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avnkin · 5 years ago

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Shake On It [ d. malfoy ]

Author’s Note: I originally planned on posting this as just one long fic buuut instead i’m going to do a mini series, ya know torture you guys just just a lil bit (gif is not mine) also I got all the information about the potions and the ingredients from harry potter wiki and of course I do not own harry potter or the storyline/characters.

Word Count: 8k

Summary: There’s little to nothing Draco values more than his reputation so when he sees it slipping, he’ll do anything in his power to catch it.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, foul language, some bullying and asshole!draco.

This is an AU so all the information doesn’t exactly line up with the hp storyline for example it takes place in sixth year but there’s no Voldemort so Dumbledore doesn’t die etc.

You’d never been much for the ‘social scene’ you just didn’t find enjoyment in the same things your classmates did, so you never really had a big friend group, your only acquaintance having been Irma Prince… The librarian.

That was until your second year when Hermione Granger came into your life like a ray of sunshine brightening up the dark loneliness that had consumed you your first year.

She introduced you to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, although you were never as close with them as you were with Hermione you still couldn’t be more grateful for your newfound friend group, especially since you now didn’t have to endure Draco’s and his fellow Slytherin classmates torment alone.

You were and had always been an easy target for Draco and his entourage since you never really stood up for yourself, instead choosing to ignore how he continuously called you ‘a blood traitor’ for hanging out with ‘the likes of Hermione’ which you never understood, how was someone different from him just because they didn’t have magical parents?

It was a well-known fact that Draco’s father Lucius Malfoy was the cause of his attitude towards muggle-borns, you truly believed that man didn’t have a kind bone in his body.

You remembered once when you’d arrived at platform 9¾ after your third year Draco went to greet his parents and whilst Narcissa (his mother) gave him a big welcoming hug, embracing her son after not having seen him for many months Lucius simply stared down at him with a glare that could only be described as disgust and disappointment before turning and walking away without as much as a greeting to the platinum blond.

Still, that didn’t excuse Draco’s foul behaviour, he was old enough now to have his own opinions and morals and he didn’t seem to be planning on changing them anytime soon.

You were now in your sixth year and unsurprisingly nothing had changed, Draco was still the same arse he’d always been, but as the years went on it was getting progressively easier to ignore him since you’d gotten so used to it.

It almost felt like it had become a part of your daily routine for him to yell something degrading in the hallways, mostly directed at you or Hermione or whatever Gryffindor he felt like bullying that day.

Intently focusing on the potions book that laid opened before you, you carefully followed the detailed instructions, not wanting to get a single thing wrong since you needed at least an outstanding in this class to keep up your average.

The last part was to add: ‘One drop of Unicorn blood’

You grabbed the flask that contained the silver liquid and as steadily as possible you leaned the bottle over your cauldron, letting a small drop slip past the edge and into the black water, but as you began leaning back Pansy Parkinson ‘accidentally’ bumped into you causing the entirety of the bottle to spill into your potion.

You glared up at her as you watched the black liquid turn sickly green instead of sparkly blue as it should. She shrugged her shoulders innocently, before walking back to the station she shared with Draco who greeted her with an amused smirk before turning back to his work.

“Try not to think too much about it” Hermione’s comforting voice sounded from beside you. “I’m so sick of those two” you argued pouring the remaining containments of the cauldron into a sink, now having to start the entire potion all over again.

“I know, I am too” Hermione frowned glaring at the two Slytherins who didn’t even bother to look over at her.

“Miss Y/L/N weren’t you nearly finished a couple of minutes ago?” Professor Slughorn’s voice could be heard from behind you as he looked over your shoulder, an unimpressed look on his face.

“Uh- yes sir it’s just I accidentally put too much Unicorns blood and had to start over again” you lied looking into the now-empty cauldron before you, glaring at Pansy once you heard her quiet laughter from the other side of the classroom.

“Well alright, but I’d hurry if I were you, I’m afraid you’re running a bit short on time” he smiled before moving on to the students sat in front of you.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Hermione frowned once Slughorn was out of earshot, you gave her a knowing look having had this conversation with her on more than one occasion.

Tattling on them wouldn’t change anything it would simply make their torments increase and you didn’t need that, especially with the N.E.W.T.S coming up you didn’t want anything distracting your studies.

Despite having been interrupted by Pansy you managed to be the only one who brewed the potion right and the displeased scowl placed on Pansy’s face as she watched you get praised by the teacher and the rest of the class was nothing but amusing.

Once you were finally dismissed, you were walking alongside Hermione down the long corridors leading to the Great Hall when someone again bumped into you causing all the books you’d been clutching between your arms to go flying towards the ground and you along with them.

“What a klutz” you heard the familiar squeaky voice of Pansy Parkinson, you hurriedly got back up onto your feet whilst Hermione picked up the remaining books that had sprawled all across the stone floor.

“You did that on purpose” you growled charging at Pansy who cowered away from you as you neared her but once she noticed Draco was watching she stopped dead in her tracks, a side smirk resting on her lips before she tilted her head to the side.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about” she innocently smiled before walking around you and back to Draco who held an emotionless expression on his face as he walked with her down the hall.

“Bitch” you mumbled underneath your breath just before Hermione came running up to you. “Are you okay?” she faintly smiled before handing you your things.

“Fine” you deadpanned before the two of you began walking back down the hallway again.

Once you’d made it into the Great Hall you immediately spotted Harry and Ron a smile on your face as you took a seat next to Harry, and Hermione the one next to Ron the previous events being long forgotten as you distracted yourself with the comforting company of your friends.

“Since when did Y/L/N and Potter become so close?” Draco’s face held a scowl as he watched the two of you interact from afar, he truly didn’t know why it bothered him, but for some reason it did.

“Why do you care?” Pansy replied as she began shifting in her seat to move closer to Draco who almost instinctively moved away causing a bright red tint to appear on her cheeks as she hurriedly moved back to her original seat.

“I don’t” he simply replied tearing his eyes away from you and Harry as he began playing with his food.

“You know what I think” Blaise raised an eyebrow as he daringly stared Draco down, “I think Malfoy’s gone soft” Blaise finished, the words earning loud snickers from the students sat next to them.

Draco’s stomach churned in anger at the words of his best friend throwing the boy a nasty glare before turning back to his food, but Blaise didn’t intend to stop there.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you never pick on her anymore and you always get really defensive whenever- “

“Shut the hell up Blaise” Draco commanded and even though Blaise knew he was skating on thin ice, Draco’s fury only seemed to egg him on further as his eyes wandered towards the Gryffindor table to look at you.

"You know what Malfoy since you claim you have no feelings for her at all I dare you to break her heart"

"What?" Draco questioned genuinely confused at his friends' statement. "Make her fall in love with you and then dump her" Draco looked over at Pansy who seemed almost giddy at the suggestion, of course she'd be happy about this.

Draco thought about it for a moment, he knew that if he didn't do this he'd never hear the end of it, and keeping up his 'I don't care about anyone but myself' attitude had served him well over the years so as he weighed out the pros and the cons it seemed the cons were outnumbered and without a second thought he reached his hand out to Blaise.

"You've got yourself a deal" Draco spoke as they shook hands "and when I win, you'll be my personal servant for the rest of the year" Draco finished as he pulled his hand back causing Blaise's cocky facial expression to quickly drop.

"Fine but when I win, you have to do my homework for Defence Against the Dark Arts till we graduate" Draco rolled his eyes but nodded as he let his hand fall back into his lap.

He stared at you watching as you laughed at something Harry said and couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt knowing what he was about to do, but he shook the feeling away engaging back in the conversation of his friends, pushing all thoughts of you into the back of his mind.

The following week Draco still had yet to make his move on you. He was brainstorming ideas as he made his way to Potions, none of them good enough to follow through with but when he’d finally made his way into the classroom, he went to walk over to Blaise like he usually would but instead he found himself staring at the empty seat next to you.

He looked over at Blaise who was already quizzically staring at him. Draco mouthed a ‘watch this’ in return before he made his way towards you, grabbing a hold of the chair next to yours he stared down at you before asking.

"Is this seat taken?"

You looked up from your book turning to greet who you thought would have been Harry or Ron but instead, you were met with a pair of grey eyes you were not expecting to see, your mouth slightly parting as you stared wide-eyed at him.

"Yes actually-" you began but he had already sat down before you'd been able to reply, placing his backpack on the floor below him.

You raised an eyebrow at the blond, to which he replied by smiling over at you acting as if him sitting there was the most normal thing in the world.

"Do you mind?" you finally managed to choke out as he turned to face you.

"No, not at all" your eyes went wide at his words as you frantically began looking around the classroom for Hermione.

Once you made eye contact with her, you gave her a pleading look silently begging for her to help you, but she only took a hesitant seat next to Neville shrugging her shoulders indicating that there wasn't much she could do.

You grabbed the handle of your backpack beginning to stand up when you felt a hand wrap around your wrist preventing you from moving any further.

"Seems like all the other seats are taken Y/L/N" you frowned at his words turning your head to look around the classroom and sure enough there wasn't a single seat available.

You glared at him before ripping your hand out of his grasp and reluctantly sitting back down.

"Good morning" Slughorn's voice could be heard as he made his way towards the front of the classroom.

"Today we'll be working in pairs so whoever you're sitting next to is your partner for this assignment" your eyes widened in horror at his words as you glanced over at the Slytherin clad boy next to you.

"You're going to be writing an essay on the properties of Moonstone and its uses in Potion making" why did he have to announce this assignment today of all days?

You again looked over at Draco who seemed to be smiling, why was he happy about this? You placed your head in your hands as your mind began to wander, this was probably some stupid plan he and his friends had made to get you to fail the class.

"Professor" you eagerly raised your hand "is it too late to change partners?" you asked, silently begging for him to say no so you could work with Hermione or anyone else for that matter.

"Well I'm afraid everyone else seems to be taken Miss Y/L/N, I'm sure you and Mister Malfoy will be just fine together" you felt a flash off anger as you turned to look at the boy sat next to you.

"I swear if this is your idea of some sort of sick joke Malfoy, I'll hex you into oblivion" you threatened not daring to break eye contact with him, smirking once you noticed his taken aback expression.

"Y/L/N calm down, It's not a joke? You're the best at Potions in our year so I wanted to see if you'd be willing to work together but doesn't look like you have much of a choice now" he shrugged his shoulders; something was definitely off about this.

"So, you couldn't just ask me before we got to class?" his eyes seemed to widen a bit as he thought of a response but you continued before he had the chance to say anything "because I would have said no" and with that, you turned away from him pulling a piece of parchment out of your backpack along with your quill so you could start planning the next few weeks.

As it was nearing the end of the class you and Draco hadn't spoken a word to each other since you'd shut down all his attempts of starting a conversation, not having been interested in anything he had to say.

When class was over you handed Draco the piece of parchment that had a very detailed description of what his part in the project would be, so you'd be able to spend as little time together as possible, although he seemed to be quite displeased at this beginning to protest that you should work together so you'd get a better grade.

"I'm not spending any more time with you than I have to Malfoy so if you'll excuse me" you stood up pushing him out of the way before making your way to Neville's station where Hermione stood shoving her books into her bag.

Once you finally reached her you grabbed her by the arm, quickly pulling her after you out of the classroom. Ignoring her protests until you finally reached an empty corridor, void of any students and teachers.

"Please tell me you saw all that" you pleaded as you let go of her arm.

“You mean Malfoy?” Hermione replied, “yes Malfoy! He’s acting like we’re all of a sudden, the best of friends? Like he didn’t just call me a ‘blood traitor’ last week” you exasperated a scowl on your face.

“I think that was Zabini” Hermione acknowledged making you furrow your brows your mind wandering back to the encounter and sure enough she was right, Zabini had been the one to hurl the insult.

“What does it matter who said it, he’s one of them!” you protested, angrily turning to look at Hermione once you heard her stifled laughter from beside you.

“This isn’t funny! I’m stuck with him for the next- who knows how many weeks on this stupid project” you complained letting your head fall back as you let out a groan.

“Its okay Y/N don’t worry… I reckon he just fancies you” Hermione teased wiggling her eyebrows as she lightly nudged you in the shoulder.

“Have you gone mad?” you practically gasped although you couldn’t help the unfamiliar heat that began rushing to your cheeks at her words.

“Merlin Y/N you’re blushing! You like him?” you frantically covered her mouth as you noticed students beginning to fill the previously empty hallways.

“Would you hush! And no! I do not like Draco Malfoy, I could never like someone like him” you hissed your anger only growing once you noticed the same smile still linger on her lips.

“Whatever you say” Hermione jokingly sing sang, and in response you lightly hit her across the head with a piece of parchment you’d been holding unfortunately not getting the results you wanted since it only seemed to be egging her laughter on more.

“Alright calm down you lunatic I’m only joking” Hermione frowned rubbing the spot on her head you’d begun repeatedly hitting her, “you better be” you hummed, again pulling her after you as you two began walking down the hallways blending into the crowd of students.

“You know I can walk by myself” Hermione frowned once you’d found yourself standing out in the courtyard, your eyes searching for your two other friends since when you had Potions they had a free period which they spent most of their time here.

You finally spotted them sitting on a bench below a large brown oak tree, Seamus and Dean stood in front of them.

It was now Hermione’s turn to pull you away and in mere seconds you were standing next to the four Gryffindor clad boys who all turned their heads towards the two of you.

“Hello” you smiled before looking over at Harry who had already begun scooting over gesturing for you to come and sit down next to him, to which you happily obliged.

They all greeted you and Hermione before continuing their conversation about the upcoming Quidditch game they had against Slytherin next week.

“Yeah well Malfoy hasn’t caught the snitch when competing against Harry once, so I think we’re going to be okay” Ron assured Seamus who didn’t seem to be all that convinced but still began to make his way back into school Dean following behind him shortly after.

“Speaking of Malfoy” Hermione knowingly smirked at you before turning towards the two boys.

“Hermione no-“ you began but it was already too late, “seems he as a little crush” and there it was, you inwardly face palmed feeling the now-familiar heat in your face as you turned away from the confused glances of your two friends.

“Malfoy fancies Y/N?” Ron seemed to be more disgusted rather than confused as he scrunched up his nose.

“Hermione first of all I’m going to kill you! And second of all, he doesn’t like me! He just wanted to be partners on some stupid assignment in Potions” you assured them.

“And you said yes?” Harry perplexed.

“No! Of course not, he- he didn’t give me much of a choice” you rambled scratching the back of your head before glaring over at Hermione.

“What? He forced you to work with him?” Harry again furrowed his brows, “No- or well he sat next to me in class and I couldn’t move anywhere else since all of the other seats were taken and when Professor Slughorn arrived he immediately announced that we’d be working on our essays with whoever sat next to us” you began rambling, causing your three friends to share amused glances, unbeknownst to you.

Harry seemed to understand slowly nodding before claiming him and Ron had quidditch practice pulling the ginger boy along with him out of the courtyard, leaving just you and Hermione.

After a few minutes of silence, you turned to face her, “I think I’m going to go to the library, care to join me?” Hermione shook her head at your words pointing at the book she had just opened already beginning to make herself comfortable on the little bench you’d been sitting on.

You rolled your eyes “suit yourself” you breathed out offering her a small wave as you stood up, which she returned before you began walking back into the crowded hallways.

As you neared the library you began to hear footsteps behind you, smirking since you thought Hermione had changed her mind about joining you.

You turned around expecting to see your best friend but instead, you were met with Draco who now stood still a few feet away from you.

“Are you following me?” you crossed your arms raising an eyebrow at the boy.

He shook his head now walking towards you “just wanted to see if you’d like some company and since you’re heading towards the library we can work on our essay”

“So, you were following me” you accused but before he could answer you continued, “I thought I already told you I’m not spending any more time with you than I have too so if you’ll excuse me” you turned your back to him continuing your way to the library.

“Your loss Y/L/N” you heard him teasingly call after you making a smile appear on your lips which you tried to the best of your ability to contain.

Your next Potions class was one you’d been dreading, knowing that the people who were paired together on the essay had also been assigned to sit next to each other, very much to your dismay.

Professor Slughorn had asked all of you to join him at the front of the classroom so he could show you a couple of the potions you’d be brewing for the next couple of weeks and of course the one you’d be working on today.

“And this one right here is-” Slughorn was abruptly cut off by the sound of the classroom door swinging open. You quizzically looked past Slughorn’s shoulder and furrowed your brows at the two boys who had entered.

“Harry?” you asked a bit louder than you intended to causing the attention of the class to turn to Harry and Ron rather than Professor Slughorn.

“Ah! Harry my boy I was beginning to worry, and you’ve brought someone with you I see, what’s your name then?” Slughorn asked, brightly smiling at the two Gryffindors.

“Ron Weasley sir, but I’m dead awful at potions- a menace actually so I’m probably just gonna-“ Ron’s voice wavered as he began to turn around but Harry quickly put his arm out in front of him pushing him back into the classroom.

“Oh, don’t be silly, we’ll sort you out! There are some books in the cupboard over there if you need them” Slughorn pointed towards the end of the classroom where Ron and Harry quickly began fighting over the last book in there.

You and Hermione both gave each other confused glances before your attention was back on the Professor stood in front of you.

“As I was saying I’ve prepared some concoctions this morning. Any ideas what these may be?” you quickly raised your hand Hermione copying your actions as Slughorn’s eyes wandered between the two of you before he eventually pointed at you.

“Yes, miss Y/L/N” Slughorn stepped out of the way as you took a step forward towards the two pots that rested on the table.

“This one is Veritaserum a truth-telling serum and that one over there is Amortentia the most powerful love potion in the world. It’s rumoured to smell differently to each person according to what attracts them” you smiled proudly at yourself before taking a step back towards the other students.

You heard Pansy scoff causing you to quickly turn around to glare at her and just as you did you saw Draco elbow her in the side whispering something in her ear before shaking his head at her actions.

You quickly looked away before Draco’s eyes could catch yours since you felt the annoying feeling of warmth rush up into your cheeks and a smile replace the frown you’d indented to direct at Pansy.

“Very good Miss Y/L/N” Slughorn smiled before beginning to tell the students that whoever managed to brew an acceptable Draught of Living Death would be walking out of the classroom with one vile of Liquid Luck.

You quickly walked over to your station Draco following in suit behind you as you both turned to page 10 on your ‘advanced potion making’ books.

Your eyes wandered over the page before you spotted the instructions.

1. Cut up one Sopophorus bean.

You frowned down at the text as you glanced between it and the bean, it didn’t look like it was meant to be cut, and your suspicions were right as you began noticing your fellow classmates struggle around you.

Your eyes widened as Draco’s bean came hurling at your face at an ungodly speed, you practically had to throw yourself to the floor so it wouldn’t hit you in the face.

“Bloody hell Y/N are you okay!?” Draco panicked as he rushed to your side offering his hand to help you up which you ignored to distracted by the fact he’d called you by your first name.

You quickly got up onto your feet still ignoring his outstretched hand. You’d never in all your years at Hogwarts heard him call anyone by their first name, let alone you, a Gryffindor he’d hated since the first year.

“What did you just call me?” you asked although it came out a bit harsher then you intended it too. You didn’t mind that he was using your first name you just found it incredibly odd especially for someone like him.

“What, Y/L/N? that’s your name isn’t it” he was acting clueless as he walked back around the table to attend to his potion.

“No, you said Y/N” you raised an eyebrow as you watched him grab another bean now simply resorting to ignoring you, whatever you thought, brewing this potion was more important than what name Draco decided to call you.

As you continued to observe the students around you, you noticed Harry grab a silver knife and slowly press it onto the bean. You mirrored his actions and to your delight, it worked.

“How did you do that?” Draco could be heard from opposite you as he furiously looked between the instructions in his book and the crushed bean in your hand.

“Crush it don’t cut it” you shrugged, your finger traveling further down the page and stopping at the second step.

2. Pour in 250 fl.oz. of Standard potioning water and add 5 oz. of African Sea Salt to the beaker. Set the beaker aside after all the water has been added. Be very careful not to shake or move the beaker now.

The rest of the lesson had gone by in a flash and even though you felt like you’d be the one rewarded with the Liquid Luck, it ended up being Harry and you couldn’t help but wonder how the hell he managed to brew something better than you.

You remembered Harry continuously failing all his Potions classes never getting more than a poor or an acceptable on any of his assignments or tests.

After class you immediately cornered him, and it didn’t take long for him to confess to the book he’d found. Property of the half-blood prince it read and as you flipped through the many pages it had all the ‘correct’ recipes to every single potion you’d be brewing throughout the term.

“I knew it! You’ve always been dreadful at potions” you finally felt at ease knowing that Harry had only won you by cheating, shaking your head as you placed the book back into his arms.

“Hey! I am not ‘dreadful’ at potions” he imitated you his hands making air quotes at the word dreadful, a laugh slipping past your lips as you remembered a certain incident from when you were younger.

“Oh really? Don’t you remember third year when Snape told us to make a shrinking solution and you poured it all over Hermione-“ you began but Harry quickly cut you off.

“Alright! Alright! You’ve made your point now shove off I don’t feel like listening to this story right now” you threw your head back in laughter as you thought back to a tiny Hermione who hadn’t spoken to Harry a whole week after the incident.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing a great job with Y/L/N, I reckon Potter’s in there more than you” Blaise sounded amused as he came up behind Draco who was watching yours and Harry’s exchange from afar.

“Don’t worry Blaise, I’m only getting started”

Later in the day you, Harry, Ron and Hermione had all decided to take a little trip down to Hogsmeade for a much needed break from your studies.

“No sit beside me” Harry insisted as the four of you made your way into the Three Broomsticks, you gave him a confused glance but nevertheless dragged the chair out from underneath the table and sat down next to him.

You went to ask why but quickly managed to put two and two together once you noticed professor Slughorn sat at the bar, a beer in his hand as he talked with one of the other professors.

“What’s your deal with Slughorn?” you questioned as Harry began waving the professor over. “I need to get into the slug club” you furrowed your brows but before you could question it any further Slughorn had arrived at your table.

“Ah! Mister Potter lovely to see you, you as well Miss Y/L/N” Slughorn smiled completely disregarding Hermione and Ron who sat opposite you.

“Likewise, Professor” you smiled as he and Harry began talking about something you couldn’t be less interested in, instead your eyes began to wander around the small tavern until they finally landed on Draco who was already staring intently at you.

“You’d be welcomed to Y/L/N” your gaze diverted from the platinum blond towards Slughorn who was smiling brightly down at you. “I’d love too!” you agreed having faintly heard him mention a christmas dinner.

“Wonderful! Look for my owl” you couldn’t help but let out a laugh at Hermione’s face who seemed to be more than distraught that she hadn’t received an invitation of her own.

“Oh, how silly of me Granger, I hope I’ll also be seeing you there” Hermione’s face lit up at his words as she repeatedly nodded, Slughorn awkwardly looking over at Ron before speaking, “good to see you Wallenby”.

You were finally able to let out the laugh you’d been holding in as Slughorn exited the tavern. “Oh, shut up Y/N” Ron frowned crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back into his chair.

When your laughter had finally died down you offered to go and order your drinks since the waiter had yet to make an appearance at your table.

“Four butter beers please” you smiled at the worker as you leaned onto the bar going to turn around but instead you were met with a black suit your eyes wandering upwards to see Draco towering over you.

You cleared your throat causing him to take a step back, “anything I can help you with?” you questioned as Draco stood motionless in front of you.

“Yes, would you like to join me?” Draco asked gesturing to an empty table at the far end of the tavern. You looked over to where he was pointing causing you to quickly spot his friends who were all sat at another table, their eyes set on you.

“Uhm- I think they’d loved to join you” you pointed towards them causing Draco to quickly snap his head in their direction, making them all quickly turn to each other acting as nonchalant as they could.

“But I’d much rather spend time with you” you felt a weird tingly feeling at his words but nonetheless you didn’t dare act on it your eyes going to your friend’s who were all staring quizzically at you.

“Sorry I- Uhm I can’t I came here with them” you gestured towards your table Draco’s eyes following in the direction you pointed before they were back on you.

“Well alright, but you owe me a date then” he winked before turning around and going back to join his Slytherin friends.

