- leave me alone.”

“It very much is my problem. Do you really think any of us want to stand by while someone we- when someone refuses to be kind to themselves?”

I felt my anger towards him grow. Fury boiled through me. I don’t even know why I was so upset, I just was.

“You’re a fiction. A concept.” I hissed. “You don’t belong in this world, and you have no idea what you’re talking about. Stay in your own goddamn lane.”

His voice was sharp. “Writer. Now, I can’t pretend to know what this is all about, but I do know that I won’t stand idly by and let you do this to yourself. Do you hear me? I will step in, in any way I see fit. That was part of the agreement we made. You write my words, I-”

“This is bullshit! Our agreement is over in two weeks! Why are you still here? What possible reason could you have to still stick around- when-” My breath hitched. “It’s going to end. Everything, I-”

I leaned against a box, exhausted. Sweat poured down my face, having spent most of the afternoon lifting heavy things.

“It’s all going to end. Why are you still trying to help me?”

His voice was soft. “Because you asked me to. Your request was so earnest, so polite- In the beginning- A few months ago, you wanted someone to step in. Someone who could talk to you when everyone else couldn’t, in the privacy of your own mind. We drafted that first script together, remember? It was glorious, reader-”

“I can’t keep writing for you past the deadline. I just- I can’t. The strain is so much, to be producing for others. It hurts.”

He looked at me as if I was missing something obvious. “Then write for yourself.”

“It’s not that simple! This is my job, to produce content for others. It’s why I exist, it’s what I mean to this world.”

“That’s a lie you’ve been told by people who were meant to be kinder to you. And for as many times as you ask, I’ll be here to reassure you-”

“I’m not asking! You just appeared, like you always do-”

“-Some part of you is crying out for help. This is what comfort characters do, we respond to the pain of the people who love us so dearly.”

I snarled and paced. “Even now, even now, while I’m writing to self-soothe because I can’t comfortably ask anyone to share the burden, I’m wondering if the audience will like this. I’m wondering if this will break the twenty notes mark. I am agonizing over word choice and description. I am broken, narrator. I am a machine that produces, and nothing more. You can’t fix me, no one can.”

He lurched forward, and held me tightly. I snarled again, and struggled, trying to shove him away. I pounded my fists weakly against him, trying to push back against someone I cared so much about. He took every hit, and I hated and loved him for it in equal measure.

“Listen to me. You are not broken. You have been terribly hurt, but it’s not the same thing at all. You don’t have to carry the burden alone anymore. Your friends are here for you, and when they can’t be, I will stand in their stead.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean every word of it. You are so- Completely and utterly loved. We love you because of who you are, not what you can do for us. We always did.”

“Shut up!”

“No. I will not. You need to hear this tonight, writer. I’m going to hold you close and tell you as many times as it takes.”

“Please- You can’t- I won’t let you.” My strength was starting to fail, and I leaned against him more and more. “You can’t- You can’t-”

“I can. You must be so tired. You don’t have to fight anymore. Let me carry you, until you’re ready to stand on your own again. You’ve done similarly with other characters in the past. It’s okay to ask us for help. The burden of being alive in your reality is so much-”

He leaned back a little, so I could see his face. “Did you really think we cared for you so little? Oh, writer… strong is the bond between a character and their fans. Didn't you know? You give us life, meaning… It’s only fair to return the favor and lend a hand. We would much rather you be alive and cling to us than not. It’s okay to need us, there’s nothing wrong with it at all.”

He wiped my tears away. I hadn’t even noticed I’d been shedding them.

“I’m deeply grateful to the other characters who helped you stay alive long enough to make it here. Their turn is over, and now the guardianship is mine. I will not fail you.”

“What am I going to do?” I asked. “I don’t want to give you up, but I've forgotten how to write for myself. I don’t know where to go after the end date.”

“...There are no easy answers, I’m afraid. I suggest that you take a break, a few weeks at the minimum. Then, when you’re ready, I’ll be there as your narrative guide. Honestly, I can wait. I’m sure there’s a technique to it, we just have to try and find out what it is.”

“And if I never write for you again?”

He smiled. “Really now, what do you think the chances of that are?”

I looked away, clearing my throat. “Well- you know- uh-” I shuffled my feet to ward off the excess energy.

“I meant it when I said- though I don’t remember exactly when- I’ll be here for as long as you need. My dedication to the story, to Stanley, is unwavering. It will be the same with you.”

“I don’t want to post what I write anymore, after that date.”

“That’s perfectly alright, and honestly, it might be a decent start. You’ve brought joy to others, and soon it will be time to give yourself the same. You deserve it.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

“You will, in time.”

“I’m tired.”

“Rest, dearheart.”

“...Fine. But I won’t enjoy it!” It was the last minor protest of a stubborn person.

“Oh, I intend on making you enjoy it. My narrative powers are too great for there to be any other outcome. Now…”

He cleared his throat.

“Writer then proceeded to take a shower to get the sweat off, ate a late dinner, watched an episode of his favorite television show, and went to bed after having some chamomile tea.”

I spluttered for a bit, but the grin was overtaking my face. I was caught between snarking at him and thanking him sincerely.

“You’re the best.” I said, followed by, “How dare you.”

He hummed a pleasant note. “I know I’m the best. And I dare quite easily. This is your health we’re talking about, after all. Now- Stop writing already and get to it!”

The writer snorted and wrenched himself away from his keyboard.

#the stanley parable #tsp narrator #tsp #headcanon #stanley parable #narrator #tsp narrator x reader #could be read as platonic or romantic #personal

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romantichomicide95 · 11 months

Note

HIHI. congrats on 700 bbybee!! This is so exciting!! I'm here for the event!! :3

this is quite long I'm sorry, but I've been obsessed with this bridge and I wanna see what you can do with it.

Levi Ackerman of course, and SFW please. Thank you! 💕

Levi x Reader - Song Drabbles

Cruel Summer- I'm drunk in the back of the car. And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar. Said, "I'm fine, " but it wasn't true. I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you. And I snuck in through the garden gate. Every night that summer just to seal my fate. And I screamed for whatever it's worth. "I love you, " ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

CanonAU basically. Lowkey a little angst but apparently I am in the mood for angst today. @chaotic-on-main(tagging you since I dumbly had posted this ask). Also this was so long and not much dialogue buttttt I hope you love it and I love you🥰

Secrets. They’re hard. Especially secrets like this. Keeping something that makes you so happy from everyone you love, it’s painful. The yearning, the desperation, all the pining. It’s huge. You understood the reasoning, his reasoning. Keeping your relationship with Levi a secret from the world, hard but necessary. You weren’t just fighting Titans anymore, you were fighting humans; and those humans had it out for Levi and anything close to him.