Your mouth hung open as you watched him walk away, did he just say date?

You power walked back towards your friends hastily taking a seat next to Harry who already had his eyes glued on you.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron asked as soon as you’d fully sat down.

“Oh- Uhm, he just wanted to ask me about our assignment” they all looked skeptical at your reply but didn’t question it any further another topic quickly consuming your table.

“Do any of you have a date to the Jingle Ball?” Hermione’s question rang throughout the table, causing both boys shook their heads and you along with them, in all honesty, you didn’t expect to get asked so you’d probably just end up going with Harry like last year.

“Guess we know who Ginny’s going with” you giggled gesturing towards her and Dean who were currently taking a seat at a table not so far from yours, their fingers wrapped around each other’s.

“I’d like to leave” Ron shifted in his seat uncomfortably as he stared at his sister and who he had once considered a close friend. “Honestly Ron they’re only holding hands” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“And snogging” you added on as Ginny connected her lips with Dean’s. “Yep that’s it we’re leaving” Ron stood up grabbing the coat that hung on the chair beside him.

“Oh come on we haven’t even gotten our orders yet!” you protested as all your friends began to stand up, maybe you should have joined Draco before.

“Fine” you huffed once you noticed they had no intention of staying any longer. “Why don’t you just ask Malfoy to come join you, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind” Ron teased causing you to quickly hit him in the arm.

“Shut up Ron!”

Once you’d all made it back to Hogwarts you and Hermione separated from Ron and Harry since they claimed to have yet another quidditch practice although you figured it was code for going to scout possible dates for the Jingle Ball.

“So, what did Draco really want earlier?” Hermione gave you a knowing look as she lightly bumped you in the shoulder.

“It was so weird he-he said that I owe him a date” your voice was hesitant as you turned your head to look at Hermione who didn’t seem at all surprised.

“Well, now you know who you can go to the Jingle Ball with” she stated matter of factly causing your eyes to widen as you gaped at her.

“Hermione, I love you but have you gone mad? Me and Draco? I don’t think so” you denied but there was still the lingering feeling of hope deep down in your stomach that you tried with all your might to suppress.

“Well he obviously has a thing for you, and I mean he’s not too bad to look at”

“Shove off”

You had been actively avoiding Draco ever since the Hogsmeade trip, something about the entire ordeal just felt weird to you, why was he all of a sudden so bold about his apparent feelings towards you when a couple of weeks ago he wouldn’t even look your way.

But it seemed your luck had run out since he now stood in front of you, hand outstretched as he leaned it against the stone wall preventing you from continuing your way to your Transfigurations class.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something” Draco breathed out. He was getting desperate, it was unbearable, the teasing he’d been receiving from his friends once they’d noticed he wasn’t making any progress with you, and he knew if he didn’t do something soon he was going to lose the bet.

“Well can it wait? I need to get to class” you huffed watching as he pushed himself off the wall to come and stand in front of you, causing your body to turn with him, your back eventually colliding with the wall behind you.

“I was wondering” Draco smirked placing a hand next to your head as he leaned in closer towards you, you now only realizing how much taller he was then you as you found yourself craning your neck upwards to meet his eyes.

“Would you like to be my date for the Jingle Ball” the words made your stomach flip and you felt the sudden urge to let out a squeal, but you somehow managed to keep yourself together, taking in a deep breath before you took a step forward his hand slipping from the wall your faces mere centimeters from each other.

“No” you stated watching as his eyes went wide, clearly, he wasn’t anticipating that answer.

“If you want me to even consider going out with you after all the shit you’ve done over the years, you’re going to have to work for it.”

He watched your ascending figure before you fully left his sight and when you did he angrily kicked the wall cursing underneath his breath, he was used to getting everything and anything he ever wanted without as much as a snap of his finger so this was something he wasn’t used too.

The stakes were high, his entire reputation was on the line and he did not intend to give Blaise the satisfaction of being right or his housemates a reason to tease him for what would probably be the rest of his life.

All the girls at this school would practically fall at his feet, why couldn’t you be like those girls? Make this easy for him, not once in his life had Draco Malfoy had a real challenge when it came to girls but now it seemed the tables had turned, he was going to play your game and he was going to win.

It was now the day of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor quidditch game. You, Harry and Hermione, were all sat in the Great Hall watching as Ron entered in his Quidditch gear, helmet, and everything.

You had yet to tell Hermione about Draco asking you to the ball since you didn’t really know how you felt about it yourself and also because he probably wouldn’t be asking you out again, you having let him down quite harshly.

You glared over at the Slytherin table once you heard them beginning to yell things along the lines of ‘Ron you’re a loser’, ‘he doesn’t stand a chance’ and ‘nice hat Weasley’.

“Ignore them, Ron, I know you’ll do great” you reassuringly smiled up at your friend as he took a seat opposite you, his face contorted in worry as he looked over at the Slytherin table who continued to laugh at him.

“Yeah, thanks” he gulped once he turned back to face you, this had to have been the first time you’d ever seen Ron leave his food untouched.

“You look dreadful Ron” Luna’s voice could be heard from the other end of the table, your eyes widening as you looked over at her, “Is that why you put something in his drink” she finished, the last part of her sentence directed at Harry.

You looked over at the boy sat next to you and faintly managed to see a glimmer of light before it disappeared fully into his pocket.

“Liquid Luck?” Hermione sounded from opposite you and you finally managed to put two and two together.

“Are you mental Harry? You’ll get in so much trouble if you’re caught” your eyes widened as you watched him pass Ron the cup of pumpkin juice he’d poured his one vile of Liquid Luck into moments ago, well according to Luna at least.

“Don’t drink it Ron” Hermione scolded, before you both gasped as you watched Ron without a moment’s thought chug the remaining juice in his cup.

You watched intently as his frown was turned upside down and he slammed the cup back onto the table, a sly smirk now playing on his lips.

“You could be expelled for that” Hermione pointed out glaring at Harry who innocently smiled at her before shrugging and stating that he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Come on Harry we’ve got a game to win” Ron’s sudden aura of confidence was radiating off of him as he quickly pushed himself away from the table and began exiting the Great Hall.

“We’ll see you guys there?” Harry questioned as he looked between the two of you also beginning to stand up.

“We wouldn’t miss it” Hermione assured him as you both watched him awkwardly wave before he turned to follow Ron.

“This is going to be interesting”

Loud screams and chants began filling your ears as you watched the two teams make their way out onto the Quidditch pitch, you and Hermione quickly joined in beginning to clap and cheer as you made eye contact with Ron who looked as ready as ever.

A particular blond seemed to have caught your eye since before you knew it Madame Hooch was announcing the start of the game causing you to snap out of your trance, when you looked back at Draco he was already smirking up at you making you quickly look away as your cheeks turned bright red, pulling your Gryffindor patterned scarf up over your face in hopes that he wouldn’t notice the crimson colour.

“Seekers shake hands!” you watched as Harry and Draco walked up to each other clasping each other’s arms before Draco retorted something in Harry’s direction causing him to quickly pull his hand away from his the game now officially beginning.

It had been almost an hour now and so far Gryffindor was in the lead the score being 23-45. You were beginning to think you’d lost your voice but nevertheless you still raised your hands high in the air and cheered Harry on as he dove towards the snitch with Draco hot on his heels.

You anxiously began biting your nails as the two continuously bumped into each other both their arms outstretched as they neared the golden object.

“Come on Harry” you whispered the anticipation was killing you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer since the two boys suddenly crashed into each other sending them both flying off of their brooms and hurling towards the grass below.

You gasped as you stood up beginning to lean over the railing to get a better look at the two seekers who now both laid on the grass clutching their stomachs, but you widely smiled once you noticed a familiar shimmer coming from Harry’s hand.

“Yes!” you screamed as he carefully sat himself up raising the golden object up into the air for the rest of the stadium to see. Your happiness was quickly replaced with worry once you noticed the Slytherin boy laid next to Harry wasn’t moving.

“Is Malfoy okay?” you frantically shook Hermione as you pointed down at him but Hermione paid you no mind her eyes trained on Ron who was proudly raising his hands in the air as it was announced that Harry had caught the snitch.

Since everybody seemed to be too caught up with themselves you again leaned over the railing before screaming Draco’s name hoping it would at least capture the attention of someone from his team so they could help him.

You felt a wave of relieve wash over you as you watched his previously limp body turn over before he placed his hands on the grass pushing himself to sit up, the hand that wasn’t holding him up immediately going to rub his forehead.

He sent a glare Harry’s way before he grabbed his broom and began storming off the field his teammates following shortly after, for some odd reason you began to feel bad for him as you watched the disapproved glances from his fellow Slytherin’s being thrown his way but you decided to push the feeling away joining in on the celebration of your house.

Once you arrived at the Gryffindor common room a celebration had quickly ensued the hollering of Ron’s last name began sounding all around the room as you began clapping in rhythm to all of their chants, you and Hermione watching as Ron got pushed in the middle of the crowd.

Before you knew it a girl you didn’t know the name of had wrapped her arms around his neck, harshly pulling him down to meet her lips, you gasped as you faintly remembered a conversation between you and Hermione where she’d admitted to harboring a crush on the ginger boy.

You quickly turned to see Hermione pushing her way through the crowd and out of the common room. You began following her but quickly lost sight of her as you tried your best to squeeze through the teenagers who had now begun lifting Ron into the air.

“Hermione!” you called out but it was impossible to hear anything over the celebrations so you gave up on calling out to her simply resorting to pushing the students that stood in your way.

Once you finally managed to reach the door that led out into the hallway you frantically pushed it open beginning to search the corridors for your best friend.

When you rounded a particular corner, you came crashing into a much taller figure then yourself sending you flying towards the ground at the impact.

“Watch where you’re goin-“ the familiar voice of Draco Malfoy sounded from above you but stopped once he made eye contact with you. “Y/L/N?” he questioned before reaching his hand out to you which you accepted letting him pull you back up onto your feet.

“What are you doing out here, shouldn’t you be celebrating?” there was a defiant malice to his tone as he scowled in the direction of your common room where chants could still be faintly heard.

“I could ask you the same thing Malfoy” you raised an eyebrow since you weren’t anywhere near the dungeons where the Slytherin common room was.

“Just needed some air, some people aren’t exactly thrilled with the outcome of today’s game” Draco shrugged causing your stomach to drop slightly at his obvious disappointment. He sat himself down on a bench a heavy sigh leaving his lips as he let his head fall back onto the wall.

You slowly sat down next to him carefully contemplating your next words. “Not that it would mean anything to you but I thought you were really good” you tried to comfort him as you watched a faint smile appear on his lips before he turned his head towards you.

You didn’t realize just how close you were to each other until his eyes quickly looked down to your lips and back into your eyes. You suddenly remembered why you were out here in the first place, your thoughts traveling back to Hermione who had disappeared only moments ago.

“I’m sorry but I really need to go, uh- I’ll uh see you in class” you excused yourself before standing up and continuing your search for your best friend, but a hand wrapping around your wrist stopped you dead in your tracks as you were turned back around.

Your eyes slowly travelled up from Draco’s tight grip on you and back into his icy grey eyes. You carried a confused glance on your face which Draco seemed to notice since he quickly let go of your wrist.

“Thank you” is all he said before he swiftly turned back around and began walking down the corridor, disappearing out of sight.

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therenlover · 4 years ago

Text

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs Chapter One (A Three Chapter Helmut Zemo/Reader Fanfic)

(Thank you to the wonderful anon who requested angst and smut between Zemo and the reader because Zemo had to be away from her on the run!)

Synopsis: A year after working together with Zemo in the events of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Sam and Bucky seek him out once again in need of shelter from John Walker. Meanwhile, Zemo’s wife resents his absence and prepares for guests.

Tags: Flashbacks, Depression, Alcoholism, Separation Anxiety, Arguing, Struggling Marriage, Reunions

Rating: T (E in future chapters)

Warnings: Guns, Swearings, Reader shows signs of alcoholism/alcohol abuse, Reader uses a hot shower as a mild form of self harm

Word Count: 5000~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

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Helmut Zemo was not often a man backed into a corner.

He was smart, resourceful, and had nothing left to lose. If it came down to the line, he would do whatever had to be done within his morals to achieve his goals, even if that goal was simply staying alive. The Baron bowed to no man, and made his enemies, no matter their size, fall to their knees with sheer wit instead of brute strength. That’s why, when he stood backed into an alley with the barrel of James Barnes’ gun to his forehead as the Falcon watched on, it was strange that he didn’t try to weasel his way out.

“We need answers,” Sam said, hands in the pockets of his dark hoodie. Bucky wore a similar one, only he wore a baseball cap instead of keeping his hood up. “How the hell did you break out of prison for a second time?”

Usually, Zemo would have replied with a clever quip. He had never been one to back down from a fight. This time, though, he looked almost frightened as he raised his arms in defeat. “I got in contact with friends on the outside during our short adventure together. They decided to help me out once I was re-incarcerated, willingly I might add. I had no part in the plan, but who would look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“And I guess I’m just supposed to assume you had no part in getting my pardon revoked?” Bucky spat.

“If you hadn’t noticed, James, I’ve left you alone,” A hint of his usual mockery slipped into Helmut’s tone, but he quickly pulled it back, “Believe what you want about me, but I’ve had some time since last year to… re-evaluate my feelings on the world. You had no choice but to do the things you did as the Winter Soldier, and as long as you pose no threat to society now I have no qualms with you,”

Despite the strangeness of Zemo’s response Bucky remained unphased. Sam, on the other hand, was less stoic.

“Man, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the government is looking for Bucky and I harder than they’re looking for you, and it’s kind of all your fault, so excuse me for not giving a shit about your supposed sudden change of heart!”

“Can we get to the point? I’m afraid my flight leaves in an hour and I would hate to be late,”

“Cut the bullshit!” There Bucky went, pushing the cold metal closer to Zemo’s furrowed forehead.

“Bucky...” Sam warned.

“No, Sam, I can do this. Did you or did you not actively attempt to get my pardon revoked when you took us to Madripoor? Because thanks to you, a worse symbol than Sam is now standing unchecked with the title of Captain America AND he has access to the last of the new super soldier serum AND he’s trying to get us killed so we can’t tell the world about the awful shit he does,”

“I-” Zemo went to speak and, for the first time since he had met him, Sam believed he was being genuine. There was a tremble that made its way through him, all the way to his raised hands and even his voice. It was enough that Bucky even lowered the gun minutely. “I understood that by following my lead, the both of you were risking a lot. I didn’t intend any specific malice with my actions though, no. If I may… the two of you have attracted a lot of attention here in the past few days. I assume Walker is very close to finding you?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look before Sam responded. “Maybe, why?”

“I have a safe house,” he continued, “I don’t stay there often so the location isn’t compromised, but it’s my next stop. Might I suggest we take this conversation on the road? I would hate to host your reunion with Mr. Walker in an alley over my corpse,”

There was a moment of complete stillness. Zemo remained, face dark with that strange deer-in-headlights look, a perfect statue, as the barrel of Bucky’s gun remained pointed firmly in his direction and Sam shared what seemed to be a completely silent conversation with Bucky. It was true that they had been burned before. Zemo was a man with his own agenda who did what it took to fulfill it. That being said, he had returned willingly with them back to prison before he was broken out, and without his help, the band of freshly minted super soldiers would still be running around Europe causing chaos. In the end, Bucky lowered his gun slowly before tucking it away into his boot holster.

Zemo grinned.

“Don’t think this means we trust you,” Sam groaned, pointing a finger at the man.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, gentlemen, I believe we have a plane to catch,”

As the trio began to make their way out of the alley Bucky and Sam fell to the flank of the group. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Bucky asked, eyes darting between his two companions. Sam shrugged.

“At this point, I’m doing whatever it takes to get home to my family in one piece. If that means I have to ride in Zemo’s stupid private jet again and lay low for a while, then that’s what I’m gonna do, because Sarah and those kids don’t deserve to lose me all over again,”

“But don’t you think he’s acting a little… weird?”

“Don’t worry, I have my eye on him. If he tries anything we can just throw him out front when Walker tries to shoot us,”

“You’re doing a very poor job of concealing your conversation,” Zemo shouted.

Bucky stormed ahead as Sam laughed.

“Oh, shut up!”

Surprisingly, the drive to the airstrip was mostly uneventful, as was the relatively short flight from Zurich to Avignon. There was, of course, the usual cutthroat banter and tension so thick you could feel it like a fog hanging over the group, but in an unusual twist of fate, the baron did very little to initiate. Of course, he wasn’t fully innocent though. He never was. That being said, even as his chauffeur carefully navigated the stone roads to the dropoff point he was strangely quiet. He had texted someone earlier to have the house prepared for their arrival but he kept looking down at the phone as if a response would come. It didn’t.

Sam appreciated the break from the noise. To him, it was a moment of peace after a few months of constant opposition. For the duration of the trip, he had chosen to shoot a few choice quips Bucky’s way before taking a long nap. Bucky, on the other hand, was only growing more suspicious of Zemo by the minute.

After his time with Hydra, Bucky had become intimately acquainted with the type of man that Zemo was. He was ruthless, driven by ideals that couldn’t be changed by any amount of debate or theory read inside a prison cell, and willing to do whatever it took to fulfill those ideals no matter the cost. There was remorse but no regret. A man like that doesn’t just stop believing in the thing that led him to kill dozens if not hundreds of people, because once the impetus is gone so is the only thing upholding their sense of self.

In basic terms, he was hiding something. Bucky was intent on finding out what that thing was, a thing important enough to make Zemo of all people shut the hell up and tell his enemies exactly where his safe house was, and he wasn’t going to rest until he did. The answer came easily enough in the end, but not before Sam and Bucky were forced face to face with the strangest thing they had ever seen, even when including aliens and wizards. That thing was Zemo buying flowers.

The trio had gotten out of the car somewhere around the center of the city and continued towards the safe house on foot. A few minutes after they started, though, Zemo had spoken.

“I apologize, but I’ll have to stop for a moment,” He said, holding up a hand to alert the two men trailing him to the fact that he was about to stop. Sam quirked up an eyebrow.

“At a flower shop?”

There, to the right of them, was a small fleuriste. The window was a burst of bright color. Pinks, reds, whites, purples; a certain bunch of spring blooms had caught Zemo’s eye. He shrugged. “It’s rude to arrive at someone’s house asking for a favor without a gift, Mr. Wilson. Excuse me,”

With a comfort that said he had been into the shop many times, Zemo walked through the door and began conversing with the shop owner in perfect French, even referring to her as tu instead of vous as he made his purchase.

“Did he just say someone’s house ?” Sam asked Bucky, eyes widening.

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I think he did,”

“So, we’re just showing up at someone’s door,”

“Yup. Not to mention they’re someone who aligns themself with him,”

A groan escaped from Sam as he ran his hand down his face in disbelief. “I didn’t expect much from Zemo, but damn,”

“It’s your fault for expecting anything from Zemo in the first place,”

“For once, you’re right,”

They dawdled for a moment. As their conversation stilled, Zemo returned, now burdened by a sizable bouquet from the window. Around them, the city was starting to get off of work. Families walked together as businesses had their 5 o’clock shift change. Somehow as the world around them came to life it didn’t look at Sam and Bucky with anything more than a passing glance. They were tourists, nothing more. For a moment Sam understood why Zemo would go to a place like this for safety and anonymity.

Without ceremony, the trio began walking towards their destination once again.

“I apologize for the delay,” Zemo said, keeping his pace brisk and remaining about a foot ahead of his companions, “I suppose it’s become a bit of a habit that I buy Y/N flowers whenever I come back. We shouldn’t be long now, though, the house is just a few more blocks away, maybe 3 minutes by foot,”

“Y/N?” Bucky asked. The name felt heavy on his tongue, familiar. That had to be a coincidence though. Zemo would never align himself with anyone who had worked for Hydra, and there was no other place he could have heard that name and had it hold any significance. Right?

Zemo chuckled. “Y/N is our host. I’d appreciate it if you tried to maintain some semblance of respect when we arrive, she tends to have quite the temper and it would reflect badly on me if she believed I was asking her to indefinitely house two people who would happily send her to prison,”

“About that,” Sam chimed in, “Who the hell are we about to be staying with? It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t, and by extension, I also don’t tend to trust people who trust you,”

“I assure you, Sam, Y/N is more trustworthy to you than I will ever be,”

“That doesn’t answer my question, nor does it make me feel any better,”

“She’s American, and like you, she is seeking shelter from the government. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Man, at this point I feel like you’re not telling us because she’s actually some sort of crazy Sokovian sleeper agent who’s gonna stab us in the back while we sleep. Am I crazy, Buck, or am I right?”

Bucky, who had been trying his best to stay out of the conversation, replied. “You are being unnecessarily evasive, Zemo, though that’s nothing new…”

“Right? Like, I’m really grateful that you’re lending us a hand, but I’ve gotta be honest, if I think for a second things are going south-”

Sam never got to finish his sentence.

Suddenly, Zemo stopped short, turning around and looking Bucky in the eye with a madness neither he nor Sam had ever seen before. His whole body was stiff, rigid. The hand that wasn’t cradling the flowers delicately was gripped in a fist at his side. He looked angry, but underneath the anger, he really just looked scared. “You will not touch her. Do you hear me? Do what you’d like with me, I have made choices worthy of punishment, but you will not touch Y/N. If you so much as think of it, all bets are off. Do you understand me?”

Bucky nodded, sharp. This was certainly interesting. Sam just smirked.

“Is there something else you want to tell us?”

Zemo walked up a small set of stairs towards a home to their right. “No, Mr. Wilson, I don’t believe so,”

The building was a nice one, all tan stone with dark wrought-iron fixtures on its many windows. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal midtown manor-house for some upper-class member of the community. The normalcy of it all hid its true purpose in plain sight. It was genius, really. Over a dividing wall made of the same yellowing stone, Sam could see a small sliver of vibrant green garden space and a pool at the side of the building.

With a steadying breath, Zemo knocked on the door.

“You have to knock on the door of your own safe house?” There was a hint of incredulity in Bucky’s voice as he crossed his arms. This was going to be a disaster. Why had they agreed to this again?

“A little etiquette goes a long way, James, especially when you’re already in the doghouse,” Then, the door opened.

Bucky froze. There, standing in the doorway with a pistol in her hand and a fire in her eyes, was a woman he thought long dead: you. This couldn’t be right! He had killed you back in ‘02 with the rest of the AAHR...

You quirked up an eyebrow at Zemo.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,”

They were so fucked.

________________

The day, on your end of the world, had gone by much slower.

It started off like any other, with the alarm on your bedside table blaring as you opened your eyes and your arms reached out into the emptiness in the sheets beside you. Sometimes, when Helmut’s flight got in late enough, you would wake up and reach to the side only to find that he had appeared beside you in the night. Those were the best kind of reunions. They were free of pretense, no bitterness or resentment clouded your sleep-heavy brain when you opened your eyes to his peaceful resting face, and you could simply fall into the comforting rhythm of husband and wife. If you reunited with a clear head things tended not to go as well.

You groaned. It wasn’t as if there was even a guarantee he would come back, especially not after the way you’d left things last time. The philosophy of attendre et espérer, waiting and hoping like an Edmond Dantés type, wouldn’t do you any good, at least not anymore.

Maybe it was time to start moving on…

Tomorrow. You could start thinking about the next steps tomorrow. For today you’d enjoy what you had.

Getting out of bed was difficult but you managed. The sun streamed through the curtains that billowed gently in the breeze near your balconette, brilliant gold beams illuminating the dust that danced in the air. The first thing you did was shuffle along to the corner and pour yourself two fingers of brandy from Helmut’s private collection. It was like a morning ritual these days, a numbing agent against the loneliness. Once the drink was downed you moved on to the closet to get dressed.

Dressing yourself wasn’t of much importance these days. You couldn’t exactly leave the house, and nobody was visiting, so more often than not, it was easier to just wear the same pajamas for a few days until you knew Oeznik would be around to drop off groceries. Today, though, you felt… filthy. Not dirty in a physical way, just sticky and filthy and unclean under your skin and in your very heart. Maybe a shower would help.

You looked around the closet with a clinical eye. It was difficult to be in there, surrounded by lavish dresses and expensive suits that you and your husband had worn arm in arm while plotting the downfall of the Avengers before your unsteady alliance had turned into so much more. Everything still smelled like his cologne. In the small, often-closed, walk-in closet, the scent had only intensified, covering every article of clothing with a fog of cedarwood and sage. It made you sick, choked the air from your lungs and left you gasping for even a single breath that didn’t sit heavy on your tongue with the bitter taste of that familiar musk.

The alcohol had helped. It always did. The remnants of its burn in your mouth formed a sort of guard against the scent of the closet as you searched through a pile of shirts for something soft and easy to wear. Your hands suddenly stilled.

“Zemo, I’m gonna be honest, this is the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen in my entire life,”

“I’m hurt! That’s one of my favorites,”

“Where did you even get it, a 90-year-old grandpa’s closet? Jesus Christ, it looks like something out of a shitty 70’s flick about family values,”

“I’ll have you know that I thrifted that sweater. It’s very eco-conscious you know,”

Your heart hurt. Well, no, your whole body hurt, but your heart ached a little more prominently as you carefully picked up the sweater and held it to your chest. It was terribly ugly, 4 sizes too big even on Helmut and covered in an olive and forest green argyle. Somehow he was always able to pull off the oversized thing no matter how ridiculous you had always insisted you found it. When was the last time he’d worn it again?

The memory evaded you.

Still, it was a happy relic, happier than most of the monuments to a failing marriage that lined the shelves of your beautiful personal prison. It wouldn’t hurt to hope that by wearing it, you might rub just a little bit of that lost happiness off onto your present-day, right? With one last forlorn glance around the closet, you gathered up the sweater and a pair of jeans before getting out as fast as you could. With the scent of cologne clinging to you, the shower wasn’t just a good idea now, it was necessary.

So, you showered. You took the stupid foot-long exfoliating brush Helmut loved so much and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed yourself under the near-boiling stream of water until your skin was pink and raw. Disappointingly, even the new skin felt filthy. It was better, though, less intense. With some lotion and a little bit of Neosporin on the fresh patches of blotchy red, you were able to feel okay. Not good. Not clean. Just… okay. At least you didn’t smell like him anymore. The clock read 12:14 when you finally made it out of the bathroom in search of some real food.

Lunch, if you could call it that, was a silent affair. The fridge was almost empty and the pantry was only a little less bare, so you threw together a cheese sandwich, not even bothering to waste butter and grill it. You ate it plain with another glass of brandy out on the pool deck. It was gone sooner than you hoped it would be.

Oh well.

You finished your brandy with a sigh. Only seven or eight more hours until you could finish your day with a few more drinks and pass out in bed until nine or ten once again. Ah, dreamless sleep. That sounded divine. Now if only you could fathom any non-depressing way to spend the time between sleeping and waking. Swimming was out, the chemicals would burn your freshly eviscerated skin. Playing solitaire for the fourth day in a row sounded like absolute hell on earth. Even watercolors, a usual calming respite from the torturous and neverending monotony of life trapped alone in a house you had no help in stocking, were off the table ever since you’d run out of paper.

Somewhere inside the house, your phone dinged.

The second the sound hit your ears you jumped, dropping your glass and letting it shatter into a thousand tiny shards on the stone of the patio.

Phones were a difficult thing to own for someone who was trying to stay out of the eyes of the government. They were too easy to track and could tip off enemies to your location with very little error needed on your part. Even searching the internet for innocent things was too risky. If your search history was too similar to that of the alias you had used before Helmut went to prison, it would have been easy for them to find a connection and send someone to track you down. Still, you kept a cell phone charged and ready on the kitchen counter despite the risk for one reason and one reason only: Emergency contact with your husband.

He never texted from the same number on more than one occasion, always switching from burner phone to burner phone as he flew across the country doing god knows what, but if he was ever in a situation where emergency contact with you was needed, he was able to reach you at your number immediately. It had only happened a couple of times, and each time he had been in a considerable amount of danger. So, when you suddenly heard the sound you dreaded more than anything else in the world, you were quick to rush inside, even ignoring the shattered glass at your feet as you shoved through the doors and found the phone.

The small, LED display was lit up with the notification. It made your heart both soar and sink.

Flying home with two guests. Prepare the two rooms for their stay. We will be there by 5 at the latest - B

You read over the message several times before letting the phone fall from your hand and back onto the counter with a dull thud.

That absolute asshole.

Three months. Three months you had spent sitting alone. Three months without a call, or a text, or a letter, or even a word of when he was coming back by way of Oeznik. Three months! And after three months of loneliness and sleepless nights and empty bottles on the drink cart he reaches out through an emergency line of contact that almost certainly means he might be dying only to tell you he’s bringing two strangers into your safe house, the place even he refuses to stay in too long in order to not give its location away. The scar on your spine was starting to burn as you leaned up against the counter and cried.

It was ridiculous to think you had ever believed him capable of more tact than that.

Really, it was your fault. From the beginning, you’d had too much faith in a man incapable of being trustworthy, even to those closest to him. You knew that, and yet you had married him. Maybe the soft touches and sweet lies he had spoon-fed you had made you weak. Maybe you always had been.

“I’m not a child, Helmut, I know what I’m doing!”

“I don’t think you do,” he shouted. He was a few drinks in now, you both were. The nights before his departures never tended to end well when you both drank. “Because no matter what I do to protect you, you have the need to disobey me! Have you considered that I do the things I do for your own good!”

“Oh! Oh yes, the things YOU do!” You slammed your glass down on the table as you stormed over to Helmut, “I sit here all day like a fucking dog in a cage while you fly to fucking Ibiza and flirt with supermodels, but YOUR story is just so fucking tragic! I’m your wife, Helmut! I’m not an animal or your property, I’m your goddamn wife! You can’t just order me to sit and stay like a dog,”

He glared down at you, eyes hawkish and glinting in the low lamplight. For the first time in years, he looked threatening, “You may not be a dog, or a child, or my property, but you are a weapon! It’s my job to keep you here, away from the-”

“Excuse me?” You interrupted. The two of you stood, inches away and yet miles apart. Slowly, the drive in Helmut’s eyes faltered. “Say that again. I dare you,”

“Schatz, I-”

“No, Helmut, you meant it so say it again. Call me that again. I fucking dare you,” Tears were streaming down your face now. He took a step towards you, hand extended to wipe them away, but you were quick to take a step back out of his reach.

“You misunderstood me,”

“I don’t think there was anything to misunderstand,”

You swept the shards of your glass tumbler into a dustpan, hands still shaking even ten minutes after you’d read Helmut’s message to you. As you worked, your last conversation before he’d left echoed in your mind.

How had it all devolved into that? It wasn’t hard to remember Helmut before prison, jaded and broken and lonely. He had been so much like you and yet so different. Each of you seemed to be the perfect balm for the others' wounds. In the end, despite all of his flaws, you had found yourself in love. Now that he was a different man, was that love gone? You couldn’t say. All you knew for sure was that you weren’t nearly drunk enough to be facing the confusing feelings in your brain. With the last of your energy, you emptied the dustpan of glass into the trash can and returned to the house, sweater itchy against your irritated skin, to ready the guest rooms.

The job wasn’t a long one. You had never used the guest rooms in all the time you’d spent at the Avignon property, so the sheets were already clean. There was just a thin layer of dust on the furniture that needed to be swept away as you checked to make sure the dressers were bare and the bathrooms were stocked with amenities. Then, when that was done, you were left to your thoughts as the hours ticked by.

Most of the time you spent sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing. It sounded terrible, and in all honesty it was, but what else could you do? The house was already spotless so cleaning wasn’t an option, and you didn’t quite feel like doing much of anything as you stared at the clock and tried to remember a time when your life was less of a disaster. As it got closer to five, though, you started to get antsy.

You had tried your best to not think about the obvious issue of the guests. Zemo was not the type to threaten his home, even if he wasn’t happy with you, so usually having anyone who wasn’t Oeznik or another paid lackey aware of the location of your safe house would be a big no in his book, but then you started thinking of the implications of him bringing people into your home. Your home, not his. Was he on his way to kill you? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe he was bringing your replacement.

Now that thought made anger bubble up in your throat. You were no stranger to the idea that when your husband was away, he could be doing anything. There was no guarantee when he slept in lavish hotels or drank the night away in elite lounges that he kept his wedding ring on. The fact that there were two guests meant it was unlikely he was bringing two mistresses, but never impossible. Nothing was impossible when it came to Helmut.

No, it was more likely he had finally decided it was time to end your suffering. The shouts and boisterous laughter that started to sound directly outside of the front room window only confirmed the for you. Slowly, you crept towards the door and grabbed a small pistol from its place in the umbrella stand. If he wanted you dead you weren’t going to go without a fight.

Through the curtains on the front door, you could just barely make out the trio. When you saw them your blood ran cold. It was one thing if he needed help to take you down, but getting the Winter Soldier on board? Your rage only grew by the minute.

Helmut said something, probably planning the best course of action to catch you off guard, and you sneered. Two could play at that game. When he knocked on the door you opened it calmly and held the gun with your finger just barely ghosting over the trigger.

Everyone froze.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,” you said, rage coursing through every nerve in your body. You may have been in retirement for quite a few years, but you still knew how to handle a gun. Everyone there, except maybe the Falcon, knew that. As Zemo went to open his mouth, you prepared for a firefight.

“Because I brought you flowers,”

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

a/n: Sorry that only one chapter is out! The fic is just getting very long and complicated and I wanted to make sure you got as much as possible before the next episode drops lol. I’ll be working pretty much nonstop from now until then, though, so the next parts should be out soon!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @dazzlingseb, @avgravy , @sarahsilver , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @mossybank , @simsiddy , @xxspqcebunsxx

Please do not post my work on other sites, thank you!

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader

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kass-storycorner · 4 years ago

Note

Rainbow Anon~

Hhhhuuuu, those sleeping asks where so cute!? Do you think you could another part with Diluc, Zhongli and Albedo having come home late, but their s/o has a nightmare later on the night due to stress? (hurt/comfort plz lol)

//I said that I needed to stop simping for all of the characters but, I literally cannot physically do that. Everybody is so beautiful;;;!!

Aaaah, hello Rainbow anon! Thank you, I'm glad you liked them!!! Also never stop simping, they really are all beautiful. Genshin is at this point a "character I simp for"-collector haha And now on to the request, thanks for sending this in, I've been struggling with every other piece I've been working on the last days so idk writing these small drabble / bullet point fics is a nice change. Though I have to apologise that the Albedo s/o hc is the only one that actually doesn’t really fulfils the request…

And I didn’t add Zhongli, I had this request for a while now in my drafts, Albedo and Diluc finished but idk I couldn’t come up with something for Zhongli and it frustrated me so now I’m posting it like this 😩

Nighttime headcanon part II. - Nightmare headcanon

Genre: Angst with comfort

Rating: SFW

Content Warnings: none I guess

Characters: Albedo, Diluc,

Format: Bullet points / HC

Albedo

Ah, he did it again. Albedo didn't intend to stay so long at the laboratory inside of the headquarters of the knights again. To be honest he had planned to come home earlier that night, but alas - he didn’t notice the passing of time again until Sucrose knocked on the door, pulling him out of the trance he gets into when he works and reminding him of the time.

When Albedo opened the door to the shared apartment it was already filled with darkness again. A deep sigh left him as he took of his coat and shoes, making his way towards the shared bedroom. He really missed going to bed with you. It was so different than joining in bed, there were no sweet good night kisses nor wishes.

Though when he walked into the bedroom he didn’t expect to see this. Normally you would sleep peacefully, the only noises coming from you would be your snores. But when Albedo saw your sleeping body in bed tonight there seemed nothing peaceful about you.

It looked like you have been tossing and turning in bed for a while, the blanket didn’t cover your body, it was already halfway on the floor. But your face was the give away - you looked so scared.

Slowly Albedo made his way to the bed, sitting down next to you, still in his clothes, not sure what he should do. It would be best to wake you up, wouldn’t it?

“No… don’t”, he heard you whimper. He really should wake you up. But something, maybe it was is damned curiosity, in him wanted to hear more. Albedo wanted to know what scared you so much in your sleep.

“Albedo, please- albedo-“ ah, a sharp pain made it’s way through Albedos heart. What were you having a nightmare about that involved him?

Albedo wanted to know more, wanted to hear more. But he couldn’t stomach how scared you sounded, scared of him, so he gently put his hand on your hair, stroking it in the hopes it might sooth your dream.

However at the touch you woke up, looking directly in Albedos eyes. Before he could say anything tears already made their way down your face, hands and arms wrapping around Albedos waist and hiding your face in his stomach.

“Hey, hey it’s fine. I’m here. It was just a nightmare”, he said in a quite and gentle voice.

But that’s it - it didn’t feel like a nightmare at all to you. The moment you woke up the dream already was forgotten, except for the last thing you saw in it. You remembered the bitter feeling of betrayal, heartbreak and you were so scared. So horribly scared. The last imagine that burned itself into your head was Albedos face, looking at you with an blank expression, his eyes empty from all of the love he had for you. It felt more like a horrible future and not a nightmare.

This was nothing you felt like you could tell Albedo… it sounded quite silly, didn’t it? And the way Albedo looks at you right now, eyes filled with worry but so much love for you. There was no way those eyes would grow cold one day, would there?

Diluc

The last few weeks have been extremely stressful, for you and Diluc. With festivities right around the corner and many new visitors in Mondstadt because of them, Diluc and you had your hands filled.

Diluc for once more as the owner of Dawn Winery than the ‘Dark Knight Hero’ ah how much he despises that name

While yes, the crime rates and suspicious behaviour just grew with the amount of new people that visited Mond - but so did the demand for his alcohol. And after some incidents with slimes and some inefficient knights - Diluc had his hands full, day and night.

And you? You were busy yourself with your work, the festivities tripled your workload too and the worst about it was: there was no time to see Diluc for more than a few minutes awake.

When you went to bed he wasn’t there and when you woke up - rarely the past weeks was he asleep next to you (only once to be honest). Most of the time he was already awake again (or maybe still awake, you couldn’t tell at how short your encounters have become).

Diluc felt horribly guilty about how he didn’t spend any time with you. Yes you both were quite busy the last weeks, but even he could feel how the stress and the lack of your sight slowly tore him down.

So tonight he decided to skip his duties as Mondstadts protector - just for this one night, wanting to spend it with you. But even then, when he arrived home, entering the shared bedroom he saw you already asleep. It wasn’t too late in the evening, but he figured that you were just exhausted. And honestly? He was too.

So Diluc decided to lay down beside you, maybe you both couldn’t spend some time awake again but for now this must be enough. Though Diluc promises to himself that once all of this madness is over again to give you the attention you deserved.

The moment Diluc took his place beside you in bed, he noticed a small shift in your behaviour. Your breathing wasn’t calm like normally and how did Diluc just notice the way your brows furrowed. It looked like you had a nightmare.

Carefully he took you in his arms, hoping to give you the comfort you need for the nightmare to end. But it did not. It seemed like it was just getting worse and when you started to cry in your sleep was when Diluc had enough.

Softly he wiped away the tears, whispering “hey (y/n), it’s fine. Wake up, it’s just a dream, it’s okay”.

His soft touch and quite words woke you up, finding yourself in his arms. What? How and when?

You pressed your face into his chest, taking in his smell. Ah. How much you missed him, all of it. You felt how Diluc planted a kiss on your head.

“Are you alright Darling?”, he asks and you sigh at the sound of his voice, at with how much love and concern in it he asks. You shift a bit, now being able to see in his eyes in the dark. “It’s fine I’m- I’m just stressed.” His thumb trailed the dark circles under your eyes. “To me it seems like you are more than stressed.”

“I just couldn’t sleep because of it that well the last days, it’s fine”, at your words Diluc shot you a look of concern. “It’s not okay, since when do you have these nightmares?”. You hid your face again in his chest before mumbling out your answer. “It’s only when I sleep alone.”

Diluc felt a wave of guilt go through him. Only having those nightmares when you slept alone? Now to come to think of it, Diluc hasn’t slept next to you in the past few days (that idiot hasn’t slept much at all)

Squeezing you in his arms he lays his chin down on your head, promising you that you won’t have to fall asleep alone anymore. And he’s here now. It’s okay.

After a while you fall asleep, Diluc listening to your calm and soft breathing until he falls asleep himself.

Both of you had to wake up early that morning, but when Adeleine walked into the bedroom to wake you - ah, you two looked so peaceful in bed together and she just hadn’t the heart to disturb that peace.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin angst #genshin fluff #genshin comfort #Diluc #albedo #diluc x reader #albedo x reader #gn!reader #Diluc is an absolute softy deep down you can’t convince me otherwise #also the albedo one is more hinting at him destroying Mondstadt one day maybe so idk if I wrote that in a way that I was understandable

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hes-writer · 4 years ago

Text

All Too Well

Summary: right person, wrong time

Warning: sweet fluff and angst

Word Count: 4519 words

A/N: listen to ‘All Too Well’ by Taylor Swift first as there are some references throughout the fic. I also added time stamps as this occurs over the course of one year. I’m sorry if it’s confused—I tried my best to make it as coherent as possible ❤️

also, covid doesn’t exist in this au!

‘~~~’ = flashback, ‘—‘ = cut scene

November 2020

Y/N scrambled through the many articles of clothing sprawled in her drawer. The fabrics mingling with each other into a giant mess. It didn’t even include the pile of clothes sitting on the mattress and dripping on the floor.

That was the thing with Y/N. She had a habit of keeping things she didn’t need. She wasn’t a hoarder—although, Y/N did keep more things in favour of their sentimental value. It was her thing.

The fact that she could cradle a t-shirt in her palms and tell someone exactly what happened on a day that moulded the story of that specific shirt was her skill. Y/N liked to think that you could tell a lot about a person on what kind of clothes they wore—whether they were seeking affection or isolating, but not lonely.

In fact, her clothes didn’t just hold meaning for herself—it catered pieces of places she went to wearing the outfit. The things she thought of while adorning it, the emotions that she felt as it covered or—barely—shielded her skin. It was especially important to her to remember the people she spent it with.

Like that oversized, knee-length coat hung near the back of her closet. Y/N barely wore it now but seeing it beneath the splayed doors of the wardrobe, she could see flashes in her head about the last time she had worn it.

The way the pea coat flowed behind her as she twirled in a gentle circle, twisting the fabric slightly and catching tiny drops of littered snow. Y/N could picture the bulbous hat she wore on her head. A tiny pompom weighing every which way with the direction of her head. Her hands were in warm mittens that rendered her fingerless. The snow boots on her feet were crunching with every step of the crisp white snow beneath her feet.

It was truly a winter wonderland when the white weather sprinkled down on her—on them.

Y/N could just about feel the same large grin replicating her face when she snapped out her memory. The ghost of the hung overcoat literally hunted her as it rested in the shadows of her closet.

Y/N blinked twice, slouching her shoulders as she stayed frozen on her knees. The carpet wasn’t doing much to protect her taut skin, but she was in search of something and intended to find it. Except, she couldn’t find it anywhere.

She was sure that there was absolutely no way that she could lose it. It was a loud patterned scarf that frayed at the edges. It was, quite possibly, the ugliest design Y/N had laid her eyes upon. Though, a certain someone had reassured her that she looked beautiful regardless. Besides, the air was way too chilly to think about fashion choices that day.

~~~

December 2019

“Why don’t you pose for me, love?” Harry suggested, holding his phone tightly in one hand. That same hand was pulled free of the warm confines of his leather gloves as he insisted on capturing a few photos of his girl.

“You got it, mister,” Y/N replied, bending down to ball a glob of snow in her mitten-covered hand. She could just barely feel the iciness radiating off the protective layer. “Mind if I add some props?”

She lifted her hand, a raised brow quirking up her knit beanie.

Harry chuckles, “Go right ahead,”

He tilted his phone, ignoring the way his fingers lost feeling at the fingertips in favour of watching the woman of his dreams throw the patch of snow in the air. He captured the picture, admiring the way her back looked. Y/N really was beautiful from all angles. It was kind of counterintuitive, really, since it was snowing after all. But Harry was way too enamoured to question the questionable actions of his lover.

Besides, the gleaming smile on her face was enough to wipe his mind clean of anything other than her.

“Great! Why don’t you turn around?”

The woman looked over her shoulder was a subtle roll of her eyes, “No way,”

“C’mon, love. ‘S not even tha’ ugly,” Harry urged, commenting about the scarf wrapped around her neck.

She scoffed, “The fact that you have to reassure me is proof that it is ugly,”

Y/N played with the thin ends of the fabric, smiling to herself as she heard Harry groan loudly behind her. They were staying at Gemma’s house for the holidays and Y/N had purchased the first scarf she had seen at the store. She had nearly forgotten it if it weren’t for Harry calling her the night before to ensure that she would be warm during their stay. Not only was it cold, but the chilliness was just a tad too crisp to leave the cozy home without some sort of neck protection.

So, here she was dressed all cute from head-to-toe except her shoulders. It was a bit stupid to care so much about an ugly scarf design but Y/N guessed it had something to do with wanting everything to be perfect.

“I don’t think it’s ugly,” Harry quipped, sounding much closer than he had before. “‘Think it’s really nice. Especially the cutie who’s wearing it. Mind if I borrow it some time?”

Y/N couldn’t help the appearance of her love-struck eyes, smiling again when she felt his bundled arms snaked around her waist. Harry was warm, as usual, and he was sturdy as a rock both literally and metaphorically. Standing still in the snow gave her a bit of a shiver but having Harry’s body close was a breath of relief.

He cradled her between his arms, resting his own scarf-covered chin on her shoulder. Y/N knew that he must’ve been bending at the knees to reach that height. She clutched his naked hand between her mittens, directing it to a pocket in the confines of her coat to keep warm.

“Are you talking about me or the scarf?”

“How about both? Make it a two-for-one deal, yeah?” Harry’s voice was a bit hazy.

He felt as though he was captivated in a trance, watching the snowflakes rest gently on the slope of Y/N’s lashes. Her eyes glancing at their joined, mittened and gloved, hands.

She sighed, “Why not?”

Harry gave a silent cheer, leaning little ways into peck her cold cheek with his lips.

“Alright, now why don’t ya’ twirl for me, Y/N?” He instructed, taking cautious steps back in the snow.

“Like this?”

Harry nodded, thumbing the red button on his phone to press ‘record’. He watched as Y/N gracefully spun in a circle. Her pea coat flailed just at knee-level. Her boots squelched the starch white snow.

She did a full 360 before fully facing him with a bright grin. Harry couldn’t be sure how much his heart could take. He switched the setting to capture a photo.

“Exactly like that,”

He wanted to remember this.

~~~

Upon realization that Y/N would not get hold of that specific scarf—at least not for a while—because it was at Gemma’s home miles away from her, Y/N forced herself to clean up the mess she had made. Maybe it was the sudden strike of sensitivity coursing through her but Y/N felt much more emotional than she did before.

Perhaps it was the match-strike ignition of burning memories that flickered through her brain because once she started; she couldn’t stop.

It started with the frosty memory of twirling in the deep snow. Then, it was the flashback of driving from the grocery store to pick up ingredients before heading back to Gemma’s.

Y/N couldn’t deny the butterflies she felt playing that particular memory back because it was one of the moments that cemented a deep-rooted emotion in her.

The feeling of being beautiful—captivating, charming and alluring that Harry failed to notice the red traffic light switching to a reflective green. (‘Oi! Eyes on the road’)

She could still see the blush on his pale skin, realizing that he had been caught staring. And, by the way, the car behind them honked when Harry failed to move through the intersection. (‘Sorry, got distracted’).

And Y/N didn’t want to say anything but she could feel his tiny glances over her when Harry thought that she wasn’t paying attention.

———

November 2020

It has been nearly a year now.

Only a few more weeks until the dreaded date looped around to a full year passing. This time, Harry wasn’t around to celebrate the festivities with her and that ugly scarf was an article that Y/N had desperately missed. Ironically.