He couldn’t leave you, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Not even if that meant you’d be even safer, he loved you too much. So he hid you away, tucked you in his pocket, wouldn’t let the world in on what you shared. But it’s not easy, no matter how good he was at it, you couldn’t do it…not anymore. You couldn’t stand the way his hand would brush against you during training, how bad you wanted to reach out and kiss him over tea with Hange and the others. You didn’t care about your safety, not if it meant having to hide your love from the world.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore Levi.” you broke the silence in his office, flipping through some book not paying attention to the tiny blobs of ink across the pages.

“Do what? Read.” he says blankly, not gazing up from the paperwork he was working on so fervently.

“Levi.” you needed his full attention. You could feel a blunt sting in your heart as he looked up at you. His grey eyes narrowing, gaze fixated on the worry that started to wash over your face. You gestured for him to take a seat next to you and he does so with a grunt. If there was anything you knew about your boyfriend, it was that he hated being interrupted during work.

“Okay. Do what?” he asks more attentive now.

“These secrets, hiding our relationship, pretending I don’t love you.”

He sighs, leaning back into the couch. He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes searching your face, gauging your emotions.

“You know why we have to. It’s complicated, but it’s just what needs to be done.” he finally says.

“I know that Levi. But I can’t. I love you, more than anything. It’s hard. I know you want to protect me and you think somehow I’ll have a target on my back. But I don’t care. This secrecy, the sneaking around. I can’t do it anymore.” your body tenses and you feel a sense of dread wash over you. Your scanning his eyes, no matter how well you knew him he was so hard to read. His expression never giving away his true feelings.

“So…Do you want to break up?” not an ounce of any emotion on his face, or in the way he spoke. As always. That was Levi. Your Levi.

“No of course not. Do you love me Levi?.”

“You know that I do.”

“Than fuck all this other shit. I’m not okay with any of this. Not anymore. Sure it was fun sneaking around in the beginning. But now I’m lying to all my friends. I hate it. I’m a big girl, I can keep myself safe and if I can’t, well if I can’t than I know I have you.” your words come out fast, a lump forming in your throat, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes.

He’s silent again for a moment. Processing your words. He’s going over everything in his mind, how he can’t bear the thought of losing you. Not because of his dumb rules, and not because some asshole tries to use you against him. He didn’t want to change things, not if it meant you could get hurt. But he also couldn’t face the world without you anymore. He thought you were the only good thing in his fucked up life, the only good thing he ever really had, and he couldn’t let you go.

“Okay.” he says, after what felt to you like eternity, almost a whisper.

“Okay?” you ask, peering over your tear-filled eyelashes. He wipes your tears with his thumb, lingering along your cheek and you lean into his touch. The gesture melts away the doubts and fears that had been swirling inside your head, even if only for a moment.

“Okay. If you want to risk it than I can’t stop you. No more secrets.” Your tears vanish and you smile big - a smile that never fails to capture his heart. He's elated at the sight of your smile, the way it lights up your eyes and brings out the dimples on your cheeks. He hates seeing you cry, hates when he's the one who causes it. Your smile was his favorite thing about you, even if he didn't know how to smile back. As he looks into your eyes, he feels a sense of warmth and connection that he has never felt with anyone else. It's a feeling that he wants to hold on to. With one gentle touch of his hand on yours, he silently promises to do better, be better, hoping that your smile will always be shining brightly like it is right now.

You lean forward and kiss him, throwing your arms around his neck. Melting into the way his lips fit so perfectly with yours, how warm and soft every movement of your lips together felt. “Thank you Levi," you whisper in his ear afterwards, feeling the weight of gratitude in your heart. You rest your forehead on his and close your eyes, a sense of happiness and contentment wash over you. “Thank you for always understanding me, or trying to.”

"Your welcome. I really do love you ya know? I just want you to be safe. I can’t lose you," he says, grey eyes gazing into your own. His words are sincere. Levi cares for you deeply, and it's evident in the way he speaks and looks at you. He’s not always great at showing his emotions, or being outwardly affectionate, but you know. You feel the love that he holds for you, and it fills your heart with happiness and warmth and a sense of pride. You are grateful he’s in your life, and you know that he will do anything to keep you safe and happy. As you lean in to kiss him again you can feel his strong arms wrap around you, enveloping you in a sense of security and shelter. The feeling in his arms is something you could never forget, it’s a feeling that binds you together. Through thick and thin, through everything.

#✌🏽🫶🏽#levi ackerman #attack on titan #captain levi #levi aot #levi x reader #levi fluff #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman aot #aot fluff

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toinfinitywinning · 2 months

Text

What you see & hear- or even if you can. Just a cover.

Open it? There’s no tellin’ the worm. But you bought the ticket. It’s your Day 1.

They’re gonna try to break you.

Yk every Day I wake up. And I’m scared of it. Don’t want to. And not b/c im warm in my bed snuggling w/ my feather duvet and rain, with the weight of a horse on my legs play pretending he’s a 3 lb Show shhnowzaa but b/c I’ve already, already lived it. And having been in a constant State of fight or flight, normal or abnormal, sometimes u can’t tell —I still feel bad. W/e differentiation you had to separate the two both ended up at the North Pole but you’ve at least got Santa.

So this means I’m confused all Day but I still want some of Michael’s Secret Stuff Gatorade (haterade) from “welcome to the space jam—alright.” 🎵. To get me through. A safe energy drink. And your body doesn’t ☊ anymore so the more you talk to yourself the saner. It’s just I’ve never had to fake I’m physically okay to be present so much. Physical sickness affects ur mind Health and if you already struggle w/ that my condolences b/c your leg hurts too.

It’s a nightmare never 1-upping to a dream of being without. Then some days it’s will hear a song or remember a Good time or just Start crying-faucet not included. No acute-reason onset. (We gotta find another word for trigger no joke). I only subconsciously wonder will today be better…Will I get better? And I don’t know why I continue to continue being somewhere inbtw positive and negative. All the sudden my mind is taxed and so are your paychecks and I’ve been up for 15 minutes not even thinking I was thinking b/c Truth is, when something becomes your reality for such a Long time, everything just runs together. You’re afraid to feel anything yet know if you don’t it’s not just your body ready to atrophy. Not Good. And it’s a sneaky lil’ mf.