It would be just under a year when Harry had taken Y/N to his childhood home—now Gemma’s house as Anne had moved to a smaller place. It was where he excitedly showed her his room—the posters on his walls. The comics he used to read and the CD’s he used to listen to piled on his desk.

~~~

December 2019

“Quite an improvement,” Y/N commented, sitting on the edge of his twin-sized bed. She was referring to his King-sized bed from when she had slept over a couple of times.

“I’d say,” Harry agreed. The wood creaked under his weight as he sat beside her.

They both stared at the wall in front of them, feeling a sense of intimacy as Harry shared the remnants of his life to her.

The day continued when Anne had called the both of them down for hot cocoa, paired with a striped red, green and white candy cane dipped in the mug.

This was the part that hurt Y/N the most. It was almost too painful to remember—to reminisce because it was proof that the couple were so close to making a future together.

It didn’t happen, though.

Despite Anne and Gemma’s stories about a once upon a time, dorky Harry in his glasses (‘He still is’)—his family couldn’t stop referencing Y/N as his future.

“Hope your kids don’t take after his naked habit”

“Maybe your garden will have wild roses”

“Reckon you guys will get a small home?”

It made Y/N’s cheeks heat up. His family already thought of her as part of their family. And one sneaky look at Harry ensured her that Anne and Gemma weren’t the only ones thinking of their future because Harry caught her gaze long enough to give her the answer she was subconsciously searching for.

And when salutations had to be said, Harry and Y/N said goodbye to Gemma and Anne as they were to return to their respective London homes.

It was also the day that Harry had asked Y/N to move in with him.

——

It was exciting, to say the least. Moving in with your significant other was a big step in any relationship. The fact that Harry was a world-renowned superstar almost disappeared from Y/N’s mind because even though his home was a million times larger than her tiny flat—it immediately felt like home.

Harry wasn’t one to dwell too much on changes. In fact, he often referred to it as a sign that things were moving forward. There was no use being stuck in the same place when the universe had so much to offer. So, he was quite glad when Y/N made herself comfortable in his—their—home.

She managed to make the large place feel cozy. The decorations and tiny trinkets she had placed all over the house were really just pieces of her heart sprinkled in a home in which they’d build a life together. He would look at a pastel-coloured tea kettle and question when he had gotten the appliance before realizing that it was Y/N’s. Harry would use the tea kettle to boil water instead of using his Keurig.

___

Their schedules wouldn’t always line up. But Harry and Y/N were too loved-up to care how little time they spent with each other. There was no use in complaining when they could use that time to appreciate each other—for sticking around. For being the same when things moved too fast. For being the rock that both of them needed when times get rough.

Harry’s late studio sessions ran through the early morning when Y/N would be cooped up in their shared bedroom. Fast asleep and hugging his scented pillow. Sometimes he would find her bundled with a blanket on the living room couch. The soft glow of the television highlighting Y/N’s beautiful features. One look at her was enough to release Harry of the tension he felt on his joints and shoulders.

Y/N’s night shifts were the same too. She would return to a quiet house because Harry had fallen asleep. Despite his attempts to stay awake, he was not a night owl at all. Not only to stay up past ten in the evening unless he was out to do work. She had reassured him countless times that she would be okay on the drive home and that he should sleep when his body grew tired.

Harry tried to stay awake. He really did. And Y/N could tell because as soon as she crawls to her side of the bed, Harry’s right arm immediately pats the cold sheets for her as if sensing that she was nearby. He would mumble a quiet murmur of her name, “Y/N? Tha’ you?”

He would receive no verbal response, nor would Harry be able to see his love in the dark of the night even because Y/N hadn’t bothered to switch her bedside lamp on. Y/N was aware of Harry’s sensitivity to light, especially if he was in the dark for a long period of time. Despite that, Harry would hum in satisfaction when Y/N’s body would etch perfectly against his in a silent greeting that yes it is her.

They would fall fast asleep cuddled into one another.

If they managed to stay awake or if sleep failed to come, Y/N and Harry would trudge down the stairs for a midnight snack, squealing loudly as one playfully chased the other down the staircase.

Sometimes it was Y/N walking in on Harry munching on a few biscuits (‘Not such a health nut anymore, huh?’). Sometimes it was Harry catching Y/N making a fruit salad—an array of fruits and vegetables laying on the counter (‘I take credit for this’, he would say.)

But it would always end the same.

With both of them dancing goofily with each other. The refrigerator light was the only source of illumination because neither would be bothered to turn on an actual light. Not when the fridge served as a light source and a container of a variety of edible choices.

One night would end with Y/N slow dancing in Harry’s arms. His hands-on her waist, grazing her skin when her pyjamas too lifted. Their bodies would rest against each other like a stacked jigsaw. Harry’s chin on her head, hers on his broad shoulder. A pair of their hands clasped tightly on one another while the other found purchase with their bodies.

Harry would hum a light tune or sing softly so that they can find their rhythm. They would sway across the kitchen—slowly—crying out in pain and laughter when one would bump their hip on the marble counter. Y/N would listen to his heartbeat thrumming beneath his chest and even though she could only see a bit of him—it was enough.

One night would end with Y/N and Harry goofily flailing their limbs every which way. Boisterous laughter filling the room as Harry practically wheezed at Y/N’s admittance of performing a mean Dougie.

And with the fridge light catching the bits of it, Harry would slap his palm on the counter to catch himself before his knees gave out below him (‘There’s jus’ no way you’re that good’). She proved him wrong.

Neither of them knew when it would be the last time these moments occurred. Until they stopped completely.

——

It was the small changes that brought them closer together. And what would inevitably drive them apart.

It was the fact that even though the couple didn’t see each other much, they still cherished the time they had together because that was enough.

The relationship was built off of mutual trust, respect and honesty. Time was essential but Harry and Y/N didn’t necessarily need a lot of it. They just needed the reassurance of ‘always’. That no matter what happens, however far away they were from each other physically, however, the time they spent apart—that Harry would always come back to her and Y/N would always run home to him.

——

It was late-August when they broke up.

Leading up to it, Y/N had been promoted at her workplace and Harry was no longer spending late nights at the studio. He was sleeping in the studio instead of coming home.

Y/N was understanding. He was on a time-crunch since his second album was due to be released at the end of that year. She wanted to be as supportive as she had always been—if not, more. Harry didn’t need more pressure from her—his partner—who was supposed to be his solid ground in a cracking centre.

It was okay. It was okay. It was okay.

It was fine that they were spending less time than they normally would—not that it was a lot in the first place.

He was still trying. She was still trying. Messages, video calls—hell, even emails were there. The rare times when their schedule would actually coincide were spent peacefully sleeping on the bed. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Then, Y/N got promoted. More responsibilities. Training her colleagues. Interviewing assistants. Typing detailed emails. Double-checking spreadsheets.

At the same time that Harry was being pulled left and right to make decision after decision. Finalizing next year’s tour dates. Promos. TV shows. Modelling campaigns. Photoshoots. Interviews.

And like any other, answering later turned into a message left on ‘read’. A missed call manifested into an unopened voicemail. A desperate-measures email was only one of the many in each others’ inbox.

Harry wanted Y/N to come with him on tour the following year but it was a stretch waiting to be snapped.

She couldn’t.

Y/N was starting to build her life, building her career and she wasn’t going to give that up for him just yet. He could go on tour and she could visit when time allows. They knew that. Harry would buy her a ticket and she would be off to see him—when she can.

~~~~

June 2020

“I can’t go. You know that,” Y/N sighed, rubbing a palm over her face.

Harry leaned his shoulder against the doorframe of the bathroom. “I knew that. ‘Was worth a try though,”

They shared a comforting smile with each other. A hint of reassurance when uneasiness prevailed. There was something about the shift from spring to summer that simmered in their chests.

“Promise you’ll come to visit?”

“Of course,”

~~~

London may be Harry and Y/N’s home but LA was calling for him. Hence, why he spent the summer on the other side of the world. On another continent, across the pond, as some people might say.

It’s just a few months. He’ll be back before you know it, Y/N thought.

Harry will be home for the holidays and they would drive up north to spend it with Anne and Gemma as they did the previous year. The year when Y/N had met them for the first time and despite that, attained their approval to build a future with Harry.

Just a few months and then Harry will be back with her. The same Harry who will gently loop an ugly scarf around her neck. Teasing her about its hideousness before reassuring her that it was ‘as stunning as the woman wearing it’. . .or something. Harry always complimented her.

Yet, Harry never came home a few weeks shy before their scheduled road trip as they had planned. And Y/N did not visit him like she had promised to do.

Though, none of them blamed the other because they were too busy with their own lives to keep up with each other. What once was a loving and caring relationship was not a liability pushed to the back burner.

One might say that Harry and Y/N’s love was a case of wrong timing. They were perfect for each other—but just not now.

Because Y/N had a lot of things going for her and expanding her career. Harry was becoming more and more popular and successful by the minute. It wasn’t like they meant to ignore each other or be oblivious that they were still very much in a relationship with each other. Both Harry and Y/N just had a lot on their plate to even think twice about a relationship.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault—really. Even though their phone call says otherwise.

——-

August 2020

“Y-you what? Y/N, love,” Harry spoke through the phone.

Y/N’s breath hitched at the sound of the beloved nickname. It had been a while since she had heard it.

“I want to break up,” She repeated.

“Why?”

The woman picked at her fingernails, distracting herself from going back to the spreadsheet in front of her. She was in the middle of a break up yet her body urged to continue working.

“What do you mean why?” Y/N sighed exasperatedly. “It’s been months since we’ve seen each other, Harry. You said you’ll be home before Christmas so we can see Anne and Gemma but—,”

“We don’t have to see them! Y’can fly out here and spend it with me,”

“You know, I can’t,”

Upon letting those slip past her lips, Y/N was starting to question if Harry had disconnected because of the eeriness over the phone.

And as he said that night months ago with the alteration of Y/N’s word, “‘Know y’cant. You promised, though.”

Harry’s voice cracked and Y/N wondered if he was gnawing on his lip like he usually would when tears overflowed the ducts of his eyes. In the distance, Y/N heard a door close shut and she wondered if he had been working—the same as her—before she had decided to call and he had decided to answer.

A knife pierced into Y/N’s chest, guilt seeping in her veins as she recalled the words she had uttered to him. A promise that she would visit if he gave her the ticket. But that was then and this is now.

She wasn’t the head of her department then. Y/N had a lot more responsibilities now and she couldn’t just up and leave whenever she wanted to.

“And you promised to come back. Did you?”

He didn’t.

“Look, can we talk about this later? ‘M in the middle of recording and—“

“When are you not?” Y/N cut him off absentmindedly, splitting her attention on the Excel sheet in front of her.

“Excuse me?” Harry quipped, faintly hearing the clacks of a keyboard. “I know I work a lot but y’do too. Barely even respond to my texts anymo’”

“Says the one who doesn’t answer my calls,” Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes.

And there it was again. The defeat of silence that proved no matter how much they retaliated against one another—neither of them would win because both of them were at fault.

“I was busy,”

“I am, too,”

“Y/N—“

“What?”

“I-I don’t want to lose you. . .”

The ache in Y/N’s chest grew tenfold. Her fingers momentarily paused over the keys of her laptop board. There was nothing to lose. Not when they’ve already thrown it away.

“I don’t want to either, H. But don’t you think breaking up is better than waiting for something that will never happen?”

“What won’t?” He asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N pushed her chair back, staring at the view of the city from her office.

“Us. Our future. It won’t happen because you’re busy and I’m busy. There’s no right time for us to start, Harry.”

“Who says there has to be a right time, huh?”

“Says, everybody! How are we supposed to build our relationship further when there is no relationship to work on?”

The waves of emotion came crashing down. For months, Y/N had suppressed the feeling of loneliness inside of her. She missed Harry so badly that it hurt her to admit so she went with the temporary bliss of balling it up until it became too much.

“We just need time, Y/N. We don’t need to do it at the right time. Y’know that,” Harry whispered, wishing so badly that this conversation didn’t take place over the phone where he was currently locked in a bathroom stall.

He continued, “You were there, weren’t you? Barely saw you but y’were there. You know how I feel about you and I know you feel about me. We jus’ need time,”

Time.

Because time is when Harry and Y/N would slow dance in the kitchen at god-knows-hour of the morning.

Because time is when Harry and Y/N blissfully spent their time in the cold, watching her throw the bundle of snow in the air as if it was in slow-motion.

Because time is when Harry would look at Y/N and swear that it has stopped because nothing else mattered except her.

“You know it, you know it,” Harry gulped, breath hitching over the phone. Was he crying?

“All too well,” Y/N responded underneath her breath. She knew that he was right—that all they needed was a chance to reconnect and rekindle the flame put out by distance.

She hated how familiar every memory was to her. She hated how easily she was brought back to the moment it all happened with just the breath of his whisper.

There was no denying the emotion she felt wearing his hoodie and red and black plaid pyjamas at three in the morning. The affection she received wearing those pieces of clothing from the man who owned them. Her sock feet glided against the cold floor. Everything came flashing back to Y/N and it hurt because there was no way she could grant his wish.

“You’re asking for too much, Harry. I-I can’t give you that. You can’t give me—us—that,”

“W-what are you saying, love?” He whimpered, clutching the device in his hand as a last resort to hold onto something that was drifting away.

He knew that she was right. Y/N couldn’t give him that and he certainly couldn’t either.

“We can’t be together. At least, not now. We’re not the same anymore. We want the same things but we’re headed on different paths,”

“But we’ll meet again, won’t we?” Harry’s hoarse voice exemplified that he was—indeed—been crying. And Y/N’s wet cheeks were proof that she was as well.

“Always,”

_____

#harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing

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httpsaiki · 5 years ago

Note

Congrats on 300 love! I don’t think I’ve requested something yet from you even though I love your writing! Anyway, could I request a fic where Teruhashi and the (fem)reader are dating(usually I don’t mind what pronouns the reader has but for this one it’s kinda relevant. But you can make it gender neutral if you want)? So the two have been dating for a few months. The reason Teruhashi entered this relationship wasn’t because of “love” but because she wanted to get her fans off her back and what better was to do that than enetering a relationship with another girl. She this that it may help get her male fans off her and at first it’s great. Then the reader starts to see the relationship declining. At first Teruhashi was sweet and kind but now she is kind of rude to the reader, saying things like how she is embarrassing her or that if Teruhashi is so perfect why isn’t her s/o capable of being that way too. Mean ik (I don’t like Teruhashi if you couldn’t tell), the reader is also dealing with comments from her fans saying that the relationship is a charity case and such so she is feeling horrible in the relationship. A fight happens between the two and mean stuff is said. They break up and the reader isn’t taking it well. Not because she is upset she isn’t in the relationship cause she is happy to be out but because of the backlash from fans. Seeing this either Kuboyasu (jabjshsk I love him sm) or Saiki (love him too) comfort her and they begin to hang out more till they start to date. The two are now in a healthy and loving relationship and the reader gets to see what that feels like and how that wasn’t what she had with Teruhashi... I really just write this whole fic out lmao. I was going to write it but I’m simply lazy and I wanted to request something from you. As always ignore this or change anything if you don’t like it an take your time please don’t rush or stress yourself out. Ily hun❤️❤️

Hi!! Thank you so much <3! I wanted to say that I adore this request and honestly was ready to drop everything to write it, what an amazing idea you have here! I’m worried I focused a little too much on the Teruhashi part but, man, I’m a sucker for angst so it was a lot of fun. I think I may have gone a little overboard, as I don’t think I’ve written something this long before. I’m sorry if it’s wrong or not quite what you wanted. Thank you so so much for this request, I love it!

Small edit: I forgot to add I picked Saiki for this, as I think I write him a bit better than Kuboyasu!

— Reader is female! Warnings for slight angst, break up, fighting.

WC: 3041

Italics are Saiki “speaking” telepathically.

Teruhashi is the perfect pretty girl, on the outside at least. —————————————————–

“So, what I’m trying to say is… Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?” Teruhashi asked on the rooftop one fateful evening after school. She looked as gorgeous as ever, trying to hide her slightly blushing face as she avoided your eyes. The wind was blowing gently through her hair, causing it to sway ever so slightly to one side. The sun was setting behind her, giving her an even more angelic glow to her appearance. You said yes, of course, how could you not? It was magical, especially when it was from the world’s prettiest girl. There was no way you could reject her.

The perfect couple. That’s how it appeared to be. For some time, that’s even how it was.

Teruhashi Kokomi. Your stunning, admirable, and perfect girlfriend. She’s amazing. A few months ago when she asked you to be her girlfriend you were exhilarated. The thought of dating what many considered to be the perfect girl was a chance you knew you just couldn’t pass up. All the time spent with her felt like cloud nine, she made sure you were happy no matter what, and of course, you tried to do the same for her. Her reputation truly held up, even in private.

Over those months, it amazed you what a wonderful girlfriend she was, having seemingly endless affection and love for you. It felt like she was more in tune with your emotions than you’d ever been. She was always ready to listen to your problems, whether you just wanted to vent or needed solutions. She was such a giver in the relationship that you even felt a little bad about it.

She knew that, but she’d never tell you. Not yet, anyway.

So many precious memories flashed through your mind as you thought about her. From getting ice cream on hot summer days to study dates amid a cold, snowy winter (where there wasn’t as much studying as there was cuddling). All the late nights you had spent with her, talking about everything and yet nothing. Video calls at the bright and early hours of the mornings just so she could get your opinion on what she should wear for the day. Every little thing you did together seemed as perfect as Teruhashi herself.

So where had it all gone wrong?

The relationship seemed like it was going great. What happened? What had you done wrong? Recently, Teruhashi had been acting anything but herself. She’s been aggressive, rude, and not interested in anything to do with your relationship at all. She’d avoid you, ignore your calls and texts. When she did see you, she’d throw insult after insult your way, blaming you for problems that were far from in your control, ones that her in her life, not yours. But that wasn’t even the half of it.

What made it even worse? That was only in private. In public, whenever she was with you (or without) she put on her little show of being Miss Perfect. You don’t know how you didn’t see through it before, looking back it was so obvious how fake it was. While in public you were sometimes able to convince yourself she still loved you, clinging onto a desperate hope that things weren’t nearly as bad as reality would tell you. Maybe she was just having a rough time? Her life must be hard, with the constant stalking and fans harassing her along with the need to keep everything in her life completely in order. She must just be tired of it and need somewhere to vent her anger. You didn’t mind being that person, but just not like this. You couldn’t always expect her to be perfect, and you hadn’t. You did your best to make it clear to her from the start that you didn’t need her to be perfect all the time and that you’d be there no matter what. If she wanted to relax in private with you, she was more than welcome to. She never did.

You had it rough, too. Her fan club was constantly harassing you as well. They called you names worse than she did, and had gone to extreme lengths just to get you to break up with her. They stole your things, drew on your desk, and were all-around horrible towards you. They claimed the only reason Teruhashi was dating someone like you was that she pities you, Teruhashi could do so much better. Deep down, you knew that may be the case, but she still asked you out for a reason, right? You never once complained about it, nor told Teruhashi. It would be okay in the end, and being with her was worth it.

Looking back, the red flags were there from the start. It would’ve been better if you caved to the fan club’s wishes from the beginning.

Your arguments seemed to only get worse with time. Insults being thrown your way more than once a day. During a particularly bad argument, she expressed how she felt she was the only one keeping the relationship alive, the only one that truly cared. For the first time, you fought back.

“How could you say such a thing! I do my best for you, I’m sorry we can’t all be Miss Perfect! I try so hard and yet it’s never good enough, is it?” You yelled in frustration, your voice was a lot louder and far more powerful than you intended. Teruhashi was visibly taken aback, despite her constant berating, you had never once raised your voice at her. She paused for a moment, clearly to think. You could easily tell just what she was thinking about.

You had no idea she’d been keeping track of everything you told her. Well, you did, but you never imagined your insecurities would be used against you in the way Teruhashi has been. Screaming them, bringing them up to your face, and forcing you to face them without warning. Using them to insult you, making them worse, and letting them dig deeper into the back of your mind.

Her face contorted in anger, even angrier than before. Listing things “wrong” with you as if her life depended on it, Teruhashi began her angry ranting. She wanted to get it across to you that she’s perfect and you’re far from that. She listed everything you’d ever done that irked her, every annoying thing you’ve said, and every problem you’ve ever told her about. She mocked emotions you’d told her in confidence and confessed that she always found them dramatic and ridiculous. She expressed how embarrassing it was to be seen in public with you, how she should only be seen with people on the same level as herself. If that wasn’t enough, she dealt one last finishing blow.

“I never loved you anyway.”

She turned and she left, slamming the door to your house shut behind her.

Your mind went blank and you barely noticed your knees hitting the floor as you collapsed to the ground. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt the tears soaking into your shirt. You couldn’t see nor hear, everything around you felt numb and dark. Did she really mean all of that? There was no way you were that bad of a girlfriend to her.��

Why did you still not want to break up?

Days passed and you still hadn’t left your bedroom, let alone your house. Your phone was blown up with texts from your friends, asking if you were sick. You learned from glancing at a few of the messages that Teruhashi had told them that. Reading her name hurt, it made you feel ill as you remembered what had happened a mere few days ago.

Your phone dinged once again. You reached out and grabbed it with a weak grasp, not having the energy to do more than the bare minimum. The name on your screen made a wave of nausea come over you, the content of the message not helping either.

From: Kokomi♡

I’m coming over.

You really needed to change that contact name. That wasn’t what was important, though. Why was she coming here? What else could she possibly need from you, and what on earth else could you possibly offer? You didn’t have much time to think about it, you needed to appear at least somewhat put together by the time she got here.

Your hair was just finished drying as you pulled on clean clothes. You made sure the entrance and living room areas of your house were clean, along with the kitchen. The knock at the door sounded so familiar, Teruhashi always knocked the same way. It sent chills down your spine. Pulling on the best neutral face you could muster and forcing your legs to move, you opened the door.

She looked different. There was no glow to her anymore. She’d never looked less like an angel in your eyes. Even compared to when she’d been yelling at you. It was jarring, almost like she’s a total stranger. It’ll make talking to her easier, you mused.

You wordlessly invited her in, stepping aside as she avoided eye contact and made her way to sit in the living room. Even once you were sat in front of her, she still wouldn’t look at you. You couldn’t tell if that was because she felt shame or disgust. You just hoped it wasn’t the latter.

“What do you need?” You started the conversation, keeping your voice as steady as you could muster. You were quite impressed with how well you were doing.

“We need to break up.” She stated, still not looking up. You rolled your eyes.

“As if I’d stay with you after that.” You spit out, trying to keep your words from sounding too venomous. A moment of silence, you could feel your heartbeat quicken in your chest. The nerves were starting to get to you and one of you needed to say something before the panic could set in. Luckily, Teruhashi did.

“They were right, you know - the fan club?” She said quietly.

“What?” You were surprised, she knew about that?

“It was like a charity case. I only dated you to get them off my back. Didn’t work though. Shame.” Her voice was calm, way too calm to be saying something so harsh. She was fine just ending your relationship like that, no matter what you’d been through together.

“Oh... of course.” She really had never loved you. You were just a tool she could use to escape the mindless drones that claimed to support her. So it all had meant nothing. It was just too good to be true.

She stood and wordlessly left, walking out of your life for good. Good riddance.

Your pain was only beginning to set in. You couldn’t care less that she broke up with you, you were miserable dating her anyways. No, the hardest part was you would be truly alone now. You knew once word got out that she broke up with you the whole school would blame you. There’s no way their perfect pretty princess could do wrong. It hurt to think about it, you’d probably lose your friends over this. There was one person, though, just maybe one person you could talk to.

Saiki Kusuo. An average looking boy, he didn’t stand out much. You had been friends with him months ago before you dated Teruhashi but she forced you to stop talking to him when you started dating. You never understood why, but she eventually told you that it’s because she used to like him before she got with you and she found it awkward for you to talk to him. You understood. The guilt ate you alive, but you complied. From that day on, you’d never again spoken a word to him.

You could tell just by looking at him he wasn’t like everyone else. He didn’t fawn all over Teruhashi when she entered a room and maybe that’s what drew you to him right now. He’d be the perfect friend, someone that wasn’t obsessed with her. You just hoped he’d forgive you.

“Hey, Saiki?” You asked, shyly walking up to him. He glanced up at you, an uninterested expression plastered on his face. He wasn’t visibly upset by you, but that only made you more nervous. You have no idea what he’s thinking. Realizing he wasn’t going to reply, you continued talking.

“I was just wondering if you’d be willing to have lunch with me. I-I know we haven’t spoken in a while but there are some things I’d like to clear up.”

Saiki knew exactly why you stopped talking to him. He wasn’t going to blame you for that, either. It wasn’t your fault. Sure, he was a little upset about it, you were someone whose presence he actually could tolerate. You were nice to talk to, mainly because you knew when was a good time and when to stop. Traits Saiki greatly admired and appreciated in a person. He might have even liked you a little.

He wasn’t about to let you go. Not as easy as the first time. “Sure.”

His response was curt and blunt, but you couldn’t help the small smile that graced your features. It was your first genuine smile in months. Maybe the whole world wouldn’t be completely against you.

“Thank you.” You stated simply, turning to sit back in your seat. It seemed like such a meaningless thanks, but Saiki knew there was more behind it than that.

Lunch came quickly enough and before you knew it you were eating under a tree with Saiki. You explained everything that happened over the last couple of months, how awfully you’d been treated behind the scenes. You apologized more than necessary for abandoning Saiki, trying to convey that you didn’t want to, but your ex-girlfriend had somewhat forced you to.

Saiki was forgiving, and far more understanding than he needed to be about the situation you were in along with the one you found yourself in now. Deep down, he was happy to have you back. Even if you weren’t super close before, he wanted to help you feel better and get over the torturous relationship you had just left.

So Saiki was there for you. The little lunch meets becoming a daily occurrence and he did his best to keep the Teruhashi fan club away from you. Talking to Saiki felt different, it was like he was genuinely listening and cared about what you told him. He was eager to help and aided as much as he could in your recovery.

Weeks passed as the routine kept up. On the weekends you’d meet for dessert and studying. Everything you did with Saiki felt right, it felt safe and healthy. You hadn’t realized how suffocating your old relationship was - even during the good days.

It wasn’t until Saiki asked you out and you said yes that you truly experienced what being loved felt like. It was late, well after the sun went down. Saiki had snuck into your house, claiming that his parents were being annoying but you knew that was a cover for the fact he missed you. There was no way they were awake these early hours of the morning. He saw your tired face under the dim light that peaked in from your window, as you woke up from his sudden appearance in your bedroom. Saiki felt a small rush. He needed to tell you. Now.

“Y/N” He spoke.

“Saiki?” The confusion was evident in your voice, “You spoke?” You were clearly tired after being disrupted from your sleep. Never having heard him speak before wasn’t helping with your state.

“Yeah.” He whispered, reaching a hand out to brush the hair out of your eyes, letting it linger on your cheek. It was a little more than platonic, just like the look in his eyes.

“I really like you, Y/N.” He whispered once again, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

But you did. Your eyes shot open, blinking a little in surprise. There was no way he just said that, you must be dreaming. There was no way this pink-haired boy that made you feel more than anyone else ever had was standing in your bedroom, at four o’clock in the morning saying he likes you.

You sat up, “You really mean that?” It came out without you intending it to. It probably sounded rude, but you were far beyond the point of being awake enough to care.

“Yeah.” He said, a small chuckle coming out, “I do.”

You didn’t say anything, all you did was slide back on your bed, making room for Saiki and open your arms. He took the hint and made himself comfortable next to you. He let out a small sigh, doubting he’d be able to sleep like this despite his relaxation. He wanted to protect you for as long as he could. He stared at you, probably a little more than he should. Saiki couldn’t help it, his eyes wouldn’t leave your form. You looked like you belonged in his arms, or so he thought. He was having a hard time processing his happiness at your figure in his arms. It had always been you, he was well aware of that now.

“You still awake?” he asked, going back to his telepathic communication. You mumbled a small yes, prompting him to continue talking. “Thank you,” he started, “for asking me to sit with you at lunch that one day. For coming back to me.”

You let out a tired giggle, “You missed me.”

“I did.” He felt you tense when you said that as if you were shocked to hear it. That didn’t surprise him, he had his doubts you were told you were cared about enough, especially in your last relationship.

Looking down at you once again, he realized you’d fallen asleep. A smile grew on his lips as he made a silent promise to show you what real love feels like. He’d cherish you to the moon and back. It’s what you deserve and he was going to give it to you.

#the disasterous life of saiki k #saiki no psi nan #saiki k #saiki kusuo #saiki k x reader #saiki kusuo x reader #saiki #teruhashi #kokomi teruhashi #kusuo saiki #kusuo saiki x reader #my writing

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winterscaptain · 5 years ago

Text

no deal.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: and thus begins the 100 arc! i am so excited to share this with all of you. these are going to include more canon episode moments than my other episode-attached fics because everything builds on itself and the details are key. i promise we’ll still get a lot of added scenes and little changes!

words: 8.4k warnings: canon-typical violence and discussion of violence, language

summary: a case comes back to haunt Aaron in more ways than you can imagine. you’re there to be his shadow, to catch him when he falls.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“Hotch?” You poke your head around the door, and you find him at his desk, in a surprising ensemble of khakis and an earthy quarter zip.

Almost whimsical, for him.

He looks up, his eyes softening for a moment before his brows pull in confusion. “You’re still here?”

You gesture to his desk lamp, the only light on in the entire office. “You are, so I figured…” You shrug. “I dunno. Is everything okay?” He looks exhausted, but it’s bone-deep - nothing sleep can fix.

He shakes his head and sighs.

That’s his tell.

But he says, “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

You don’t believe him.

“Are you sure?” You cross the room and lean on his side of the desk, quickly scanning over the documents you find there. He doesn’t mind your nosiness. He's mostly accustomed to it by now.

Most of it is pretty normal - after-action reports, performance evaluations (it looks like you’re doing well), and task force meeting agendas - but there’s one file that sticks out.

Your brow furrows. “The Boston Reaper?”

He shakes his head again. “I’m just reviewing it for an academy lecture about dormant or otherwise inactive serial killers.”

“Ah, I see.” You know he’s still lying. “Anything I can help with?”

A little half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “No, thank you.” He looks up at you and you offer him a small smile. There are many things at work behind his brown eyes.

He never keeps things from you without reason, so the lying doesn’t bother you so much as the unease radiating off him in waves.

For now, you decide to let it go and pat his shoulder as you stand. “Alright. Walk me out?” It’s a pointed question - you know he won’t leave if left to his own devices.

He’s about to throw you a denial, but the look on your face leaves no room for it. “Yeah. I’ll just be a minute.” He starts packing up, sorting the files into neat little stacks that will be there waiting for him when he gets back tomorrow. The Reaper case, you notice, goes into his briefcase, decisively snapped shut and taken into his hand before you can process much else.

The walk down to the garage is a quiet one. You take the stairs, happy for the excuse to stretch your legs.

You snag the sleeve of his (very soft) quarter zip before he turns toward his car. “Aaron?”

His eyes snap to yours at the use of his first name.

“Just…” you aren’t sure where you’re going with this, but he’s probably used to that by now, too. “Just, erm...Drive safe, please? Get some sleep when you get home?”

He takes a little breath and nods, his gaze softening. He’s quiet as you release his arm, quiet on the walk to his car, quiet (you imagine) as he drives out of the garage.

You watch him until the echo of his tail lights fall out of your sight.

+++

The next morning, JJ trots up the stairs to Hotch’s office and exchanges a few words with him before he flies out of his office and down the stairs.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the official request? We haven’t been invited.” JJ does her best to keep up with him, trotting down the stairs behind him with a file in her hand.

“We will be.”

You look at her with questions in your eyes and she shrugs. Derek, too, looks at her with confusion. Hotch continues toward the doors.

Is he already headed toward the plane?

She throws her hands up. “Well, it looks like we’re going to Boston.”

+++

When all your things are packed and ready, you settle in beside Aaron in your usual place, on the arm of the couch across from the table.

He walks you all through his work from a decade ago as you all review the files in your hands. "The Reaper is driven by a need to dominate, control, and manipulate."

Emily’s the first to speak up. “So then why would he offer a deal that would stop him from doing that?”

“Well, killing gave him power, but after so many, the payoff began to diminish. So he decided to switch tactics. Offering the deal gave him the ultimate power, better even than killing. He manipulated the police into voluntarily surrendering.”

“He even got it in writing,” Reid adds. He’s looking closely at the letter, likely starting the structure of what would become a linguistic profile.

JJ looks up, a little confused. ”He won. Why start killing again?”

“Because the only person who knew he'd won, the person he made the deal with, just died.” Morgan says, closing the file and tossing it on the table in front of him.

That’s an easy train of thought to jump on. “Narcissistic killers need other people to recognize their power.” With a little smile, you remind her, “That's why they contact the media.”

Emily’s next. “So how did he stop for 10 years?

“In Night of the Reaper, the author suggests he had been arrested for an unrelated crime or died.” Reid pulls the book in question from his bag, placing it on the table. “Perhaps he's trying to correct that misconception.”

“Like BTK,” you offer.

You can see Aaron's eyebrows rise for just a moment in your peripheral vision. Good one.

You purposefully bump his shoulder on your way to steal one of Morgan’s snacks. Thanks.

JJ takes the book, thumbing through. “What has he been doing all this time?

“Well,” you say, “I would imagine he was planning what he would do if he started killing again.” You look at Aaron, who nods with his mouth in a thin, grim line.

Morgan opens the file again, running his finger down the metrics as he speaks. “So, from '95 to '98, he shoots, stabs, and bludgeons twenty-one victims - men, women, all ages, all types, no specific victimology or MO.” He looks up at Hotch. “How did you build a profile from that?”

“We didn't. Shaunessy sent us home before we had a chance.” Aaron takes a breath before his next thought. “BTK, the Zodiac, and the Reaper all have similarities. They're all highly intelligent, disciplined, sadistic killers who name themselves in the press.”

“Highly intelligent may be a bit of an understatement,” Reid says. “The Reaper and The Zodiac Killer have never been arrested. And the BTK killer was only caught after twenty-five years because he went to the press to counter a book that said he'd died, moved away, or been locked up, just like this one.”

“Speaking of the media,” JJ notes, “when this gets out, it's going to be a frenzy. If they get wind of this, they're going to be all over the Boston Police.”

Aaron agrees with a brisk nod. “The longer we can float the copycat story, the better chance we'll have of catching him.”

You sit up straighter. “Meaning, if we keep pushing at his ego, he might take another risk?”

“Exactly,” he says. “Rossi, Prentiss, and Morgan, go to the field office, set up shop, go through everything there.” He assigns himself, you, JJ, and Reid to the crime scene.

You’re happy for the chance to keep an eye on him. There’s still something off about this whole thing, and the fingers on his left hand worrying his pen is only the most obvious clue. You reach out for his sleeve across the aisle when the team breaks, tugging a little, just like you did last night.

He looks over at you, almost startled. “Yeah?”