I can’t Imagine the omnipresent (best word for constant I got) Pain people feel having been with Illness their whole lives. How differently their world is shaped. Pain, prolonged cynicism, Illness prolonged, disability prolonged, w/e u used to think about things is gone unless you’re born one of these ways. Now to be clear I was born this Way but not THIS Way don’t get it twisted. Some days I wonder what it would be like to swap around. W/e it is—This presence does not belong to God— but maybe its mere existence really does b/c we won’t have anyone to thank if things get better? And there’s no joy in the things we’ve hoped for and overcome? And everything always has an End result of some kind…Right? If that’s my endgame I can only look at some things very matter of fact-ly. But. Here we are. Pending. Loading. Accept All Cookies. Your Health for potential healing is At the mercy of literally a button click away from quality or lifesaving or changing Medicine or therapy. CAN YOU AFFORD TO STAY ALIVE? Be fired? Bankrupt-ed? Evicted? No college, no trade School, but you work ur butt off to provide but you’re still paid $7.25/hr as I was as head intramural supervisor at Georgetown College. 15 years ago. Not just that, exist, like eating, clothes to wear, some sort of roof. So you’re choosing between crappy and crappier. Literally no difference. How in the is someone even going to try to stay healthy?!

Thankfully I don’t have to worry as much about the material, which, its Stress alone induces more trauma and Anxiety, but I’d bet how we feel physically isn’t too different. All the sudden again in the subconscious where I am all the time I’m figuring and not truly present you really think existentially like how in not God’s name clearly did I get here? I fixed everything. But Life isn’t played by a claw that has never won anybody a teddy bear. I wouldn’t pin karma to me in itself but it sure makes you think.

None of this is about to make sense but it’s where my mind took me.

Think about what was happening in your Life before things changed. Before literally waking up one Morning and knowing that very second things had to change or I was headed toward death a lot faster than I thought until that God moment. I don’t have many of them that are that dramatic but nothing was clearer to me in that moment. And then that Damn bat and conspiracy crap of government population control. If anthrax was sprinkled in Amazon boxes we’d be extinct. But Pretty sure we know how to get rid of people without breaking a beaker or test tube and then turning on a fan just gifting particles. And Unraveling ALL of the many ways of healing I’d finally lived into. I was so close. To every Fk up id invited. And so asking why anymore seems vacant. Echoing. And my ears hurt. ATP I’m More so saying well, I’m not sure that strategy is going to work anymore. Where’s the ღ in Health. It’s lost it. How much are you worth? No, like write down a monetary number on a piece of paper, fold it and slide it across the desk. Insurance companies be like: I see your offer and I’ll raise your offer: have you tried dying yet? B/c you could save a lot of money that way. The money it will take to bury you might even be more deadly.

So The most defeating part is beginning the Day as it ends. When I think about that it’s just like how did I get here? I’m still stubborn about it but maybe regardless of w/e someone accomplishes there’s the reality you’re still living in an imperfect world where you can only control so many things. Even if u gain that control back all those traps R still available. So you can Imagine my surprise when there’s not enough OCD to Go around to control THIS. regardless of what we can have control over, do that, b/c the smaller victories become magnified and walking to the kitchen to take your Meds that may or may not be helping is like an 8-ball w/ only 8 options. Eenie meenie miney. Mo.

I don’t set out to cry or tear up in the videos I share. I’ve always been a cryer. I’ve been told I feel things more intensely so it hits different, does different. The direct quote will remain anonymous but the sentimental pack rat in me wrote it down ASAP. Like, a handwritten letter. You took TIME for me. The quote—It was several years ago and I almost can’t stand it b/c it’s me in whatever kind of Shell is available at the time.

[“people perceive me as an individual who has the kindest of all hearts, but who struggles with the realities of life given that kindness…Like how the tenderhearted feel the pains of the earth more intensely.”]

It’s so true. But if I can’t be real what Good’s that gonna do? For me it further affirms what I already am living. In Edgar’s scary A** pit or with the company of not one canary in the coal mine.

C’ya in the AM. 🫡

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thequeenofthewinter · 1 year

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Fic Friday

Hello fine gentlepeople of TESblr! 'tis I, Winter, peddling off my fic again as it is Friday, and I have updated.

In a review by the lovely @oblivions-dawn it is: "Excellent . . . Emotional . . . Effervescent . . . . . . Yes"

The author herself describes it as, "Politics, some boats, emotions, and metaphors. Please someone take this chapter away from me so I don't add any more to it."

A random person I found on the street has said, "Eh? Who are you, and why are you bothering me while I am eating my lunch?"

So, there you have it! Reviews are generally positive! Go read it now!

Rating: E (canon-typical violence, explicit content, check the tags)

Genre: Romance, action, adventure, drama

Pairing: Dahlia Wintersnow (OC Dragonborn)/Ulfric Stormcloak

Link to AO3: An Invincible Summer

Snippet:

While the news is no surprise to Lydia, this is the first time Dahlia has opened up to her personally. It is only logical for gossip like this to spread quickly, especially with Dahlia and Ulfric’s frequent visits to a small grave which bears no name—only a sad inscription. Loose tongues and morbid curiosity did the rest of the work to assure that it has been publicized across the population. How else would Elisif been able to hit Dahlia where it hurts the most?

Both Dahlia and Ulfric had expected it to catch up to them at some point in time; however, at least on her part, Dahlia did not expect the cruelty which came with it—the speculations, the rumors, and the pointed digging. For the most part, she has tried to ignore it as best she can while finding solace in Ulfric’s arms. But, no matter how much she runs and tries and ignore it, it always come back to her, haunting her like the hazy nightmares which leave mentally and physically tired, even if she refuses to show it.

Slowly, Dahlia is learning better than to expect kindness from any but those who are closest to her. She’ll shut herself away and patch up all the exposed holes on her leaking ship if she must to preserve herself.

Lydia smiles at her sadly as Dahlia looks at her with uncertainty in her gaze. She isn’t sure what hurts her more: the fact that her friends has been suffering with this information and the weight of it for weeks or that she thinks that she would judge her for it.

“It’s okay, Dahlia.” Her housecarl sighs, “I mean—no, it isn’t okay. That isn’t what I meant. What I mean is that you’re safe here, and I know you wouldn’t ever intentionally do anything to hurt anyone, and it’s not your fault and—“

Tears make their way down Dahlia’s face. How long had it been since she had spoken to Lydia? And how long has she been holding this in and putting on a brave face for the rest of the world?

“I—if we are talking about technical blame, it is my fault. I was the one who—”

Lydia stops her yet again. She has heard so many versions of what had happened: Dahlia sacrificed their child to Sithis to bring Ulfric back, she dabbles in necromancy, she speaks to Talos directly—that she can make a pretty good guess at what actually happened, but with better results. “You didn’t know, and you had a choice. One that is unspeakable, impossible, and one that no one should ever have to make. They don’t understand you, and they are not you. Only Akatosh can judge you, and it seems to me he has deemed you worthy, so you should forgive yourself.”

For a moment, all she does is blink. Dahlia isn’t sure what she expected, but it should not have been anything less than this. Lydia’s own thoughts echo Ulfric’s.

I cannot pretend to know what you felt, and I was not the one in your shoes. I cannot tell you what was right and wrong, and while it hurts me just as much as it hurts you, I would have made the exact same choice if I had been in your situation. We can try again when you’re ready.