You don’t say anything. Tell me what you need.

“I’m fine. Just want to get on the ground and get to work.”

Bullshit. Your squint says it all.

He sighs and you release his arm. He’ll talk to you when he’s ready.

He always does.

+++

You and JJ stand off Aaron's shoulder as he introduces the three of you to the local police authorities. Hotch is already on edge.

An odd exchange between Hotch and one of the veteran cops leaves you with the entire department at your disposal. How he manages to do that every time is beyond you.

Reid, the case file in his hand, walks you all through the preliminary findings. “Nina Hale, ninteen, and Evan Harvey, twenty-three. Nina's throat was slashed, she was stabbed forty-six times. Evan was bludgeoned and then shot. No shell casings were found.”

“A revolver, maybe?” You ask, in-step with Aaron, whose gears are turning as he examines the inside and outside of the car.

“He preferred revolvers, .44 magnum.” If he weren’t so focused, you were sure he’d be impressed by your observation. “The younger the female victim, the more time he spends with them, usually with a knife.”

You point at one of the photos of the female victim. “Tan line on her wrist. Probably wearing a watch of some sort.”

Aaron’s on the other side of the car now, leaning close to the driver’s side window, looking at a photo of the male victim. “Do we have his wallet?” At your questioning glance, he adds, “The Reaper took items from each victim and placed them on the next, so as to make sure we knew it was him.”

“That’s quite the signature,” you muse, straightening.

One of the crime scene techs hands him the wallet in question. After a quick examination: “No corrective lens requirement.”

Your brow furrows and you look over at him. “The glasses aren't his?”

“He only took glasses from one victim--the ninth.” He looks increasingly agitated as he speaks and the crease in your brow deepens to match his. “We should have found them on the tenth, and we didn't. They were never found.”

How does he know which victim was the ninth? How does he remember?

“What was so special about the ninth victim?”

Aaron levels you with a look that sends cold wriggling up your spine. “He survived.”

Oh.

+++

JJ and Dave take the second car back, intending to make a few stops on their way back to the precinct. You sit shotgun, staring out the window, while Aaron drives. His fingers tap arrythmically on the steering wheel.

He’s restless. Fidgety. It’s weird.

“What are you thinking about over there?” You ask.

He shakes his head, just a little. “It’s not a copycat.”

Your brow furrows. “We knew that, though.”

“Right.”

Oh.

It must be surreal to have a case come back to life like this. “Wasn’t this one of your first cases? You joined the BAU in ‘98, right?”

When I was a sophomore in high school…

Oh, shut up.

You snap back to the audible conversation as he nods. “It was my first case as lead profiler, so I’d been on the team a couple of months. Gideon thought, well...I don’t know what he thought. He gave me point on this one for some reason or another.”

“Look at you, hotshot.” You reach out and shove lightly against his shoulder and you’re rewarded with a huff. “Only on the team a few months and you get assigned your very own case.”

He rolls his eyes. “I did it with you.”

It’s true - he did. Spencer may have saved the day in the end, but you polished, delivered, and implemented the profile throughout the investigation. As scared as you were for the professional leap (and the personal one, given the nature of your teams’ closeness), it paid off.

“That doesn’t count.”

He glances at you before returning his eyes to the road. “Why not?”

You shrug. “We’re kind of…” You clam up, for some reason, a little embarrassed.

Don’t be stupid.

“...I don’t know? Friends?”

You get a real smile from him this time and you match it. “Well, ‘kind-of-I-don’t-know friends’ seems like a stretch, don’t you think?” He looks over at you and holds your gaze a little longer than he should, considering he’s driving a little more than eighty miles per hour.

You’re an idiot, your eyes say, an amused chuff leaving your nose.

His eyebrows bounce before he looks out at the road again. And?

+++

“George Foyet, 28, was the ninth victim and the only one to survive The Reaper.” Aaron passes you files as he speaks, clearly not needing any notes or other aids to regurgitate the details of the case, verbatim.

Dave snorts. “Not for lack of trying.”

Hotch walks you all through the Foyet attack, outlining the oddities and patterns that collectively create The Reaper’s signature. His good mood from the car has either entirely evaporated or been smothered by his focus on the case, leaving him with his normal operational stoicism. “The Reaper always uses some sort of ruse to get close to and spend time with his victims.”

“So, how did Foyet survive?” You ask.

It’s weird he’s not summarizing it for you all, but then again, this case is odd in its obvious, meticulous execution. It’s probably best to let it speak for itself.

Hotch wordlessly starts the recording.

“911. What's your emergency?”

“I just murdered two more.” The voice is distorted, ominous.

“Excuse me, sir, did you say you murdered someone?”

“Victims eight and nine, by a silver Toyota on Riverton past the Tyson Quarry.”

Reid fills you in. “That call was made from a payphone about a mile from the crime scene. EMTs arrived fifteen minutes later. Bertrand was DOA, Foyet barely breathing.”

“So,” you ask, looking over the case. “The Reaper made one of these calls after each of his killings telling the police where to find the bodies?”

Aaron nods. “Until this one, the ninth. If he hadn't made this call, Foyet wouldn't have been found in time. The call saved him.”

You look up from the file. “Can I guess that the Reaper didn't make any 911 calls after this one?”

Aaron’s brows raise for a moment. Exactly.

“There's a reason he left Foyet's glasses at the last crime scene.” Aaron looks grim as he presents the glasses again.

Morgan pulls his phone out of his pocket, likely for access to Penelope. “Foyet could be in danger.”

“Uh, Hotch,” JJ pops her head into the room, looking more than a little confused. “There's a reporter outside insisting on speaking with you.” At Aaron's questioning look, she adds, “Roy Colson. He says he knows you.”

You watch him leave and exchange words with the reporter, your lower lip planted firmly between your teeth. JJ hangs at your side while Derek comes up behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders.

“Is Hotch okay?” He asks. Spencer, Dave, Emily, and JJ also look to you for an answer.

You shake your head the barest amount and when you speak, it’s almost a whisper. “I don’t know.” You clear your throat and try again. “I don’t know.”

+++

Dave peers into the car. “Another couple. Much older this time. One shot and one stabbed.”

“No reason to stop out here.” You’re just off Aaron's shoulder, following the line of his flashlight.

Dave sounds resigned, tired. “His license and registration are out of his wallet.”

You squint. “Looks like he used a cop ruse."

“Good spot, isolated, few drivers.”

Hotch sighs, coming in close to something with his flashlight. “He left Nina Hale's watch."

"Okay," Dave says. "So what'd he take?"

“His wedding ring.” You note the tan line on the man’s fourth finger - a dead giveaway.

Pardon the pun...

A local officer is quick to give you the victim information, approaching Aaron with a file. “Arthur and Diane Lanessa. Weymouth. Married 32 years. They were coming home from the Elks, where they played bingo twice a week.” He looks over at the press, rapidly arriving at the perimeter. “I gotta go make notification.”

You refocus on the crime scene, anticipating Aaron's wandering eyes and shining the light where he needs it most.

“Looks like he went through her purse,” he says.

You hover over his shoulder again. “Any idea what he was looking for?”

Hotch shakes his head, moving on.

A photo falls out of the drop-down mirror during Hotch’s cursory check. It depicts the victims and who you assume are members of their family. In blood, FATE? is scrawled across the front of the photo. Aaron straightens, leaving the car and crossing to Dave. You, of course, follow.

When you both reach Dave, you finally have an opportunity to take a look at the photo. “The question mark is new.”

“It's for us.” Aaron doesn’t need further examination for his assessment. “He's saying it's not fate. He's saying we had ten years to save them and that these latest ones are on us.”

“You got all that from one question mark. That's impressive.” Dave’s compliment is only a little undercut by his sarcasm. You can’t help but agree with the implication.

Aaron sighs, copping to it. “I may know him better than I've let on.”

“What does that mean?” You step closer to him, your brow furrowed.

He levels you with a somewhat guilty look. “It means that there is a profile on The Reaper.”

Dave frowns. “I thought we were called off before we had one.”

“We were. I had just started the profile, and then he stopped killing, so officially we were done. But this case…”

“It stuck with you,” you finish for him. Your brows drop lower over your eyes, finally understanding the stakes at play.

“I kept coming back to it over the years, and I worked on it alone.”

The exhaustion in his voice, gravelly and low, worries you more than you’d like to let on. “So you never shared it with anyone.”

“I know I'm always preaching that profiling is a collaborative effort, but this one wasn't. I don't know, maybe if -” he sighs. “If I was wrong, I was gonna head us in the wrong direction.” The doubt in Aaron's voice breaks your heart a little.

“Now you think you're right.” Dave, of course, has the brief words to coax the thought out of Aaron. You’re thankful he’s here. Between the two of you, you’ll get more out of your unit chief in twenty minutes than anyone else would get in three days.

“The more I see, the more accurate I think it may be.”

“Okay,” you say, “then we need to hear it.”

+++

It’s decided that Aaron will deliver the profile solo, with only a little input from Dave. It’s odd to see him up there all by himself while the rest of you stand off to the side. You’re students just as much as the local police, this time.

You tune into Aaron, whose eyes are bouncing all over the room, from person to person, holding and keeping their attention. His eyes meet yours and you hope the respect and pride overflowing in your chest is visible on your face.

“The Reaper fits a profile we refer to as an omnivore. Unlike most serial killers, an omnivore doesn't target a specific victim type. Although he tends to focus on his younger female victims with his knife, he essentially is a predator who will kill anyone.”

One of the local cops has a decent question (for once). “Why is he so democratic?”

“Because his kills aren't just about his victims. He needs recognition. He needs us to know.”

Dave chimes in. “The symbols, the placement of prior victims' possessions on subsequent victims--it's all for us.”

“Why?”

“Power,” Aaron answers simply. “The Shaunessy letter is the clearest example of this. He manipulated Tom Shaunessy into literally surrendering to him.”

It reminds you of the first time you saw him - alone, in front of a room of people focused only on him. It was one of your first lectures at the academy, your favorite, and the one that inspired you to ask for a placement with the BAU when Jenny told you to take a running leap.

How far you’ve come.

Without permission, your mind wanders to a few things that haven’t changed in the last year and a half. Aaron is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen - capable, worthy of deep admiration and respect. His voice is the same - demanding respect and carrying the weight of the world in it.

Anything that won’t condemn you to a life of unrealistic expectations of men?

No. Maybe you’re a better shot?

Great. That’s useful.

“Like BTK killer Dennis Rader,” Aaron continues, “The Reaper is extremely disciplined. In his everyday life, this will very likely make him so inflexible, he can't keep close relationships or work closely with others.

“I believe our killer has another interest that may give us the best opportunity to catch him.” You’re glad Dave is there to help, his seasoned expertise coming in handy once again. “The Reaper's last victim was an older woman. He killed her quickly, with a single shot. The prior, younger victim, he spent more time with and stabbed forty-six times.”

Yet another “Why?” from one of the local officers.

Curious group, it seems.

Aaron answers. “He pays special attention to his younger female victims, and his weapon of choice with them is the knife, a substitute instrument for bodily penetration.”

Dave, again, has something else for you all. “The younger the victim, the more time and effort he spends. I think our guy is a hebephile.”

“Hebephile?” Naturally, that particular proclivity is not a familiar one to the layman.

Reid lends an assist. “A hebephile is someone who's attracted to adolescent post-pubescent children. Teenagers.”

“Look for men with access and authority -” Aaron assumes command again, “- high school teachers, counselors, coaches--and anyone who's been charged with sex crimes against teenage girls in the last ten years.” He checks in with you, and you nod. “That's all for now. Thank you.”

+++

You look up as Aaron walks into the room, Derek ready with bad news. “Garcia can’t find George Foyet.” You stand and resume your post as his shadow, beside Emily.

Morgan holds the phone toward Hotch. “I’ve got nothing, sir,” comes Garcia’s voice from the speaker.

“What do you mean?

“I mean, he’s gone. He’s completely off the grid. He’s gone.”

“How is that possible?” You tap Aaron's shoulder with the back of your hand as his tone grows sharper with Penelope.

Be nice.

He shakes you off and you clench your jaw, looking over at Derek as Aaron tries to wiggle more information out of Penelope. It doesn’t work. “Garcia, we don’t have much time.”

“I know, sir.”

You huff. “I mean, how would you even drop off the grid like that? There has to be someone he talked to.”

Aaron wordlessly dials a number, shooting you a somewhat grateful, if not a little rueful, look. “Roy, Aaron Hotchner. I need a favor.”

+++

“That’s him.”

Aaron shuts the back door of the car behind you and out of habit, you take quick stock of him while he does the same for you.

You spot the man you’re looking for skittering across the street and toward the apartment. “George Foyet?” He’s visibly skeptical, and Aaron pulls his credentials. “It’s okay. We're FBI.” He introduces you and Rossi while you flash your credentials for good measure. “I'm Agent Hotchner. We met once before. Do you remember?”

"Yeah, I remember.” He’s agitated, his eyes jumping to every moving person on the near-empty street. “Would you mind if we get off the street, please?

You follow Dave and Aaron into the cramped apartment, noting the clutter and general feeling of paranoia permeating the space. Everything looks rushed - half-lived in and half-finished.

When you reach the kitchen, Foyet collapses into a coughing fit and Dave immediately supplies him with a glass of water.

“Thank you.” He takes another decent gulp. “How'd you guys find me?”

“Roy Colson,” Aaron says. He’s focused on Foyet, but you can tell he’s keyed into the peripherals, just in case.

“Oh.” He seems disappointed, though in what you’re not sure. “Well, is this gonna take long? 'Cause I really can't be late for work.”

“What do you do?” You ask.

“I'm a freelance computer specialist with the city.”

Dave steps forward. “We're sorry to bother you. We'll make it as quick as possible.”

Aaron pulls the evidence bag containing the glasses out of his breast pocket. “This yours?”

“I knew it wasn't a copycat.”

You pull a chair for Foyet as he coughs again, feeling only a little odd about taking care of this man in his own house.

“Thank you.” He takes another sip of water. “I'm sorry.” He pauses, remembering. “I was gonna propose to her that night...At the restaurant, but I got cold feet. The ring was still in my pocket when he approached us. He said he was lost. He had one of those sightseeing booklets. I was looking at it when he stabbed me. Yeah...Perfect timi-”

You interrupt him, attempting to stem his agitation. “Mr. Foyet, you don't need to go through this again.” Nevertheless, he continues, increasingly distraught.

“I couldn't move. I just sat there, bleeding. I watched him kill Mandy. He stabbed her sixty-seven times. Do you know how long it takes to stab somebody sixty-seven times? ...I never found the ring.”

For some reason, your mind drifts to the man beside you, the horrifying thought of seeing him stabbed, the life leaving his body. You shake it off with a little shudder.

Why, brain? Why? That’s a fucking awful thought.

And yet the image sticks with you, forcing you to manually lock it away. Aaron looks at you, almost like he can read your mind.

That’s nightmare fodder.

The smallest flex of his brow asks, Are you okay?

Fine. You offer him a tight twitch of your lips. It’s not a smile, but you’d be thankful for at least a mockery of one right now.

With a little bit of a squint, Aaron turns back to Foyet. “He should have left your glasses on his next victim, but he didn't. He held on to them all this time.”

“What, you think he's got some special interest in me?” He almost laughs. “I've been living with that possibility for the past eleven years.”

“Have you received any strange letters or calls? Hang-ups?” Dave asks.

“I keep residences under different names. I move between them randomly. He likes to get you in the car, so I take the bus. Believe me, I've gone through great lengths to make sure that none of the things you've just mentioned ever happened.”

What a terrifying, sad existence.

Dave offers George his notebook and a pen. “We'll need your other names and residences so we can reach you.”

“We can take you someplace safe until this is over.” Aaron’s brow is knit in concern - it’s a look you’ve seen many times, but it never fails to inspire a little flicker of warmth in your chest.

Quit, would you?

“No. Boston is my home. It's the one thing I promised I would never let him take from me.”

Aaron insists, pushing. “Then we'll protect you here.”

“You can't protect me. Nobody can.” He frantically writes in the notebook for a moment before handing it back to Dave. “Please be careful with this. Please.”

Dave assures him, “It's safe with us.”

“He's just a man, nothing more.” You hope it’s the right thing to say. You feel Aaron take a breath, and you almost feel bad. It’s a line he’s said before, one you borrow when necessary.

Don’t mean to steal his thunder.

Instead of looking at you, he looks at Aaron. “Then why can't you catch him?”

“We will.”

+++

You’re both sitting in Aaron's hotel room, the photos from each of the crime scenes spread out all around you. It’s far later than you’d like, but the time spent is worth it if it gets you one step closer to this sick, scary bastard.

“What was it like? The original case?”

Aaron sighs, pulling a hand down his face. “Frustrating. Exhausting. Like this.” He shakes his head. “Every day was another dead end, and then another pair of bodies every few weeks. Then…they just stopped.” He holds up the note. “Now I know why.”

You tip your head to the side, studying him. “What would you do?”

“What, you mean about the deal?”

“Yeah. What if -”

The phone rings, cutting you off, and you rise to answer. You’re stopped by a hand on your wrist as Aaron passes you and picks it up. “Hotchner.”

You plant yourself back on the bed, legs folded underneath you. It’s probably one of the team, given the hour and -

“Who is this?” His voice is low, almost angry.

You scramble to the edge of the bed, giving Aaron space while remaining completely keyed into him.

“...You think I’d take that?...I’ve misjudged you. I thought you were smarter than this...Then you’ve misjudged me...I don’t make deals.”

Oh my god. It’s The Reaper.

No. It can't be.

You pull out your cell and fire off a text as quickly as you can to Penelope.

3:42am trace call to ah’s room stat

She doesn’t disappoint.

3:42am on it.

“I’m the guy who hunts guys like you..." Aaron laughs, dark and humorless. "You all think that...I’ll see you soon.” He slams the phone down and starts to pace, his hand over his mouth.

“What’s going on?” You stand, stopping him with a hand on his arm. “Hotch. Who was that?”

He stares down the phone like it’s a living thing, but doesn’t breathe a word. After a moment, he jumps back into action, sitting heavily on the bed and going over everything with a renewed, almost frantic, focus.

You watch him for a moment before you pull out your phone. A text message from six hours ago blinks up at you.

Haley Brooks-Hotchner

9:13pm when you get a chance, can you have aaron give me a call? no rush. just school paperwork for j. he’s not picking up his phone. thanks xx

You answer her, praying she didn’t leave her ringer on. The hour alone will reveal the extent of the team’s attention on this case and you can only hope she understands.

3:48am can do. this one’s bad. might be a minute.

Aaron looks up at you, a question in his eyes.

You shake your head with a little smile. It’s nothing.

+++

“Six bodies, not including the driver. He put 'em down with the gun--or more likely guns--and finished them off with his knife.” Dave looks around while Aaron stands stock still near the driver, slumped over the wheel.

The scene inside the bus is macabre - bodies and blood everywhere. The numbers on the window send shivers up your spine.

“There;s Arthur Lanessa's wedding ring.” You peer over Aaron's shoulder. “What'd he take?”

He scoffs. “Does it matter?”

He straightens quickly, shoving past you and getting off the bus. You get out of his way, letting him go with a frown. Dave meets your eyes and tips his head. You follow him out as he goes after Aaron, giving them just a little bit of distance

Dave catches up to him. “Hey. What's goin' on with you?”

Aaron stops in the alley a little ways away from the bus. “He called me tonight and offered me the deal.”

So that’s what happened.

You thought as much, but the thought alone was too much to consider. It’s never been less satisfying to be right.

“What did you say?”

“I hung up on him, and then he does this.” Aaron gestures to the crime scene, NO DEAL staring you all in the face, along with all those numbers.

The idea of The Reaper torturing Aaron like this is horrifying. Plenty of unsubs have made your skin crawl in the past, but this is a new kind of awful. You’ve never seen him like this.

“So, you think this is your fault?”

“It is,” he insists. You’re shocked to see tears in his eyes when he looks back up at Dave. There’s a part of you that wants to reach out, but something keeps you back.

Dave pulls his gun and releases the safety, turning the grip toward Aaron.

What the fuck?

“Well, here, use mine. You convinced me.”

Aaron waves him off with one hand while he pinches the bridge of his nose with the other.

Of all the things you would have thought of at this moment, pulling a gun on SSA Aaron Hotchner wouldn’t have made the list. You watch, ready to jump between them at a moment’s notice. They’ve never gone after each other before, but you’ve seen more worrisome behavior from Aaron in the last forty-eight hours than in the preceding eighteen months.

Even at the height of the divorce proceedings, he was steadier than this.

“No, no, you hung up on him.” Dave pushes the gun at him, trying to wrangle it into Aaron's hand. “You practically killed them yourself. Go ahead, get it over with. Don't worry about us.” He gestures to you and Aaron's eyes flicker to yours. You have no idea what you look like right now. “We'll get this guy without you.”

Dave is a genius.

He blinks, tears wetting his cheeks. It’s certainly one of the more alarming things you’ve ever seen. He’s audibly frustrated, his hand flexing at his side as he talks. “Dave, I had 10 years to do something about it.”

That’s not fair.

When has Aaron ever been fair, or even kind, to himself?

Well, shit.

That’s why you’re here. Do your job.

You step forward, keeping your voice down. Approaching him like a cornered animal seemed the best tactic at the moment. “Shaunessy made the deal. The killing stopped, as promised. He closed the case and sent you away, Hotch.” Your eyes beg for his as you continue. “You moved on. You worked on other cases, active cases. You saved lives in that time. It wasn’t wasted.”

Aaron huffs, clearly frustrated. “But I kept coming back to this one. I kept coming back to this profile.” There’s something desperate in his voice and you know he’s trying to get you to understand something he can’t articulate.

Dave takes over again. “Hey. I was retired. Should I blame myself for every victim who got killed while I was on my book tour? Look, if you want to end up like Shaunessy, like Gideon, blaming yourself for everything, you go ahead.”

Damn. Good point.

Aaron’s eyes meet yours for just a moment before looking away again. You keep your face soft, neutral.

Safe.

“But that voice in your head,” Dave says, “it's not your conscience. It's your ego. This isn't about us, Aaron. It's about the bad guys. That's why we profile them. It's their fault. We're just guys doing a job. And when we stop doing it, someone else will. Trust me. I know.”

Aaron checks in with you for a moment and you nod. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.

He wipes at his eyes before leveling Dave with something that looks almost like his classic glare, gesturing to the offered gun at his chest. “You can put that away.”

With a cheeky smile, Dave says, “You sure?”

“It's a little dramatic, don't you think?” You ask, stepping up and clapping Dave on the shoulder.

“My wife always said I had a flair for the dramatic.” Dave’s deeply chuffed pleased that he was able to bring Aaron back to his senses. He holsters his weapon, throwing the safety back on.

“Which one?” Aaron asks. You’re relieved to hear a little bit of humor in his voice.

“All of 'em.”

The three of you share a little smile before you walk back to the crime scene.

Aaron’s thanks is so quiet you’re almost certain you made it up.

You’re only sure it happened at all when Dave replies, “Anytime.”

+++

“He knows where Foyet lives. We’ll split up and cover each address. Go.”

You rise and somehow end up with Derek. Though not your intention, it’s probably for the best. For good measure, you take Jameson, a seasoned SWAT agent. The three of you had the biggest of Foyet’s properties on lock.

Derek speeds to the house, flooring it with sirens blaring.

“I’ll take front,” Derek says, nearly shouting over the siren.

You’re locked and loaded, ready to go in your vest as soon as the car stops. “I’ll take the back.” You twist in your seat to look in the back. “Jameson, you good on my six?”

“I’ve gotcha.”

You’re clearing the house, kicking in the back door. There’s a thump behind you and you turn. Before you can do anything, something makes contact with the back of your head, sending you straight to the ground. You hit something else on your way down, and you’re done.

Fuck.

You’re knocked out cold, but come to only a few minutes later. You stumble to your feet as lights and sirens round the corner. Bringing a hand to your head, you feel the blood on your forehead. There’s probably a decent cut near your hairline and when you look down, you find an alarming amount of blood on your vest.

Head wounds bleed. You’re fine.

Oh.

Oh no.

Derek.

You brace yourself on the wall as you rise, checking your service weapon. It’s not in your holster, but you find it nearby on the floor.

Why didn’t he take it?

Kicking it under the table, you draw your secondary weapon. The thought of leaning down to reach for the gun on the floor is too much and your only aim is to get to Derek, then Jameson.

Blinking blood out of your eyes, you do your best to clear the rest of the house before finding the mess in the living room and front yard. Without much of a thought, you haul yourself over the broken window sill, getting a nice slice in your arm for your trouble, and land hard at Derek's side. With a groan, you roll over onto your knees, crawling toward your prone teammate.

You look up as headlights hit you, shading your eyes with one of your hands. The other rests on Derek's chest. To your relief, you can feel his breath under his vest. He’s alive. He’s okay.

With the intensity of the lights shining on you, you can’t see Hotch as he lifts you to your feet by your upper arms. He shields you from the light with his body, his brows drawn and concerned. You’re dizzy in the extreme, your right eye almost unable to open with all the blood caked down the side of your face.

He takes you under his arm and brings you to one of the ambulances posted on the street. The paramedic takes your vitals, but Aaron keeps a hold on your other hand. You’re not sure he realizes he’s still got you, but you’re not about to let go.

“What happened?” He asks, quiet and tense.

You shake your head even though it only increases your dizziness. Blinking a couple of times, you answer, “I don’t know. He came out of nowhere. I had the side of the house, Jameson had the back, Morgan the front. We were clearing room by room and he just…” your eyes float to the front of the house, where Emily has Derek with a paramedic. “He appeared and I didn’t have time before he hit me with...Something. I was out before I could blink. I think I hit the table on the way down.”

Hotch sighs and to your dismay, you see the coroner approaching the back of the house with a gurney. Jameson’s dead.

Why aren’t you?

“He didn’t take my service weapon. It’s under the table in the kitchen now, but it was next to me when I came to. I don’t -” you swallow, still dazed. “I don’t know why he left us alive.”

You can see Aaron's teeth grinding as he collects himself. “He’s trying to get in your head. Don’t let him.”

“What, like you?” You know your functioning isn’t at one hundred percent - you’d never make a jab at him like that, even weak as it was, at a moment like this if you were clear-headed.

He sighs as your eyes flutter shut, leaning on the inside of the ambulance. You hear the paramedic tell him you’re concussed and need to be kept awake for the next ten hours. Hotch gets the details on your other injuries before squeezing your hand once and leaving you.

After another few minutes, EMS releases you with a packet of concussion information (which you immediately crumple and shove into a passing crime scene tech’s jacket pocket). Far too quickly, you make your way across the yard and into the house, avoiding Jameson's body and the coroner’s staff.

You find Derek and Emily sitting together on the back of the couch as he, too, is patched up.

“You okay, kid?” He asks.

You nod. “Just concussed, a couple of lacerations. I’m fine. Are you okay?” There’s a compulsion to fuss over him, but you resist.

He nods, bringing a pristine .44 caliber bullet into your eye line. “He left this.”

A shiver runs down your spine. “Sadistic bastard.”

Emily raises her eyebrows and cants her head, agreeing with your brief assessment.

You look outside to where Hotch stands in the middle of the yard, with his arms crossed, looking over the damage to both the house and his team.

Eventually, he returns to the house with Spencer in tow. You follow them, moving slow.

Reid points to evidence as he talks. “Jameson was clearly killed outside. This is someone else. There are signs of a struggle and a lot of blood."

"But no body,” you note.

What the hell happened here?

Reid nods. "Just the drag marks. The human body holds 5 quarts of blood. I'd say there's a little more than half that here. Whoever the bleeder was, they lost too much to survive."

It begs the question, so you ask. "Foyet?”

“It was his worst fear, that the Reaper would come back and finish the job,” Dave says, appearing out of nowhere and leaning on the door jamb to the kitchen.

With a firm conviction, Aaron says, “We offered him protection. He refused. It was his choice.”

+++

JJ’s brow crumples as she looks over the files again. "Why is he so focused on Foyet? What's so special about him?"

Aaron, of course, answers her. "He was his only surviving victim, the only one he couldn't defeat."

“But he's not a threat. Defeating him would be no great accomplishment. There's something there that we're missing.” You thumb through the case again, certain the answers are there for you to find.

JJ’s persistent. “What about the girlfriend, Amanda Bertrand? Wh-what do we know about her?”

“Nineteen. A freshman. She came here from Michigan to go to school. Foyet was a teacher's assistant in one of Amanda's courses.”

“Michigan. Where The Reaper had Shaunessy post the personal ad.”

“That can't be a coincidence.”

“He told us she was the love of his life, that he was gonna propose. But she just got here from Michigan. They only met when the class started.”

“How long had she been in the class?” You ask

There’s an incredulous laugh in Emily’s voice. “Four weeks.”

“So it was either love at first sight or what?”

Derek picks up JJ’s thought. “Foyet was lying?”

“He's a 28-year-old teacher's assistant in freshman classes.” Hotch immediately starts dialing a number, and you’re sure you know which one. As you suspected, he gets Penelope on the phone.

“What are Foyet's aliases?” Quickly, you hand him Dave’s notebook, the rest of your body coiled for action. He bows his body over the phone, rattling off instructions. “I want you to look up in Boston city records Kevin Baskin, Miles Holden, and William Parker. Try the Department of Education.”

“Well played, sir.” You hear her keyboard in the background. “They all work for the Department of Education, they're all substitute teachers, and they all teach computer science.” She pauses. “Oops. Scratch that. They're not all working for the Department of Education.”

“They're not?” Aaron’s head tilts, listening.

“No. William Parker was fired for alleged inappropriate behavior with his female students.”

Something clicks. You watch the gears turn and turn and turn, Aaron’s eyes flickering over the photos, the file, back and forth as he puts pieces together.