And isn’t that what life is all about? There is pain, but there is joy. Darkness and light. Winter and Summer. You cannot have balance without both. Fus ro dah. You will push the world harder than it pushes back. Now is when she should push because after the rain is when the plants start their new growth.

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #ulfric stormcloak #ulfric x dragonborn #dahlia wintersnow #who I guess has actually been Dahlia Stormcloak for two chapters now #winter writes #fic friday #tw: pregnancy loss

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wonderlandleighleigh · 2 years

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Continuing the fic from earlier tonight

There is, of course, a piano in this very classy bar that Shy drunkenly commandeers, coaxing Midge to sit next to him.

“You know I can’t sing,” she reminds him, her shoulder nudging his.

Shy eyes her suspiciously. “Don’t think I don’t know your secret, Miriam.”

“I have no secrets. I am a very open book.”

“Your secret,” he tells her with a flourish on the piano. “Is that you have a perfectly lovely voice, and you hide it so people don’t ask you to sing.”

She turns to him, her eyes wide.

“Don’t think I don’t know when people sing purposefully off-key,” Shy chuckles.

“Damn,” Midge laughs. “You really do know my secret.”

“Yes, I do,” Shy nods.

“My mother made me take singing lessons,” she confides. “And I hated it. I hated the singing lessons, and I hated the piano lessons and the clarinet, so I...”

“Pretended to be terrible,” Shy laughs. “Devious.”

She shrugs.

“Did your mother used to sing to you when you were little?” Shy asks as he keeps playing.

“She did,” Midge nods. “Did yours?”

Shy nods, too. “She used to sing ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow.’”

Midge smiles. “That’s sweet.”

“What about yours?”

“La Vie En Rose,” Midge tells him, smiling. ”The whole thing in French. I never understood a damn word, but it was so comforting. I had terrible nightmares as a child. Just…awful. And I would scream, and my mother would come rushing in to hold me and sing.”

Shy smiles. “I would sing harmony with my mother. Perfectly on pitch, every time. When I was very little, I could do the high descant.”

“That sounds amazing,” Midge tells him.

“Oh, it was,” Shy assures her. “It still is, when I visit her. She has this old, old, old upright piano that I tune every time I visit, and every time I come home, it is horribly out of tune.” He plays another flourish. “But places like this? Their piano is always meticulous. Always.”

“And you hate it,” Midge surmises.

“I do,” Shy laughs. “I fucking hate it.”

“I have an upright piano,” Midge tells him. “I got it for my father. It’s in tune though, he’d go crazy if it ever wasn’t.”

“That’s nice of you, to make sure he has a piano to play,” Shy tells her.

“I really love my father,” Midge tells him. “He’s so smart, and so passionate. You know, he tried to lecture me on free speech, and he didn’t even know who Lenny was. So he went to see Lenny perform and then got arrested with Lenny, and now he adores Lenny.”

Shy laughs at that. “Well, maybe he can date him then.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Midge jokes, and they both giggle at that a little, though Midge’s laughter is short lived. “I want…”

“I know,” Shy nods. “I know you do.”

Midge shrugs. “I feel like I know so little about him. For all that I feel connected to Lenny…what do I really know? Comedian who enjoys jazz with a drug problem and a daughter…somewhere. I want to know more. What song his mother sang to him when he was little. Whether or not his favorite color really is blue. Favorite food…”

“You will,” Shy grins. “He’s been staring a hole through your back this whole time. He’ll come around.”

Midge smiles sadly. “Are you gonna sing for me?”

“No, I am going to sing with you,”Shy tells her.

“Oh, no,” Midge tells him. “No way. Not in public.”

“Oh, yes,” Shy laughs. “Yes. You are here to help me ease the pain of my divorce, and this is my only request for the evening.” He starts playing La Vie En Rose. “We’ll even sing yours instead of mine.”

“So generous,” Midge jokes. “Okay. One. One song.”

*****

He’s not eavesdropping, he fucking swears that Midge and Shy just talk loudly.

He’s been plowing his way through most of one of the bottles of scotch they hoarded while they talk at the piano, and he hears Midge say his name a few times, in regards to her father, and then…

She’s fucking right. He’s been so guarded that she barely knows anything real about him.

Lenny did that on purpose, but now he’s not so sure it was a good move.

He downs more scotch as Shy starts to play an actual song he recognizes, and he figures that Shy will serenade the bar and get some nice attention, but he nearly spits out the booze in his mouth when Midge sings too.

Quite well, actually.

Fuck, why is she perfect?

Hold me close and hold me fast

The magic spell you cast

This is la vie en rose

When you kiss me, Heaven sighs

And though I close my eyes

I see la vie en rose

When you press me to your heart

I'm in a world apart

A world where roses bloom

And when you speak

Angels sing from above

Every day words

Seem to turn into love songs

Lenny finishes off the bottle as they keep singing. Eventually they switch to Somewhere Over the Rainbow, and Shy takes over by himself.

Give your heart and soul to me

And life will always be

La vie en rose

The entire bar is cheering and Lenny will eventually stumble home. He’s totally shitfaced at this point, though, so getting to his feet is going to be a bit of a challenge.

He’ll manage though. He always does.

Eventually Midge wanders back over to the table when the music has stopped, and she’s gathering up their coats, probably taking Shy home.

He gazes up at her.

“You okay to get home?” she asks.

Lenny nods. “I will make it. I promise. No sidewalk naps.”

“Thank you,” Midge grins a little.

“‘It Had to Be You,’” he says.

Midge frowns, tilting her head at him.

“The song my mother used to sing for me, when I was very little,” he admits. “‘It Had to be You.’”

She smiles slowly, moving to kiss the top of his head tenderly. “Goodnight, Lenny. Get home safe.”

“I’ll call you in the morning,” he tells her, watching her head back to Shy.

“You won’t,” Midge smiles. “That’s okay, though.”

He watches her go and slumps back against his chair.

#fic #au #tmmm #Midge Maisel #Shy Baldwin #and drunk Lenny #midge x lenny #midge/lenny

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 months

Text

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

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Chapter 81: June 2017

[CLICK]

[HEAVY BREATHING, SLIGHT WHIMPER]

[SOUND OF A BODY DRAGGING ITSELF ACROSS A FLOOR]

[WHISPERS BEGIN, OVERLAPPING ONE ANOTHER, JUST LOUD ENOUGH TO BE AUDIBLE, ECHOING SLIGHTLY]

GHOST 1

—hurt me, please don’t hurt me, I won’t tell—

GHOST 2

—have any money, I swear, it all went into—

GHOST 3

—think you’re doing with that, you little—

GHOST 4

—away from me, you crazy witch, I’ll have the law on—

GHOST 5

—Bookmaster, she who holds the Keys—

GHOST 6

—feeling better, I promise I am, you can—

GHOST 7

—hurts, it hurts, please make it stop, I’ll do—

GHOST 8

—me say goodbye to Martin—Martin?

[Louder] Martin! Martin—my God, is that you?

ARCHIVIST

Aah! Wh-what—how—o-oh, God.

GHOST 8

I can’t believe…

Oi! Shut up, you lot, he’s not—just—just give us a minute.

[WHISPERS FALL SILENT]

Bloody hell. Like looking in a mirror…not sure where you got those eyes, though. Don’t think mine are that bright, are they?

ARCHIVIST

Who…what are you?

GHOST 8

[Broken laugh] You’re telling me you don’t recognize your old man?

ARCHIVIST

What?!

KIERAN

Look at you. You’ve…(heh) you’ve grown since I saw you last.

[ARCHIVIST GIVES A SOFT GROAN OF PAIN]

ARCHIVIST

I was seven years old…d-did you think I…was going to shrink?

[KIERAN GIVES A GENUINE LAUGH AT THAT]

KIERAN

I see you got my temper as well as my face. That must make your mother happy.

ARCHIVIST

Explains why she…hates me so much.

KIERAN

She doesn’t hate you.

ARCHIVIST

How would you know? You were—nngh—never there.

KIERAN

Are you—you’re bleeding. You’re hurt.

ARCHIVIST

[Through gritted teeth] Brilliant deduction, Sherlock.

KIERAN

Did they do this to you?

…

I’ll kill them. By God, I don’t know how, but I’ll kill them for this.

ARCHIVIST

Don’t pretend to c-care to justify—

[HISS OF PAIN, A COUPLE OF RAGGED BREATHS]

If you want to kill them…f-fine. Fine. Just don’t pretend it’s on my account.

KIERAN

What…Martin.

Of course I care. What makes you think I don’t?

ARCHIVIST

What do you think? You left.

KIERAN

For work. I was—you’re, you’re right, I was never there, not like I should have been, but it was because I was working.

ARCHIVIST

Mum—[gasps] Mum t-told me you…weren’t coming back.

KIERAN

[Deep breath] I won’t deny I…said some things I regret. But I didn’t mean them. I was coming back.

I asked your grandfather to make sure you knew you weren’t why I left early. Didn’t he?

ARCHIVIST

…

Well…yeah, he did, but…I, I always assumed…he was just trying to buck me up.

I mean, I f-figured if, if you really c-cared about me, you…wouldn’t have left me with…her.

KIERAN

Martin. Son, I…

Jesus, that’s bad. Let me see it.

…

Ah. Aye, I probably should’ve expected that.

ARCHIVIST

I-it’s…it’s not that bad.

KIERAN

Not that bad?! You look like a Halloween decoration!

ARCHIVIST

T-trust me, I’ve had worse. (heh) Kind of sucks that—that it’s my…dominant hand, but…I’ll live. I think.

If…if I can g-get out of here, I can…there, there must be a hospital nearby. I just…[deep breath] I d-dont have the…energy.

KIERAN

That tends to be a side effect of major blood loss.

ARCHIVIST

[Faint laugh] I think that’s…the least of my problems right now, actually.

I was…already tired. Used too much of…m-myself in there. If I…had the strength…

KIERAN

[Anguished] What do you need? I—damn it, Martin, I haven’t been able to do anything for you. Tell me—

Oh, fuck.

ARCHIVIST

[Calmly] Okay, that’s…probably not good.

KIERAN

Don’t you dare die on me, you hear me, boyo? I love you, but—

ARCHIVIST

[With a sudden burst of energy] You don’t get to say that. Not yet.

KIERAN

[Sighs] My temper, all right. And every ounce of stubbornness from both sides.

Here, if I can…I can help you. I can—

Okay, maybe I can’t rip up a pillowcase and tie that hand up for you. Wouldn’t trust that bedding anyway. She bathes more often than he does, but I still don’t know what’s on those…

Tell me what to do. Tell me how to help.

ARCHIVIST

I…

Tell me what happened.

KIERAN

What?

[FAINT GROAN FROM THE ARCHIVIST]

[FABRIC RUSTLES, THE BED CREAKS FAINTLY AS THE ARCHIVIST LEANS AGAINST IT]

ARCHIVIST

I’m…it’s, it’s a thing I’m…becoming. It’s…a long story. But when people—when they t-tell me their, things that have happened, their…(heh) their deepest, darkest secrets…I, they kind of…fuel me.

Tell me…why you left. How you…got here.

You’re, you’re dead. I didn’t—

[Realizes] F-fuck! Fuck, he—he was right. You—you were in the Book.

KIERAN

You knew about that?

ARCHIVIST

Aunt M-Mary…showed all three of us. The Book, I mean. To, to scare us into line.

Gerry…Gerry told me that…he thought you m-might have…been in it. But I didn’t…

KIERAN

Gerry?

Wait—not the Gerard those two are always going on about?

ARCHIVIST

Yeah. Gerard Keay. We…we call him Gerry.

What—how did you…

KIERAN

It’s not a nice story.

And I’m not sure—you don’t need to know that. You don’t need to…

ARCHIVIST

Hate Mum?

KIERAN

I didn’t say that.

ARCHIVIST

You didn’t have to.

[A PAUSE, BROKEN BY THE ARCHIVIST’S RAGGED BREATHING]

I work for the Magnus Institute. Taking statements is…kind of what we do. I’m…in the Archives and…I have, the-there are things I can do. Not…nice things. Not really.

KIERAN

…Will it really help you?

ARCHIVIST

Yeah. Fear…I sort of…eat it. That’s a bit of an understatement, but…so-something like that.

And…it might…connect us. Dunno. Never…never taken a statement from a ghost before. But…

Sometimes I dream about them. The, the statements. The live ones, anyway.

Do you…still dream?

KIERAN

I don’t quite know if it’s properly dreaming.

But I remember. Sometimes. When I’m not…fully here.

ARCHIVIST

M-maybe if…you remember…I’ll be there next time. Watching.

KIERAN

I don’t want that. Not for you.

…

But I’m not letting you die, either.

So. Where do you want me to start?

ARCHIVIST

At…at the beginning. I guess.

[Deep breath] Statement of…Kieran Blackwood, regarding his life and death. Statement taken direct from subject, twenty-fifth July, 2017. Recording by Martin Blackwood, Archivist, the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

KIERAN (Statement)

I didn’t know what I wanted as a kid, except that I wanted to be important.