“Hotch?” Your hand hovers over his shoulder, but he pays you no mind.

“Roy Colson went to see Foyet.” He begins to stand, his voice rising as he gets farther from the phone. “Garcia, I need you to trace Roy Colson's cell phone. George Foyet is The Reaper.”

Garcia gives you the address and the rest of you chase Aaron out to the car. The headache pushing behind your eyes is the least of your worries. “What? What do you mean George Foyet is the Reaper?” It’s almost comical, the efforts you take to keep pace with him down the stairs and to the car.

Aaron communicates all the details he put together in the conference room, taking you step-by-step through his process. “He stabbed Amanda Bertrand to death, he drove a mile, he called 911, he went back, and he inflicted those wounds on himself.”

You’ve already caught up, the pieces clicking in before he can repeat them. “He knew EMS would get there in time to save him.”

“And between the phone call and the severity of his wounds, we never considered him as a suspect.” There’s frustration in his tone, but you know it goes deeper than that. It’s his pride.

“Hotch, you couldn’t have -”

Derek cuts you off. “Why would he do it?”

“It put him at the core of the investigation. Everything we had came from him.”

Talk about inserting yourself...

Derek is right there with him. “He left his own glasses at the crime scene, he pointed us right back in his direction, and still, we didn't see it.”

Aaron nods, his jaw tighter than you’ve ever seen it.

Don’t blame yourself.

Hotch rolls up to the house, no lights or sirens, and you surround the house, on his six. You quietly breach the back door, clearing the kitchen and the hallway.

“It's over.” Aaron’s tone leaves no room for argument as he levels his gun at Foyet’s head.

There’s a strange smile on Foyet’s face as he speaks. “I'll kill him.”

“You need him to write your story.”

“I'm taking him with me. I'll let him go as soon as I'm safe.”

You step to the side, trying to get a better shot, but Aaron stops you with the smallest turn of his head as Foyet redirects his attention to you.

“I said I'll kill him.”

Aaron pulls his focus again. “You kill him, I kill you.”

“You think I'm afraid to die?”

“You're not afraid.” Aaron sneers. He’s aiming to hurt and it’s a good idea. “You're greedy and narcissistic. You want the recognition that's gonna come from the book that he's gonna write. You want the fame that's gonna come from the media. It's gonna be like Bundy.”

“I'm gonna be bigger than Bundy.”

“Well, you can't enjoy it if you're dead.”

You’ve got him there, Aaron.

“If you know me so well, how come some many had to die to bring you here?”

You can almost feel the lance of shame and guilt that shoots through Aaron. He almost flinches. Between you and Emily, if looks could kill, Foyet would be long dead.

You fucking asshole.

It takes everything in you not to leap on him and pummel him into the floorboards. You’d love nothing more than to wipe that smug grin off his face.

“That's your choice, not mine. You're the serial killer.” To your ears, it sounds like Aaron's convincing himself as much as telling Foyet.

“That's right.” He turns, smirking. "Hello, Derek.”

He drops his gun and Derek pounces on him, restraining him. "Where's my badge?” He jerks Foyet’s head back by the hair. “Where is it, you son of a bitch?”

He doesn’t answer Derek's question, but shifts his icy gaze to you. “How’s your head?” He gives you an imitation of a pout, and anger sears through your chest. “You took quite a spill last night, Agent. Probably had your unit chief very worried.”

You squint at him, but don’t respond. Aaron steps a little to the side and you’re not even sure he realizes it, but he’s made himself a barrier between you and Foyet.

The bastard notices, though, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “I'm gonna be more famous than you even realize.”

The look he gives Hotch makes you shudder.

+++

Only an hour or so after you land back at Quantico, JJ jogs from her office to Hotch’s. Your heart sinks.

That’s never good.

“Foyet escaped.”

You grab the remote and stand from your desk, turning the volume up on the TV.

She chases Hotch down the stairs as he joins the rest of you, surrounding Derek's desk. “Guards found him in his cell vomiting blood and convulsing. They rushed him to the prison hospital.”

“Get me the U.S. Marshals office.” He turns, but she stops him.

“I already called Don Reilly. I offered our assistance. He said they'd call us if they needed it.”

Aaron doesn’t stop moving until he’s at your side. Your search for his eyes and he meets your gaze after a moment.

What do we do?

His jaw clenches. I don’t know. Then, a huff. Fuck.

You shake your head a little. It makes you feel a little dizzy. Fuck, indeed.

“How’s your head?” He asks.

Of all the things to worry about…

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Just then, Emily returns, a file in her hand. “The Boston field office just identified documents from Foyet's house. They're schematics for the electrical, heating, and water ducts of the East Woburn Correctional Facility.”

You take it from her, looking it over before looking at Hotch. “He had the schematics. And not just for Woburn. For every jail, prison, and courthouse in Massachusetts.”

“And 10 years to plan,” Dave adds.

"They're gonna find him, right?" Penelope’s voice is small, and you can’t blame her for it. Derek’s at her side, staring at the news footage with a grim look on his face.

Aaron’s eyes are trained on the television when he answers. “No, they're not.”

Derek turns to you before looking at every member of the team individually. “He said he'd be more famous than we knew, and he was right.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @whoreforhotch @pinkdiamond1016 @pan-pride-12 @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @writerxinthedark @bauslut @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @garcia-reid-lovechild @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #aaron hotchner fanfiction #shut up tali #a joyful future fanfic

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skellebonez · 5 years ago

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He's Been Hurt Enough (Monkie Kid Cursed AU Fanfic)

And here it is, the follow up to Stop Lying To Me! This went through an overall minor rewrite after @winterpower98 posted some more Cursed AU art and I think it turned out much better for it.

Quick note: once again this is my interpretation of a possible way the revelation could go. I decided to go with a “Mac told Sun everything while MK was transformed last time and that’s part of why he got the stuffing beat out of him and was out of commission last fic” angle. (also no I definitely did not accidently post a draft of the summary by itself when I meant to queue this, that totally did not happen(that happened))

Summary: Wukong has questions, Macaque surprisingly has answers, and MK... well, MK is going to be just fine if Macaque has anything to say about it.

Warnings: mild descriptions of healing inuries from the last fic, hint of child neglect if you are familiar with the AU, Macaque is sightly (incredibly) out of it due to medicine

----------

The first thing Macaque noticed when he came to was that his head felt... wobbly, despite the fact he was clearly laying down and not moving. The second thing he noticed was a disgustingly bitter sweet taste sticking to his tongue. The third thing he noticed was that he laying chest down on a (very small and familiar smelling) pile of clothes. The fourth thing, oh it was a lot of things coming very slowly right after the other which was odd, was that he was completely shirtless and that the only reason he noticed this so slowly was half of his body was almost fascinatingly numb, outside of the warmth of the fire that seemed to be burning in front of him. The last thing he noticed was a very close, also very familiar, and very angry (worried?) looking face of a monkey right in front of his (coincidentally blocking most of that fire light).

"Congratulations," Wukong said flatly. "You are officially not dead."

Macaque stared at the other monkey for a moment before attempting to speak, coughing as the dryness of his throat hit him full force. Before he could move himself, Wukong grabbed his face (gently, more gently than he remembered being touched by the other in so long) and held something to his lips. When he tilted the object and water began to hit his lips he opened his mouth and drank, Wukong never allowing the water to flow from the canteen fast enough to risk him choking on it. It must have been emptied after a short while because the Monkey King took it away faster than Macaque would have liked, but it had been more than enough to quench his thirst and allow him to clear his throat and begin talking. "What... happened?"

The angry (worryied?) look on the other's face deepened. "Should I start when I woke up to you bleeding out over my sucessor? Or should I start when I tried to give you medicine the first time you woke up and you shoved the entire thing in your mouth?"

Well. That second bit explained part of the numbness. And the taste. And possibly why his head felt like it was swimming in that iced cream stuff MK liked so much. He was almost certainly, no definitely, very out of it from whatever Wukong had intended to use to dull his pain. Fantastic.

Instead of voicing all of this he simply said "The... first part?" His voice was rough, but firmer than it had been the first time. He had not realized how almost slurred his words has originally sounded. Wukong' expression softened and. Oh... OH, it was a worried look after all. Huh. Macaque did not expect that. That was... well, not new. But he hadn't seen that in a long time. He... missed that. He didn't realize he had missed that.

"I woke up and I smelled... blood," Wukong started softly. "I was confused, I thought that maybe I hadn't been out for very long after we calmed down MK and you hadn't treated my wounds yet but," his hand went to his side where the bandages Macaque and the kid had carefully applied still held tight. "When I looked around I saw you. Laying face down with one arm over him. And you were just. Just COVERED in blood Macaque. I thought you two had been attacked, I didn't know what kind of demon could do that to you and thought that both of you were hurt." He ran a hand down his face, taking a deep breath, reaching over to prepare something behind him. "It wasn't until I rushed over that I realized that MK was passed out and aside from scratches on his arms you were the only one that was badly hurt."

There it was, the memory of what happened finally came back to him. Telling the kid the truth. The kid losing it. Holding him until he was able to fight back the transformation. The claws. The bite. His arm throbbed, the first not numb thing about his body he felt (though not fully painful), and he was surprised that he hadn't noticed his injured arm laying out in front of him until that moment, fully bandaged and (thankfully) not looking like he was missing a chunk of himself after all.

"MK's been out since I got up. You were completely unresponsive until early sundown, and when you did wake up you were in too much pain to tell me anything. I tried to get you to take some medicine but you grabbed my arm and shoved the entire bundle in our mouth. You passed back out before you could try to eat the salve I put on your wounds too. I'm amazed y-"

"I told him," Macaque interupted without prompting, and when Wuking spun around (too fast you idiot you're going to hurt yourself) with a wet cloth in hand he just let the words fall from his mouth. Why stop them? He had already told Wukong as much as he had told the kid, and the evidence of what had transpired was litterally all over him. Not much he could hide now. It was the exact opposite of what happened then, no more tar and honey returning. Bittersweet and if he were to give it flavor it would be buttercups. "After he passed out the first time I treated your wounds and when he woke up he helped me and then started asking questions..."

Without saying a word Wukong sat and listened, face tightening as he gingerly removed something from his back (gauze perhaps, he had no bandages on) and ran the cloth over numb cuts. He looked only between the wounds and Macaque's face, letting him retell every detail. "Kid tried to fight it but I just. I didn't know what to do when he started to change again so I... I..." He coughed, throat growing dry again.

This time Wukong stopped him, holding the canteen (not empty after all) to his lips again. They sat in silence for a moment, him drinking and Wukong turning to grab a container and fresh gauze and bandages when he stopped. He nodded, going back to the other monkey's back and Macaque realized the container was healing salve for his wounds. He didn't need it or the medicine, not really, but even with his fast healing and sturdyness it never hurt to have extra help to speed up the healing process. "You what, Macaque?"

"I... think I... hugged him into submission?" Macaque scowled, not sure if he even believed what he was saying and not missing the shocked look on the other's face. "And he bit me." He added quickly.

"He BIT you!?" The Monkey King leaned sideways, looking at Macaque increduously before his gaze veered over to his bandaged arm. "Well. That explains... the everything. Your back and arms looked like you were nearly gored from behind, but with how long his claws get when... yeah, that adds up."

"Is he ok?" The question came out without him even thinking about it. Damn medicine... But this only seemed to make Wukong shake his head with a surprised chuckle.

"Yeah, MK is fine. Exhausted, but fine. I treated his arms after I got your back to stop bleeding." He went back to applying the salve, touch a bit more firm as he rubbed it through his now less matted fur. The pressure would have normally made Macaque tense but now it just made him relax further into the clothes he was resting on (which he now noticed were Wukong's top layers and a blanket the kid insisted they each got at one of the many villages they passed through).

For a while the two remained silent, the Monkey King dressing the wounds on the Six Eared Macaque's back. Maybe it was the exhaustion kicking back in or something else, but Macaque just allowed himself to lay there and not think of anything. His mind tried to wander a bit, somewhat toward the kid and somewhat toward the odd reactions of the king, but nothing really stuck with his head swimming as it was. He only opened his eyes (when had he let them close?) when he felt a gentle touch on his arm. He watched as the bandages were unwrapped slowly and the same treatment given to his back was repeated.

"You're lucky he didn't bite your dominant arm," Wukong said softly, finally breaking the silence with a shakiness in his voice that was almost missed. "Or break your arm completely. You'll heal fine, but if you were anyone else you wouldn't even have an arm to treat right now...." He shook his head and under his breath he heard the king mutter "What were you thinking?"

Macaque looked away, gaze catching the still sleeping form of MK on the other side of the low fire. The kid would be exhausted from his second (almost) transformation in 24 hours for a while yet and that made his chest hurt just like before. He remembered the betrayal on his face, so much like and yet so much worse than when he betrayed him by stealing his powers. He remembered how the kid seemed to need the hug he had offered him so long ago at the start of all this as much as he did. He remembered how scared he looked at the prospect of seeing his parents again when he asked about them. And he remembered how much he kid laughed on this journey, how happy he seemed every time he was praised for even the smallest things, how he offered Macaque so much without asking for anything in return even before he put that stupid headband on the kid. He remembered how, despite everything... MK wasn't giving up on him...

He looked back at Wukong, grabbing his leg with as much strength as he could muster in his hurt arm until the other returned his gaze. "He's been hurt enough."

There was an understanding in Sun Wukong's eyes. For the first time in more years than Six Eared Macaque would admit... they understood each other completely without needing more words. MK had been hurt enough. They would take as much hurt away from him as they could.

The moment was broken when his grip weakened he closed his eyes, unable to stay open for as long as he would like, and when he opened them back up Wukong had already finished bandaging up his arm. He noticed a soft pressure around his tail but said nothing, not right now, and he only moved when there was a gentle tapping on his side. "Can you sit up a bit? I need to put on bandages, then you should get some more rest."

Macaque complied, using his good arm to raise himself up just enough for the other's arms to go under and around him to pass the bandages between hands (no, it was not a "almost hug" no matter what his tired brain told him). It was done sooner than expected and a gentle hand on his shoulder pushed him down into the soft fabric beneath him, his gaze fixed firmly on the soundly sleeping form of the kid as he watched to make sure he was really just sleeping.

If he noticed that there were soft claws running through his hair he said nothing. And if Wukong noticed the squeeze of a tail against his own he said nothing either. Eventually he let his eyes slip closed once more, feelin his chest rumble in a soft purr. The claws against his scalp stopped and there was a warmth after a while, a weight around him. Wukong must have laid a blanet over him, but the claws returned and their tails remained intertwined even as he moved to his other side. It wasn't until he felt a rumble beside him that wasn't his own that he realized the blanket was over both of them. He said nothing, not caring about the implications as he allowed himself to drift off into sleep.

And if he, maybe, dreamed of watching the two people he had reluctantly grown to care most about happy... well, he wouldn't say anything about that either.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #six eared macaque #sun wukong #mk #monkey king #cursed au #fanfic #fanfiction #shadowpeach #oh boy is there shadowpeach #we got angst AND fluff #but mostly angst

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chyrstis · 4 years ago

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WIP Saturday!

Tagged by @shallow-gravy @chazz-anova @adelaidedrubman and @starsandskies thoughtout the week, and while I feel like I’m playing a bit of catch up right now, I didn’t want to miss out on this at all. Thank you all! <3

@writerofblocks @hunnybadgerv @painterofhorizons @cobb-vanthss @amistrio @ma-sulevin @tommymillers @jackiesarch @shellibisshe @redroci @unlikelynick @fadedjacket @faithchel @risenlucifer @tomexraider @weekend-writer @vasiktomis @consumedkings @scarlettkat86 @aceghosts but no worries or obligations intended either!

I’ve been having fun dipping back into an earlier idea with Hana and Sharky, mostly because it was supposed to be a simple chat over a cigarette (and a silly exchange about tootsie roll pops), but it decided to get a little more serious than that, and I can’t be mad about that at all.

---

“Now that’s impressive.”

“Huh? What is?”

“Hurk.” Sharky’s eyebrows rose, and she laughed. “I’ve had a few partners before that snored, but this? This would’ve had me on the couch in ten minutes flat. There’s no set of ear plugs strong enough to block that out, not that they’re selling anyway.”

“Huh.”

“You’re fine, though,” she added quickly.

Sharky had been scratching his goatee, lost in thought, but snapped back to attention. “Wait? For real?”

“Yeah, you’ve never-I never noticed. Not enough to smack the pillow or poke you at least.”

There might’ve been a time shortly after they’d started traveling together where he’d rolled over during the night, all but snoring in her ear, but she’d dealt with it. Maybe even let him repeat it once or twice, and wasn’t about to bring that up now.

“Never thought much of it before.” He went back to mulling it over, and jabbed a thumb towards Hurk. “I mean, Hurk’s always been like that, rattling blinds and shit once he really gets going.”

“You don’t say?” Hana winced, and it didn’t take much to imagine the sound.

“Yeah, but that’s after we have a real rager. The kind everyone talks about, and it’s been way too fucking long since we’ve pulled one off.”

“’Cause of the cult?”

“’Cause of the cult. A few of them got real bent out of shape even at Nick’s barbeque a couple years back - which was one kick-ass place to be - and that didn’t even have half of the shit they say they have problems with. Just good food, good company, and some pretty all right tunes, short of whatever the hell the Seeds were trying to pass off as food.” He sighed, and his whole body sagged with it. “Cults, man. Ruining shit for everyone since day one. Ain’t that right, cuz?”

Hurk snorted almost in perfect time to agree, but stayed exactly as he was. Sleeping better than anyone had a right to out in the woods like this.

---

Also, another excerpt from the John the jerk bonanza, maybe? Sorry, Han :( and part of me’s tempted to add just a bit more to it so I can go ahead and post it on its own b/c it’s still pretty far down the fic timeline

---

“Which should be first? Greed? Envy? Pride? Lust? We have some fine candidates to consider, but to choose…oh, to choose. ”

He kept on going. Kept talking, monologuing, raising his hands to add emphasis to every word, and it was all drowned out. All through the blood rushing through her ears.

But it eventually died down. Eased off just enough for her to breathe and be able to think again, catching a few scattered words of his that filtered through, even as John gesticulated for no other reason than he wanted to, and she made a promise to herself then and there.

She’d make it through this. Push past it and find a way to Joey somehow, because that was all that mattered.

So if he wanted to do this - and the sinking feeling in her gut told her that this was only the tip of the mindscrew - she’d do it on her own terms, dammit. Diving in feet first if she had to.

“….John, just get it over with.”

“-thout sin, and you-” John paused, and raised one eyebrow then the other at her. “Hmm?”

Canting her head at him, Hana blew at the bangs that had fallen into her eyes, scattering a handful of the dark red strands without really moving them, and settled as hard a stare on him as possible.

“Sure we could have a field day with the others, but you’re already getting off on this, so why not start with the old L-word. You know the one. Lust,” she breathed, letting her head fall back as she arched into it, only to snap another sharp look off at him. “Just go straight for the shameful shit and run right down the laundry list of people I’ve fucked, since you’re going to want every last dirty detail anyway.”

John opened his mouth, but slowly closed it, narrowing his eyes at her. “Deputy, what do you think I’m going to ask? How many partners you’ve had? Specific acts? Preferred positions?”

Yes. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from saying it, and hated how her face burned in response. “You’ve got to have something to judge, might as well. Direct demonstrations are right the fuck out, however.”

---

And just a short bit that I’ve added to an earlier John and Faith idea where I was trying to feel a potential intro out, and I think I can totally work with this.

---

She was late.

John checked his watch. Could almost hear the seconds tick by as he stood out on the balcony, drumming his fingers along the wooden railing.

While not uncommon, it always dug in just enough. Being forced to wait when he’d already put everything else on hold for her, even if she promised him it would be worth it.

His dear sister tried, but very few things were worth that loss of time, and that was one of their most precious resources nowadays. The only thing he couldn’t measure, weigh, or record, and not even Joseph could give him more than an indeterminate soon at best in terms of when it would finally run out.

So, with soon weighing over all of them, the Collapse reduced to nothing else but that, he was left to stand here.

To wait.

To welcome his sister’s visit with open arms - and he would still, even now - when he’d been left idle long enough for anyone, not just the Deputy to take advantage of it.

The tapping stopped, and John let his fingers lay flat. Let them start to dig the slightest into the surface of the wood.

And where was she now? That deputy...

He’d lost track over the past day, with nothing useful coming in through the cameras or his Chosen. She didn’t disappear. Couldn’t, not with how she dressed, how she looked, or the company she kept, but she’d somehow managed it, and hadn’t headed north or to the east.

#wip #sneaking this in before running off #but I really would love to get in more progress with any of these this weekend #along with the Trap fic again now that some time's opening up #and this is probably still rough around so many edges too but I'm pretty happy with these so far

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random-mha-thoughts · 5 years ago

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Bully Part 2 (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Genre: Crack, fluff, slight angst, Baku-having-feelings-and-being-soft (bc that's totally a genre)

Sequel to Bully (part 1)

Word count: 2,319

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog

a/n: This ended up being longer and slightly more emotional than I expected. Seems like I’m following the trend of getting the BNHA boys to say what’s really on their minds (I’ve already done this for Todoroki in case you were wondering), so Baku will be ooc and soft here.

This came out later than I intended because...let’s just say I was having a mental breakdown over a really long and really naughty Todo fic here and I ended up calling my little cousin and crying and laugh-crying and shaking and losing my collective mind because none of my friends would know what I was going through. And I was in no headspace to write fluff afterwards, she had to force fluff headcanons into me to go back to normal. Yall should thank her. Enjoy~

None of us had any idea how or why Bakugou suddenly started acting this way. Apparently, he was completely normal until I walked in. All I did was open the door to the classroom, my gaze just so happened to land on Bakugou, and suddenly I heard loud stomps towards me.

I held out a defensive hand, ready to shoot out branches at him if he got too close. "Bakugou-" I threatened. And he did the unthinkable. He gripped me in a choke hold around my shoulders and neck.

Actually, no. He...hugged me?

My clenched fists and the hush that fell over the rest of the students told me this is the first time all day he's done something out of character, something I definitely wasn't expecting. We hadn't talked since I almost jumped out of a window last week. This entire week, he was ignoring me. I was preparing for the day he would finally confront me, and I pictured it would be an aggressive encounter.

This is far from anything I'd imagined.

I never ever thought this porcupine-head could even show affection, that he even has a single gene of softness in him. Yet he was embracing me tightly, nuzzling his face in my neck. The shock of it all made me freeze up and cast a sideways glance at Midoriya, who was just as freaked and confused.

"Get off, Bakugou, what are you-"

The boy lifted his head up, his scarlet eyes softened into fondness and a gentle smile on his lips made the rest of my words catch in my throat. This entire expression was foreign to all of us. His face can look like that?

"I missed you over the weekend."

My jaw dropped. HIS VOICE CAN SOUND LIKE THAT?? The smooth and sweet honey tone was way out of character for him.

But like hell I trusted any of this.

I wiggled my arms up to push his weight off me. "I don't know how you managed to become such a great actor," I succeeded in separating from his vice grip, "But if you think disorienting me like this can be some sort of revenge, you're sorely mistaken."

Bakugou tilted his head, resembling a sad puppy. "What do you mean?"

I straightened my uniform. "Nice try, I know you're just acting so you can, like, throw me off the building or something."

That seemed to hurt him, his jaw gaping open before holding my face in his calloused hands. "I'd never do that to you."

I quickly swatted his hands away, wary that he was about to blow my face off. "Don't. Touch. Me."

The boy froze in place, then rubbed the back of his neck. Regret seeped through his eyes as he stared at the ground. "I'm sorry, about everything."

A strange warmth rushed through me. Something about how genuinely vulnerable he looked shook my entire being.

"I just...really wanted you to give me a chance all this time, but I went about it the wrong way." He encased me into another bone-crushing hug. "But I want to make up for it."

I felt a thud in my chest, probably from fear that he might hurt me.

At that moment, the teacher walked in. "Alright everyone, take your seats." He noticed Bakugou's position, gawked for a second, and cleared his throat. "Uh, Bakugou, let go of (L/n) and take your seat."

"I dare any of you extras to yank me off, I'll blast you into next week!"

He's back, kind of?

Nobody made a move to do anything, they were all frozen by the sight of Bakugou clamped onto me like a koala.

"I'll survive...somehow," I assured them, unsure myself how exactly I would do that.

For the entire rest of class, the boy clung onto me. He had taken over the seat of the person who normally sat on my left and scooted the chair over so he can stay attached to me. Though I reasoned for him to hold onto just my arm (since he wouldn't let go no matter how many times I asked), he hugged my waist with both of his arms, face buried in my neck. I was just glad he left one arm for me to write notes with.

If this was just an act, he did a splendid job of keeping it up. I thought he would've given up after an hour or two, but he stayed like that even after lunch until the end of the day. Anytime anyone would even walk past us, he would glare at them until they scurried off.

It was super weird at first, but I got used to the arrangement somehow. I hate to admit it, but I even felt comfort by his warmth. His breath tickled my neck as his solid arms held me in a vice grip. I found myself hoping this wasn't acting, and thanking whatever miracle made this happen. This was never going to happen again, I might as well enjoy it for now.

"Back off, you damn Deku!" He bares his teeth at the cowering Midoriya, still attached to me at the hip.

I sigh, finally fed up with this whole ordeal. "Midoriya, I'll handle this, I'll call later."

The poor broccoli boy nods and scampers away from us. Bakugou insists on not letting go until I'm home safe, even when I repeated that I live in the opposite direction as him. He won't even let Midoriya near me.

I lead us both over to a bench outside of school. I'm still not convinced that this isn't an act, but I might as well try to talk to him after the incident last week. "Get off," I order, scooting over to one side of the bench. When he doesn't obey, I add, "I wanna talk, so I need to see your face."

After a brief moment of hesitation, he eases off my body, rolling up to sit facing me with a leg propped up on the seat. A dumb smile is on his face.

God, that still freaks me out. I stare at him calculatingly. He hasn't said a word to me the whole day, only barking at other students as he holds onto me. I want answers. "You're sure this isn't some stupid revenge plot to get back at me?"

He shakes his head, propping his arm up on the seat and resting his head there. His wordless, lovestruck stare probing me.

I sputter, "Why are you acting this way then?"

"I like you."

I almost choke at his quick response, my chest throbbing again. "S-Stop looking at me that way, I can't take you seriously! I admit, it's freaking me out!"

"My feelings freak you out?" he says sweetly, brushing the side of my face softly.

I slap his hand away, "You don't have feelings for me, just drop the act already!"

His smile disappears. "It's not an act, I'm being serious." Hurt laces his voice.

I cross my arms over my chest. "Yeah, well, it's very hard to take you seriously when you've been a heartless, pompous, mean jerk for all of middle school."

Bakugou's eyes downcast and his arm falls into his lap. "I...I don't know how else to show how I feel." Raw emotion drips from his eyes as he bites his lip, almost like he's gathering his thoughts. "I act like a jerk because... I just feel so pressured. Everyone expects so much of me just because my quirk is so strong." A dark chuckle emits from him, "Even my mom has ingrained it in me that I need to be strong so I don't burden anyone with being weak. So I've been projecting my frustrations onto everyone else. Deku is just the easiest person to pick on because he's the weakest person, he has no quirk! And I'm just self-centered because I have to tell myself that I'm strong or else...I might slip. Call it an inferiority complex, I guess."

I won't lie, I didn't go into this expecting a therapy session. Part of me does sympathize with him, but the rational side of me is still skeptical of this entire monologue being an act. I wouldn't put it past him for thinking up such an elaborate plan in a week. And none of it excuses him for telling Midoriya to kill himself. "Not that I don't believe you, but so what?" I blurt out.

He grabs my hand in both of his, eyes fully emotional and staring into mine. "I like you, (Y/n). I see how kind you are to everyone else, how you've stayed by Deku and supported him this entire time. I admire you. You're the kind of person who I know would become a great hero because you always know just what to say to people to make them feel better, not to mention you're so badass too. And...in a way, there's something in me that wants you to care about an idiot like me, too."