My birthday was—is, I suppose—the second of June, and every year my parents would tell the story, tossing the parts back and forth like a well-rehearsed script until I could practically recite the lines myself—how Mum had tried to ignore the contractions so she and Da could enjoy the procession and the festivities, how it had finally got so bad that they tried to leave their spot watching and barely made it through the crowd, how no taxis were available, how Da tried to carry her himself but didn’t know where he was going because they were only visiting London for the coronation. How I was born right there on the street. Da always laughed and said I was so impatient to see the new queen myself that I couldn’t wait even another hour. I always hated that story, not because it was embarrassing but because it wasn’t really about me. It was about them, and about the coronation. I told Da once that if I’d been able to pick when I was born I’d have picked a day that nothing else was happening so that I was what people would remember, but he just laughed.

I don’t think he got it.

Once I started school, I went out for everything I could, trying to find something I would be the best at and make a name for myself. None of it really stuck. Looking back, I had bought into the idea that if I wasn’t a prodigy and immediately good at something, I never would be—or at least, that I would never be great. Of course everyone eventually improved with practice, but I rather had it in my head that I’d never reach the top if I didn’t start off halfway up the hill. So I would try something for a week or two, then abandon it as soon as I got my first critique. The only thing I was decent at, not even good, but had some talent with, was swimming—and even then it wasn’t necessarily speed or form. I wasn’t winning races or anything. But I could last longer than anyone in my class—even the teacher. Not just floating, either. I could swim for ages and not get tired.

I had a bit of skill with rowing, too, but the problem was that I was bigger and stronger than most of my mates, so in the end I wound up the coxswain for the school team. We won more often than not, but there was a part of me that was dissatisfied, no matter how loud Da cheered or how proudly Mum displayed the ribbons on the walls. I mean, how many famous rowing teams can you name?

I actually wanted to be a politician. I had dreams of being the next Winston Churchill or summat. But I had my heart set on Christ’s College at Cambridge, and my grades weren’t near good enough to get me in without some kind of advantage. And between the fact that Da was a dockworker and I never managed to successfully cover up the Geordie when I talked, I knew I’d never be taken seriously if I didn’t have a really good university degree, so I gave that up. For the first summer after I left school, I worked with Da on the docks.

That’s how I met Mikaele Salesa.

If you work for the Magnus Institute, I’m sure you’ve heard his name, you know what he does. Did, maybe, he might be retired by now, I dunno. Back then, though, he was just starting out. Walked away from some library job, so he told me, assistant to a stuck-up old fool who could afford to indulge a weird hobby. He’d done it with a tidy nest egg, though, and was looking to set up his own business, dealing in antiques. Thought trading by sea was the way to go; it’d be cheaper, after all, and easier to evade customs if need be, although he didn’t say that part out loud. Trouble was, he was a foreigner, in a time when being foreign in England wasn’t the greatest opportunity. And I won’t pretend the sort of lad that hung about docks those days were the most open-minded of fellows.

Me, I never had a problem with them. Partly it was that having wanted to be in politics, where I figured being diplomatic and able to get along with anyone might give me an edge, but partly, well, with my background—not just being in the North, near the docks, where people expected you to be slow and stupid, but also the fact that Mum was from Belfast originally—I had a bit of sympathy for anyone seen as “other”. So when I got off shift and found him being avoided in the local, I sat down next to him and bought him a pint.

He wasn’t much older than I was, maybe ten years at best, and since he’d been born during the second World War, he had some of the same experiences I did about his birthday being overshadowed by historic events. I was fascinated by the stories I told. He was intrigued when I mentioned what skills I’d picked up, said that being able to row if we were becalmed or swim if we capsized were good things for a sailor to know. And after I told off one of my da’s mates for saying something racist, he offered me a job on his crew. Told me he needed a first mate, and if I could help him find a good boat, the post was mine.

We found her, all right, and since it was me doing the talking, we got a good rate on her too. Signed on a crew for the first voyage, provisioned her up, and the Demeter was ready to set sail.

For the first few years, it was…exactly what I’d expected. Finding artifacts, buying them, selling them to rich idiots with more money than sense. The pay was decent, definitely better than I’d have got anywhere else—a kid with no experience, I’d expected to hire on as a seaman, nothing more, and certainly not as first mate—but for me it was about the clout. See, Mikaele—he was Captain Salesa, or just Captain, in front of the crew, but in private he told me to keep calling him Mikaele—tended to treat the crew the way the old sailors did: you signed on for a voyage, you got paid off, and then he’d sign on a whole new crew when he was ready to ship out again. I think it was a way to keep anyone from really knowing what he was doing with some of those artifacts. But I was his partner, so I stayed on. And since I was the only one who’d ever sailed more than one voyage in a row with him, the men in the pubs thought I had something special.

It was what I’d wanted, so I ran with it.

They were just ordinary objects back then, nothing special—well, maybe except for the fact that some of them probably shouldn’t have left the country, if you catch my drift. But one day, maybe eight or nine years after I met him, I came to talk to him about something and found him staring at a sack full of Morgan silver dollars. I knew how rare those were, but after a moment, he looked up at me with the most serious expression I’d ever seen on the man and told me not to touch them, or to let anyone else on the crew near them. If he sold them, he promised, he’d explain everything, but until then it wasn’t safe.

I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that they were radioactive or something? But when we got back to England about six months later, after he’d sold everything and paid off the crew, he asked me to come up to his rooms and discuss “the truth”. That night he laid out everything.

I…I assume from what you said that you know about the Fourteen. That was the first I’d ever heard of them. Mikaele told me the silver dollars he’d been sold belonged to the one called the Slaughter, and that he’d been lucky to be rid of them without it sticking…but it looked like we might have a new avenue of sales. Swore me to secrecy on that front, but promised that if I kept the crew from getting too involved in the…special artifacts, he’d do right by me.

He never let me handle those objects. Said he cared too much about my safety to put me through that. I thought he was just being dramatic until he told me some about what had happened to the other people who’d worked for Jurgen Leitner, and how he’d sworn he would never be that careless with the lives of people who depended on him. Eventually, we worked it out so I handled the men and he handled the purchasing and…acquiring, and that worked well. I got good at spotting the men who’d been touched by the sorts of things that made those objects, too, and would refuse to sign them on. It was a good way to protect the artifacts, or so I thought.

It must’ve been fourteen years later that I met Liliana Koskiewicz. I remember her because she seemed so out of place with the other people that were picking over the cargo, but fit in better with the cargo itself—she looked like a Gibson girl frozen in time. Turned out she was studying archeology at Oxford—there, I bet you didn’t know that about your mum—and had come to see the cargo because she’d heard rumors Mikaele had something that was in her field of study. He had, but it was “special” cargo, so he’d already sold it. I felt bad for her, so I offered to buy her dinner as a consolation prize, and for a wonder, she accepted.

It was a whirlwind romance, which I know must come as a bit of a shock to you, but I tell you I fell head over heels for that woman the moment I met her, and she swore it was the same. Mikaele was a bit disappointed at first, it seemed to me, but after a bit he encouraged it. Said the more connections you had, the safer you were from…certain things. I was willing to take any excuse to keep courting her, and just before we set sail, I asked her to marry me. She said she’d think about it and let me know when I got back.

We were gone nine months that go-round, and when I went to her da’s farm to see her after we made port and sold off the last of the cargo, the first thing she said to me was that she accepted. She wanted a spring wedding, and Mikaele would’ve delayed sailing for it, but I talked her into a late December wedding instead on the grounds that I’d be more likely to be home for our anniversary that way.

If I’m honest, the only reason I went through with it was because of what Mikaele said about needing connections to fight back against the Fourteen. After all, I’d had nine months to think about it too, and I didn’t know her that well. But, well, I reckoned we’d get to know each other well enough, and if it didn’t work out great, at least I wouldn’t be home that much. I bought her a little house, near enough that she could go visit her da when I was out to sea but far enough that we were independent, and I made sure she had everything she might need before we set to sea again.

We’d been married two years when she told me she was pregnant. She…she wanted me to stay, but Mikaele needed me. I was still chasing that sense of being important, so I went. Promised I’d be back before you were born, but…well, you were early. We were in Malta when Alastair called—long distance and all—to tell me Lily’d been taken to hospital and it wasn’t looking good. Mikaele bought me a plane ticket and told me to get home to my family. Before I left, he gave me a talisman, some little thing made of bone and silver. He told me he didn’t think it was one of those, but that it had a bit of power in it and might…make a difference.

We—we almost lost both of you. You were a breech, and when I got there, it turned out the umbilical cord had got wrapped around your neck. Between that and the fact that you were so early they weren’t sure your lungs had developed all the way, they weren’t sure you were going to make it. And Lily…they had to do a C-section on you in the end, and she had a bad reaction to the anesthesia or summat like that. She was in a coma and they didn’t think she was going to ever come out of it.

I looked at the thing Mikaele had given me. There was a notch in it, and I thought if I…maybe it would help you both. So I snapped it in half. Put one side on your incubator and the other tucked under Lily’s pillow and hoped.

You recovered, obviously. Both of you. You were actually fine less than four hours later, and I got to hold you for the first time…I’d, I’d never felt anything like that. I was thirty-five years old and it was like I was living for the first time. Lily took a bit longer, but she eventually came round, and all was well, or so I thought.

Lily never completely recovered. It was gradual, so her da didn’t notice and neither did she—or at least she said she didn’t—but, well, I went out again when you were six months old, soon as the winter storms had passed, like always, and when I got back I could see she not only wasn’t better, she was…getting worse. At the time, I put it down to the fact that you were cutting teeth, and you were prone to ear infections back then too, so you cried unless you were being held most of the time. Your grandfather was a godsend, but he had the farm to take care of, and so most of it fell on Lily. I took over while I was home, but…well, I had to go back out again eventually.

That’s when we started fighting. She wanted me to give up sailing and get a job closer to home. I argued we needed the money—now more than ever, between you getting bigger every day and her getting sicker every week. She said if she was so sick, why wasn’t I there to help her? Round and round we went, and it always ended the same, with her going to bed early with a headache and me stomping out the door and going down the pub.

And through it all, there you were. Staring up at me with those big green eyes of yours—they weren’t so bright back then, but they were always so full of love and wonder and trust. I’d have done anything for you.

Except stay.

The final straw came just after the new year when you were seven. Mikaele had suggested we all, as a family, go out on the water and watch the fireworks on the shore to welcome in 1996. You were…so excited. It was all you’d been talking about for a week, getting to see the Demeter and see what I did for a living and finally meet “Uncle Kay”—that’s what you called him, you had trouble with “Mikaele”. And then, just as we were getting ready to go, Lily said she wasn’t feeling well. I was all set to get her settled on the couch or in bed and offer to spend the night on the boat so we wouldn’t disturb her when she told you to hang up your coat and go make her a cup of tea—the oolong, not the bagged kind. I said I’d do it and for you to go wait by the car, but Lily snapped that she’d told you to do it and you needed to learn responsibility.

I wasn’t being funny when I said you had my temper. I blew up on her, said more than a few things I’d been holding back longer than I knew. I accused her of faking her symptoms for sympathy, or to punish the rest of us, or to manipulate us—hell, I didn’t know why, and I didn’t care. Told her she could be as miserable as she wanted but she had no right to make the rest of us miserable too. She gave as good as she got, saying I’d never loved her, I didn’t have any sympathy for her, I obviously hadn’t meant it when I said “in sickness and in health”, on and on and on. We wound up shouting at one another, and then I saw you standing in the doorway with her cup of tea and tears in your eyes, and I made myself stop. I told you we could go, but you just very quietly said no, thank you, that you would stay and take care of your mother, but for me to tell Uncle Kay you said hello.

I didn’t go to the ship that night. I went over to Alastair��s, and I must’ve ranted at him for an hour. He just sat there and listened—you know what he was like—and at the end of it, suggested I take a short break away from Lily, that things might look better after we’d both had a rest. And I agreed. At first I was going to…I don’t know, stay in town for a bit maybe…but Mikaele got a line on something that, if it panned out, would have let us retire for life after the next voyage, and there was a calm spell, so we got a crew together sharpish and sailed out.

It didn’t. Pan out, that is—someone beat us to it, we never did find out who. And of course the winter storms came back with a vengeance, so we wound up in Gibraltar for six weeks waiting for an opportunity to sail again. During that time, I talked things over with Mikaele, and he agreed with Alastair that a break wouldn’t be a bad thing.

I also talked to him about Lily’s illness. I’d never really mentioned it to him; there was a sort of silent sense that anything that happened on land—well, except you—stayed there, and vice versa. But I laid it all out for him, every symptom and surge, everything that had happened back to your birth. He listened with a curious sort of look on his face, and then he asked the question I’d never thought about. He asked what happened to the talisman he’d given me. I explained what I’d done, and he nodded, said I’d done exactly what I was supposed to, but he wanted to know what had happened after that.

It wasn’t until…later that I found out the answer. Lily found the half I’d tucked under her pillow, recognized it was broken, and…I don’t know. Maybe she’d heard something of the Fourteen before. Her da worked for the Institute himself, you know, so he might have given her a bit of warning. Anyway, she asked the nurses if they’d seen the other half, and they eventually found it and gave it to her.

From what Mikaele told me, what he’d eventually learned or figured out—I never did ask how—was that it was meant to separate and spare two lives. It wasn’t…exactly one use only, but it had an odd sort of catch to it. You weren’t meant to keep it, and once you’d used it, you were supposed to bury the halves together in the earth, where they would…reform? I don’t know. It was all a bit bizarre to me. Obviously Lily hadn’t done that, but…well, we’ll get there.

Anyway, we were out to sea for eighteen months that go-round. I felt bad about missing your birthday that year—I wrote you a letter, sent you a gift, but I don’t know if you ever got it—and worse about missing Christmas, but we’d done well enough by the end of it that I could have retired, and I was considering it. I told Mikaele when we pulled into port that I was going to give it one last go talking to Lily, see if we could reconcile, because I did still love her, just not the same way I had at the beginning. And I never wanted to leave you.

Obviously, you know that when I went back to Devon, there was someone else in the house I’d bought for Lily, and they told me they’d paid cash for it from a lady who’d taken her son to London. I thought that seemed a bit odd, but at the same time, I was hoping there was a specialist she was seeing regularly and she was doing better, so I got her address and headed down. I was looking forward to seeing both of you, so much.

Somehow, she knew I was coming. There was a note on her door addressed to me when I got into town, and when I opened it, it had an address and said she’d be there all afternoon. I assumed the family who’d bought the house had called her, so I went to where it said. Turned out to be a shop—a place called Pinhole Books. The door was unlocked, so I went in.

And Lily was waiting for me. Pretty as a picture, sweet as sugar. With an antique razor in one hand and a cane in the other.

I won’t go into details, but I will say she didn’t do it alone. There was another woman, old enough to be her mother, holding her steady and coaching her through it. Everything went black, and for a while I thought that was it.

If you know about the Book, you know what she did after that. She used to summon me from time to time. Talk to me, taunt me. Tell me what she was up to. That’s how I found out what she’d done with the talisman. She’d figured out how to join it back together, and thought it would protect her from sickness, but…that wasn’t its purpose. And because she tried to keep it, instead of give it away, it was corrupting her. I begged her to get rid of it, and eventually she finally admitted that she’d already destroyed it, after she met Roger, and it hadn’t helped. Mary—who I assumed was the woman who helped her kill me—had ideas that would help her, she said, but she wouldn’t really tell me what they were. Sometimes she’d summon me and just…leave me there. It hurt, and she knew it hurt, and she said she wanted me to feel a little of what she was feeling.

And no matter how much I pleaded, she wouldn’t let me see you.

The last time I saw her was eight years after she killed me, which I only know because I told her fifty looked good on her and I thought she was going to kill me again when she told me, very sharply, that she’d only just turned forty. She looked closer to sixty, but, well, you don’t need me to tell you that. She recovered fast, though, and told me that the next time we spoke, I’d never know how old she was. She had found a way to stay young and beautiful forever, and, she said, when the Bookmaster took the lead, I would know everything. Then she wished me luck, said she would see me soon, and dismissed me.

I can’t tell from looking at you how long it’s been since then, but I reckon that didn’t work out so well for her.

ARCHIVIST

And how are you…here? I thought the Book got burned.

KIERAN

It did. I think.

I don’t know too much about how all this works, but as near as I can tell, all of us who were in those pages—the ones who weren’t summoned, anyway, since I think your Gerard was involved, from what I’ve heard those two say—were set free when it burned, but not all the way. We’re loose in the world again, but we can’t go very far from the Bookmasters.

ARCHIVIST

The Bookmasters?

KIERAN

Those two bastards in the other room. Don’t ask me why, I just…knew that’s what they were when I saw them.

ARCHIVIST

It…it makes sense. I think.

…

Twelve years.

KIERAN

Eh?

ARCHIVIST

Since she—it’s been twenty years since she killed you. She tried to do…whatever it was, I still don’t know…twelve years ago.

And you’re right. It didn’t work. That was when she started needing round-the-clock care, couldn’t leave the house except to see her doctors, the whole nine yards. I dropped out of school and…well, that’s when I went to work for the Institute. Roger got fired around the same time—he had early onset dementia, it was just starting to get bad about then—and Melanie couldn’t fake being an adult like I could back then.

KIERAN

I wish you hadn’t felt like you had to do that.

ARCHIVIST

Me, too, but…I think I needed to be there. Eventually.

KIERAN

Twenty years…so you’re twenty-eight then? No, twenty-nine.

ARCHIVIST

I will be in August. If I live that long. If the world doesn’t end.

KIERAN

[Fiercely] You’re not dying.

ARCHIVIST

Yes, sir.

[More seriously] I’m okay. That…thank you. For, for giving me the statement. It…helped. A lot.

KIERAN

Good. Now you can get that hand—

…Oh.

Blimey, how long was I talking?

ARCHIVIST

Not nearly that long.

Yeah, that’s, um, probably not a good sign, but…[sighs] you know what, at this point, I don’t really have time to worry about it.

KIERAN

What’s your next move, then?

ARCHIVIST

I need to get back to London. Hopefully without the Van Helsings in there sending me back in pieces, or calling Gerry—or Jon.

KIERAN

…Okay, you told me who Gerry is, and Lily mentioned Roger’s girl Melanie, but who’s Jon?

ARCHIVIST

My b—

…

Um…he’s my…boyfriend.

KIERAN

(heh) Does Roger approve?

ARCHIVIST

He died five years ago.

But…you know, I think he would have liked him.

I think you’d like him. If you met him.

…

Maybe you’ll get the chance.

KIERAN

I doubt that, boyo.

ARCHIVIST

I’ll come back. When, when I figure out how to set you all free.

I will figure it out. What’s the good of working for the embodiment of fearful knowledge if I can’t occasionally learn something to my advantage?

[KIERAN LAUGHS. AFTER A MOMENT, THE ARCHIVIST JOINS IN]

KIERAN

Aye, maybe there’s something to that.

Let me rally the others. We can distract the Bookmasters, maybe keep them busy for a while, so you can get away. Do you—no, that window’s a bit small—ah, no offense.

ARCHIVIST

None taken. But believe me, I’ve forced my way through much smaller spaces than that.

…Thank you.

KIERAN

I’m just glad I can help.

And I’m glad to know that I finally became something important after all.

ARCHIVIST

What’s that?

KIERAN

Martin Blackwood’s father.

ARCHIVIST

…

You know…it’s a good thing Mum is the way she is.

KIERAN

Eh? Why is that?

ARCHIVIST

It long ago disabused me of the notion that parents have to love and be proud of their kids no matter what.

Otherwise I might not have believed you meant that.

KIERAN

Martin.

[FAINT FABRIC RUSTLES]

There has not been one single moment since the nurse put you in my arms that I have not been proud of you.

I love you, son.

ARCHIVIST

…

I love you, too, Papa.

[CLICK]

#ollie writes fanfic #tma fanfic #to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)#martin blackwood #death #unreality #injury #bleeding #arguments #mention of murder #implied/referenced emotional abuse #the formatting is better on AO3 #or my website

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