Tightness tugs in my chest. Damn it, he needs to stop being so emotional, I can't handle it. "I want to help you, Katsuki, but what you said to Midoriya crossed a line. I can't overlook that."

His head drops onto our joined hands and his body starts shaking. "Damnit!" he grits out, "I can't believe I've done so much wrong that the person I like can't even forgive me."

I shut my eyes, not wanting to see him cry. "Katsuki-"

Bakugou's head snaps up and takes my head between his hands. "Do you even have the smallest feeling for me?" His red orbs swim in tears.

A soft spot in my heart persuades me to gently rub the wet trails off his cheeks. "I'm...not sure." I won't lead him on, I really don't know how I feel anymore. It's that I hate him, I don't like the things he says or does.

"Help me, (Y/n)," he practically begs, "I'll become a better person, I promise, but I need you to guide me, please."

This sudden magnitude of emotion other than anger disorients me. Is this something he's kept locked away somewhere in the recesses of his mind? I absently nod in agreement against some of my better judgement.

His shaking form steadies as he stares me down quietly. "Can I...kiss you?" he whispers out of the blue.

My lips slightly part and my eyes widen as he leans into me, softly pressing his mouth against mine. Our kiss is innocent, as if time just stood still and washed a warm glow on us. My stomach flips weightlessly, and I gently grip one of his wrists to ground me. He pulls away just for a moment, letting us linger in the moment and sensation of one another.

His eyes flutter open, facing me with the same loveliness he's showed me all day, before confusion suddenly dawns on him, and then his cheeks color red and he pulls away, almost retreating to the other edge of the bench.

I blink, not sure what just happened, but the tumbling in my abdomen still present. "Uh...Bakugou...?"

The boy doesn't even want to face me. "Did I really just do that?" he mutters to himself, the raspy growl that's more characteristic of him returning.

My heart sinks. "Do you-?"

"Hey, don't look so upset," he glares at me before flushing again. "I...somehow...know everything I did... It was me...but it wasn't...really me."

"But everything you said-"

He growls and crosses his arms over his chest, looking away from me. "Everything I said was true! I just... I'm surprised I did it, and I was such a pansy about it."

I roll my eyes. He's back, for real this time. "Well, if that's the case, I won't hold you accountable-"

"Wait," Bakugou sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I stand by everything I said, even the whole...thing...about you helping me." It almost hurts him to say it.

I fold my arms over my chest and stand up. "You don't have to force yourself to be good if you don't want to. Things can go back to the way they were."

"I don't want it to!" he yells. "I'll work at being less of an idiot if it means...that you'll...go out with me."

I examine him, all red-faced and uncomfortable, unable to look me in the eyes. "I'm not gonna go easy on you."

He stands up and finally garners the courage to look at me again. "I'm willing. I'll try hard, I promise."

After thinking it over a moment, I relax my figure and place a kiss on his cheek. "That's your reward for consciously admitting that you have a problem."

Bakugou's eyes bulge out of his head and I have to suppress my chuckles. "Will there be more rewards?" he mumbles.

"Only if you really try." I lean forward, catching him off guard and finally letting out a small fit of laughter. "You know for most of the day, you were hanging onto me like I was you handbag, now you're shying away from me."

He scratches his burning neck. "Hey, that wasn't me."

"It was a you that probably showed your deepest darkest wants," I tease, a smirk playing on my lips.

"Sh-Shut up, don't be so smug about it!" He lightly shoves me away, digging his hands into his uniform pants pocket. "You're the one asking for it because you liked it, stupid."

"Ah-ah," I hold up a finger like a teacher reprimanding a kindergardener. "First thing is for you to stop calling people names."

He groans. "Fine. (Y-Y/n)." His cheeks color all over again.

I slip my hand in his and his blush intensifies. "Was that so hard to do?"

"Shut up," he mumbles softer this time.

He's a fixer-upper, he's still got a lot to learn, but hopefully, he'll get there eventually.

#Bakugou x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou fluff #bakugou katsuki #angst #crack #bakugou imagine #bakugou scenario #gender neutral reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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keelywolfe · 5 years ago

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FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 18 (Mafia AU)

Summary: Rus makes a decision.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warning: Heads up, let me add a warning here for attempted sexual assault and violence.

~*~~

Read Chapter 18 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Lilies were lovely flowers, and it was a damn shame that Humans seemed to only associate them with funerals and Easter. They made for a beautiful focal point in a bouquet, large waxy petals in a bright array of colors surrounding the dark stamen, dozens of them spilling out and around a vase or basket, brilliant shades complimented by a delicate frame of leafy greens.

So many gorgeous colors available and Blue grew many of them, but the lilies Rus was working with were white, only a hint of creamy yellow at their centers. They smelled nearly as beautiful as the crimson roses that joined them, each delicate bloom nestled into its cushioning bed of neighboring white.

(A single red rose, please)

Only Rus’s fingers were stained with redness, not from those velvety petals but from the thorns, the dark crimson of his own marrow spotting the lilies, smearing bloody across those pale petals and he couldn’t stop even as they began to wither under his touch, white petals spotted in redness curling up and dying, and—

Rus woke with a gasp, the cold sweat on his bones chilling him as the dream of withered petals slowly faded. He sank back against the mattress and ran a trembling hand over his face, grimacing at the dampness.

Next to him, his brother slept on obliviously, his smaller frame buried deeply in the luxurious comforter on their borrowed bed. The bathroom light was on, seeping out to cast the room in shadows and even in the dimness, Blue’s much-loved face was lined with obvious exhaustion. The crow’s wing of a bruise running down his cheekbone wasn’t quite hidden into the pillow, stark against pale bone.

Thoughtlessly, Rus reached out with the vague idea to heal it and hesitated with his fingers still inches from that bruise. Tired as Blue was, he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to sleep through any sort of magic being used on him. Better to let him rest and take care of it when he woke up, and if looking at it made his gorge rise with swelling guilt, then Rus only had himself to blame. This all might have started with him getting dragged in, but things had changed since that day in the shop when he had hidden behind the counter in a stranger’s arms.

That day was over and a new one was dawning, one where Rus complicit, for not listening to his brother’s warnings, for not keeping his distance, for letting his desire for Edge overrule his rather uncommon sense.

No, that wasn’t entirely true, at least one other person was at fault here, the one who’d caused that bruise. He wasn’t sure he believed Blue that their so-called host wasn’t to blame; even if he hadn’t struck the blow, he’d obviously failed to protect them as promised. Broken promises tended to multiply, that was a hard lesson Rus learned while they were still Underground.

Well, he certainly wasn’t lost in a metal fog any longer. He felt as if he were waking up from more than an unpleasant dream. His pleasure-tinted memories of last night in Edge’s bed had lost their luster the moment he got a good look at his brother’s bruised face and cold reality settled in its place, sinking down into the pit of his soul like cold water sinking to the ocean floor.

Somehow, he’d been slowly starting to forget the truth; that he and Blue were here unwillingly, staying only for protection against revenge that hadn’t been theirs to begin with. They were very bad men, Edge warned Rus of that from the very beginning, and Edge was still planning on dealing with Blaze however he would; someone would likely be dead and dust by the end, and Rus couldn’t allow himself to forget that, if only to ensure that neither he nor his brother were part of it.

Rus wrapped his arms around his legs, settling his chin on his updrawn knees. Where the hell did he think this was all going to go, anyway? When everything was said and done, and Blaze was dealt with, where did he fit in a place like this? He didn’t, that was how, did he really think he’d be able to finish up his shift at the shop making bouquets and then come back here to pretend he didn’t know what was happening around him, both inside and out of these walls. Even if Edge wanted him for longer than a few nights, Rus couldn’t do that. He couldn’t.

His brother’s comment about getting paid well might have been cruel, but it wasn’t entirely untrue. Only it didn’t seem to be dollars that Rus was bartering with, but instead his own soul.

No. He couldn’t let that happen, not to Blue. His brother worked so hard for everything they had ever since their pop left. He wasn’t going to throw it away, not for a few minutes of pleasure, he couldn’t.

This would end eventually; they would go back to their home and their flower shop and leave all this madness behind, and though it made a fresh lump rise in his throat to think of it, Rus decided that he would tell all of this to Edge today. Whether it ended in pleading or demands didn’t matter, he was going to end whatever this was, could it even be called a relationship? All Edge knew about him was what he’d seen through a window. It was time to set aside this ridiculous fantasy, if not for himself then for his brother’s sake.

The sheets were still clinging to him clammily, sweat from his nightmare drying uncomfortably on his bones. Rus slipped carefully from the bed, snatching up his phone and using the flashlight to help him pick out fresh clothes from the closet.

It was still relatively early, only barely past six am, no wonder Blue was still sleeping. Normally, Rus would be as well, it was another hour before his time to groaningly drag himself out of bed and down to the shop for his daily shift. As tired as he was, the idea of crawling back in to lay on the damp sheets didn’t appeal much.

Instead, he went into the bathroom to change, this time in a pair of loose, flowing trousers with an oversized sweater layered over a plain button-up. It was a heck of a lot closer to something he’d find in his own closet, even if he could tell by the feel of the fabric that it was from some pricy department store and not the local thrift shop. He wondered idly if someone had actually gone shopping for these new clothes or if they’d simply ordered in like Chinese takeout. He had kind of a hard time picturing a delivery boy turning up at the back entrance of the club loaded down with bags of clothes instead of egg rolls. Whoever brought ‘em, he was reluctantly grateful for the quantity even as he shrank away at the thought of how long they might be intended to be there, and how could he stay away from Edge living directly down the hallway from him, how could he…?

Rus resolutely pushed that thought aside, splashing cool water on his face and patting it dry. It was a good thing their closet was filled, he told himself, ‘cause the clothes he’d worn yesterday were downstairs in the stripper’s dressing room, probably never to be seen again.

That thought made him cast a guilty look at the clothes he’d worn up here, the ones loaned to him by Mona for her brief tutorial on dancing. They were lying in a careless pile leftover from last night’s shower and he bit the tip of his tongue worriedly. Maybe Mona would need them back, someone had to. He could ask the Dogs to bring them to her with a note of thanks…or he could take them himself and let her know that he was all right.

Plus, it’d be a chance to give her some proper gratitude for trying to help out. Sure, it hadn’t worked out the way he’d hoped, really not, but that wasn’t her fault, and she didn’t have the first idea how the story ended last night. Seemed like she should at least get to know Rus probably wasn’t gonna end up with cement shoes or anything, but this time, if he was going downstairs, he’d do it properly and walk.

Decision made, Rus gathered up the clothes, folding them into a tidy bundle. They were rumpled and stank richly of sweat and sex. He blushed to think of returning them that way, but he couldn’t lie, it felt less embarrassing to bring them back to Mona than to leave it for the Dogs to find on laundry day. Worst that could happen with her was it would confirm some suspicions she already had.

He carried the bundle out of the bathroom with him, hesitating as he glanced at the bed and the lump in the covers that was his sleeping brother. This time there wouldn’t be any slipping off without a word, no more secrets, not if he could help it. He paused at the little table by the door to write his brother a note, his scribbly handwriting stating clearly that he was returning something downstairs and he’d be back soon.

That was one thing done right, at least.

That done, he slipped out the door to the hallway, closing the door hastily before the light could wake his brother. As expected, there was a Dog standing guard outside and it turned to him questioningly, its headed tilting to one side.

“excuse me, can you take me downstairs to speak with the ladies?” Rus said. Firm yet polite seemed like the best route and he held up the bundle in his arms. “i have some stuff to take back to them.” He really hoped they didn’t offer to just take it for him and not just because there was no way a Dog wouldn’t pick up on the reek. He was gonna talk to Mona one way or another, flimsy excuse or not.

The Dog said nothing, and Rus still wasn’t quite sure if that was a choice, an order, or simply a physical impossibility. It seemed to consider, then pulled out a cell phone, unhindered by its paws as it briskly tapped out a message. Whatever reply they received, they nodded and led the way down the hall to the elevator, the same one Edge brought him upstairs in, hey, he was starting to get the hang of this place.

Once the doors open again, Rus took the lead, heading to the dressing room from last night. The Dog waited at the entrance as he slipped inside, clothes in hand.

It was mostly empty now, none of the bustling and hurried dressing of the night before. The only stripper in the room was the Cat Monster…Lilith, that was her name, and her clothing was a stark contrast to their first meeting. Her revealing slip of a dress was exchanged for simple jeans and a t-shirt with ‘Bad Girl’ written in sparkly letters across the chest. She was tying the laces on her sneakers, glancing up and then again in a doubletake as she caught sight of him.

She gave him a sultry smile, pink tongue curling over her lips. “Well, hey there, sugar skull, stopping in for another visit or are you hiding out again?”

“no, um,” Rus said, awkwardly. He held up the bundle. “mona loaned me some clothes, i was just bringing them back.”

“Oh, is that all?” she yawned, showing sharp teeth, “Night shift is over, hun, Mona’s gone for the day.” She tilted her head in the direction of a large bin that was already overflowing with clothes, bra straps and stockings hanging over the sides. “You can toss it in the pile, they’ll get take care of.”

Rus wavered, torn, then decided he didn’t need to keep them as an excuse to visit with Mona. A lack of one hadn’t stopped him yet. He tossed the bundle in the pile and started back out to the hallway, then hesitated to ask, “do you know when mona will be back?”

Maybe if she worked tonight, he could slip down to see her before she started for the night.

“Sorry, hun, schedules change. If you want to wait, I can check after I get a smoke. I’m dying for a cig.” She held up a pack of cigarettes and against his will, his gaze strayed to it longingly. He hadn’t had one in days now and his nicotine craving lifted its ugly, eager head, starting a painful itch in his marrow. Damn, he hadn’t even checked his backpack when the Dog gave it to him and didn’t remember if he had a pack of smokes in it. He sure wasn’t about to ask Edge or, angel forbid, Red for one. It might be days yet before he got out to buy a pack himself.

Lilith gave him a knowing look. “Want one, sweetheart? You got that kind of look.”

The sudden flood of saliva in his mouth was embarrassing, but eh, the rules were a little different for smokers, nothing wrong with bumming the occasional cigarette so long as it didn’t become another habit, a worse one than smoking itself.

“i…yes,” Rus said gratefully, “if you don’t mind?”

“Nah, c’mon, I can share.”

She turned and walked towards the back of the room, her slender tail curling around her feet and Rus followed her to heavy door with a bright ‘Exit’ sign gleaming over it in neon red.

“I’d get a smack on the hand if they caught me sneaking out this way,” Lilith confided. Her whiskers quivered as she wrinkled her little muzzle. “But I can’t stand walking all the way ‘round for a quick smoke. I get enough exercise on the pole, you know?”

He didn’t, but he could certainly guess. He followed Lilith outside into an alleyway lined with trash cans, the sky overhead tinged grey with the coming dawn. She shook out one for herself and lit it before handed over the pack, and the first hit of nicotine melded into his magic with deep, mellow relief. Talking didn’t seem necessary, Lilith only played on her phone while both of them smoked silently through their cigarettes and when Lilith was done, she tossed her butt to pavement already littered with dozens more and shook out another before handing the pack back to him.

“May as well have another, honey,” she said, and he really shouldn’t, he had enough debt as it was, and what was that look she was giving him, something like regret…?

There was a sudden stinging at the back of his neck, coupled with hot breath, whispering low in flame-speak. “Yes, do have another. It might well be your last.”

The still smoldering butt fell from his nerveless fingers, falling into a puddle with a hiss, the dizziness already swarming over him distancing him from both his senses and his magic. He whirled clumsily around to see a fire Monster standing behind him, as tall as he was and nearly as broad as Red. The hectic flutter of his purplish flames cast the alley in disturbing shadows, devils dancing to their deaths in the slowly growing sunlight.

Blaze.

Rus took a stumbling step back, fumbling at the door, but there was no handle on the outside, only smooth metal. He looked at Lilith disbelievingly, slurring out, “wha…why?”

Tears were streaming down her pretty face, soaking into the short fur. “I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry. He was offering money, so much money, you don’t understand what it’s like here—”

He didn’t hear whatever else she said as he was suddenly seized, pushed back against the rough bricks of the alley wall. Those deep purple flames managed to be somehow both dark and blinding, Rus squinting against that painful light, cringing away.

“don’t—” Rus stuttered out. But his hands were disobedient and strengthless, pushing helplessly against Blaze’s shirt as he stepped closer, his surprisingly heavy body pinning him against the wall. His face was too close, burning fingers painfully pinching his chin and forced Rus to lift his head, the smoky ash of his breath gusting over Rus’s face.

“Perhaps I judged too quickly on Edge’s tastes. You are rather a pretty thing, after all.”

Rus cried out, the sound muffled, choking as his mouth was taken in a rough kiss, the pained heat of flaming tongue forcing its way between his teeth. He didn’t think, could hardly manage a single idea past no. He bit down automatically, choking again as his mouth filled with bitterness reminiscent of gasoline.

He nearly fell as he was released, gasping for breath, and he only barely managed to open his sockets enough to see the blow before it struck, his vision exploding into whiteness as Blaze backhanded him and sent him to his knees amidst the filthy puddles and the rotting old cigarette butts.

Dazed, he could only watch as Lilith grabbed hold of Blaze’s arm as it rose again. “Stop it! You said you wouldn’t hurt him!”

“So I did,” Blaze said, and someone Rus couldn’t see was translating in a gleeful drawl, “You should have secured the same promise for yourself.”

A deafening sound rang through the alley and Rus stared dumbly as a bright blossom of red appeared on Lilith’s shirt, splatters of crimson stark against her white fur like winter berries in a snow bed. She looked down at herself in confused disbelief, touching that awful wound with trembling fingers and smearing that stain across her shirt as she slowly collapsed to the ground. Filthy water splashed, more redness tainting the puddle in a slowly spreading pool as she stared sightlessly up at the rising sun.

In that moment Rus found his voice, managing to croak out something like a hoarse scream before a rough hand slapped over his mouth, the brutal grip painful on his jaw.

“Come on, put him in the backseat. I’ll see if I can keep our guest entertained for the trip.”

He was dragged over to a waiting car, shoes scraping the pavement uselessly, barely noticing the leather seats beneath him. A door slammed and hot hands hauled him upright until he was sprawled awkwardly across an uncomfortable lap, a scorching mouth licking a painful path up his cervical vertebrae. Fingertips plucked threateningly at his clothes, but didn’t wander beneath them, and that only made Rus shudder helplessly, dizzily nauseous and numbly clouded in rising fear over what was to come.

edge. help me. It was hardly more than a distant, uncertain thought, the words never making it to his slack mouth.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #the rose and the thorn #mafia au

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lucky-bucky-boy · 5 years ago

Text

Cruel Summer Pt. II

Summary: Based loosely off of Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift. Huge muse for this part was also Resentment by Kesha. After what was considerably one of the worst nights to ever be lived, things just seem to keep getting worse. Or will they?

Word Count: 2634

Warnings: Angst, lots of fucking angst, the reader talking a lot, manipulative speech, very slight age gap, anxiety, almost ddlg elements but not quite (Please let me know if I missed anything, I will be happy to add on)

A/N: Tags are at the bottom I know this had been long awaited and I’m so sorry it took so long. I had to rewrite the beginning so many times because the first part just seemed to flow so beautifully and I was having troubles encapsulating the grace. Will be added to AO3 at some point. NO spoilers, takes place before the events of Knives out. Read Part One Here

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs, likes, comments, and constructive criticism welcomed and highly appreciated.

Golden rays of sunshine creeped over rooftops, illuminating the room as it fought the cold of the night out that had settled in every crevice - a cold that was a constant reminder of the half empty bed. Soft sheets and expensive pillows that we no better than the pictures that were facedown on the dresser. A light snore and ball of exuberant warmth curled at the end of the unnecessary king size bed that somehow managed to ignite joy while drowning the feeling with sorrow. Even in the early morning hours, just minutes after the sun had risen, there was only one thing to be thought about, one person; Ransom.

An insistent vibrating disturbed what little peace had fallen over the room, uncharacteristically early to the weekly norm. Even after it would stop, moments later it would begin again and it seemed that it wasn't going to go away anytime soon. A crack in the foundation, a rumbling earthquake that rocked the stability and what had started becoming a little better everyday was ready to crumble and fall.

Paying attention to details should be a strong suit for someone who had two books published and one in the works - it was a talent that was nearly mastered by this point. But, emotionally drained and foggy brained from the expense that was a Thrombey family dinner, one that would surely be the talk of the family for months, and a restless night filled with discomfort and anxiety left any common sense buried under endless amounts of exhaustion.

A quick swipe of a thumb, the light press of the cell phone to your ear, and suddenly everything froze. The feeling as if suddenly bathed in freezing water while fiery coals scorched your feet, butterflies lifting your chest higher to cloud nine while a pit opened in your stomach, heart racing with some wild mixture of dread and excitement; "My house at 3. Don't be late, baby girl."

That godforsaken drawl, the smirk that was evident in his voice, the fucking nickname. The line went dead, a heavy silence flooding the room like a tsunami. Thoughts raced in circles, picking apart and trying to guess what he could possibly want.

Was he going to rub it in your face that he got under your skin? Made your blood boil? Of course he knew how he affected you, he knew you too well, better than anyone would like to admit. An apology? No - that's too far fetched, even after everything Ransom never was the one to apologize, even if he also knew it would be best. Possibly he had gathered the rest of your things, finally ready to rid himself of them. It's not like you took much when he told you to leave, and it was unlikely he would have taken the time himself to go through everything. He probably paid the maid extra to do it overnight so he wouldn't have to.

Either way, after last night, Ransom was the last person you wanted or expected to hear from. The sting of the incident, salt that was rubbed roughly in an aging wound, still fluttered deep in your chest. His words, the family's reaction, the countless notifications still untouched. Nothing anyone could have told you or showed you would have prepared you for what you had felt in that moment.

Heavy limbs moved numbly but swiftly, mind working like the rusted innards of a clock, slow and almost confused. It didn't make sense as to why he would want to see you, he had done enough damage as is. The confusion quickly boiled over, simmering down to a fluttering anxiety of constant what ifs running their courses through your mind.

The growing pup stirred at the feel of you moving from the bed, quickly laying his head back down when he saw you trudge into the bathroom. After a much longer than anticipated shower, the feel of the too warm water running down your skin and feeling as though it was washing away every single issue and emotion, a wave a vague normalcy set in.

For at least a little you could believe this was normal, that it was just like last summer. Get up, get ready for the day, get some work done, then pamper before heading over to see Ransom. Just this time, there was a slightly different agenda. It wouldn't be all heated kisses, starved touches, and craved intimacy, it wouldn't be whispers of sweet nothings and the comfort of a protective embrace - even if every fiber of you craved it like a bad drug, it couldn't happen again, at least not that easily. And who was to say that was even his plan.

Anticipation made the hours go by slower than what was deemed truly plausible, and no matter what the possibilities of what was to come just wouldn't stop taunting every corner of your thoughts. Embarrassingly so you found yourself preparing much earlier than necessary, restyling yourself a handful of times to make sure stunning couldn't even come close to describing how effortlessly perfect you looked. If Ransom wanted to play games, you were determined to have the ball in your field for as long as possible. And to top it off, you made sure that nothing you had on was bought by him.

But you could only hope that your efforts weren't in vain as you made your way to his house, a place of memories in the middle of pretty much nowhere. An almost 40 minute drive making way for doubts to slowly creep in and settle in the back of your mind. What if he could tell you tried too hard? He could so easily read you, it was as if you were one of your books. Or what if he thought you were trying to impress him? The only time you ever went out of your way to put much effort into your appearance was when you wanted him to really notice you or if he was taking you out. Maybe going in general was a bad idea and this was just some sick joke of his.

But there was no time to back out as you pulled up in front of the house, his sitting silhouette evident through the glass window. Ransom noticed you immediately, moving to sit whatever was in his hands down and made his way to the door, already standing on the porch before you had even gotten out of your car.

A slight uneasiness settled between the two of you, his arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised as he watched you, almost expectantly. The look was reminiscent of how your parents would stare you down when you were younger, when you had done something wrong.

You stood outside your car, staring at him and matching his stance, only adding to the annoyance that was written on his face. "What do you want, Hugh?" The irritation in your voice was evident, and you were more than thankful your words didn't fail you. Stomach twisting in intricate knits, chest fluttering, palms becoming clammy; it was a genuine miracle you hadn't tripped over your words.

His set jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as he registered how you spoke to him, how you addressed him, "Just get in here. We need to talk."

A scoff fell from your lips as you made your way inside, "Always the gentlemen, aren't you," you spat, rolling your eyes as you walked towards the kitchen. Despite not intending on staying long, you threw your belongings on the island and leaned against the marble countertop, watching him as he stalked towards you, a nearly predatory look in his eyes. "What exactly do we need to talk about? I feel like last night made our positions pretty fucking clear."

He tsked, shaking his head. "You just don't get it, baby girl, dya?"

Ransom opened his mouth to talk again but you cut him off, agitation finally bubbling over and bordering on rage, "I don't get it?" The words were hissed out and soaked in utter disbelief, "What exactly don't I fucking get, Ransom? The fact that you like to start shit? Or the fact that months after you told me to get the fuck out, you show up to a dinner you don't ever go to to cause a fucking scene, then tell me to meet you at your house the next day? What twisted memory of yours triggered you to suddenly act like you care about me? Why the fuck couldn't you just leave well enough alone?"

The taught muscles of his jaw twitched, intense blues boring into your own gaze. "You're such a spoilt fucking brat," he groaned out. "We had an agreement. No one was supposed to find out, but you had to go and-"

"I had to go and what?" You cut him off once again, only fueling the tension between the two of you and prodding the beast of emotions that was storming inside both of your bellies, "You are the one who opened your mouth, you are the one who fucking started this, all of this. From that night in the fucking bar, to you telling me I was the best thing to ever happen to you, to opening up your mouth last night. You always start it. And you're just pissed I finished it before you could get me to break in front of you."

A lump in your throat was beginning to form, jaw clenching as you swallowed, a feeble attempt to keep your emotions from getting the best of you. The rage was quickly turning into sorrow and hurt, the fire in your chest turning into an ache that couldn't be ignored, "You're just disappointed I waited until I got home, got away from you, to break down. Because you didn't get the satisfaction of seeing the pain you've caused."

There was a sudden twist in the atmosphere, hurricane breaking for a moment of relief before harsh waves continued to crash against the shore, "You act like I wanted to hurt you," his voice was grim, face painting in slight disgust, "Everything was great between us - You are the one who broke the rules. Not me."

Ransom's head cocked to the side some, gaze moving over your features quickly, examining and calculating, "And even now," a small huff in disbelief as he shook his head, large hand moving to run through his hair which you had just noticed was free of any products. Odd, even for him. "Even now, you still came, you're still here. And I'm still thinking of giving you another chance."

Something buried deep within you snapped, a flood of pain filling every nerve and forcing tears to well in your eyes. "You're giving me another chance?" Any illusion of resolve and strength that had been built up had disappeared as quick as a snap of fingers, uneven breaths doing their best to keep the floodgates closed. "Ransom, you broke my fucking heart," each word filled with more hurt and distrust than the last, each a cut to the man who stood before you, his face softening as he watched you, "You're not the one here who should be giving out second chances, you're the one who should be receiving them."

The realization hit him, a douse of cold water to the face as his mind worked. Silence, albeit slightly uncomfortable, fell between the two of you as the gravity of the last few moments came crashing down. Just as it became too much to handle, lip quivering as the overwhelming urge to cry started becoming harder to fight off, his arms wrapped around you and pulled you into him.

Time seemed to slow, a few broken sobs slipping out, body shaking with the force of each one. The natural scent of him filling your senses, no expensive cologne, the feel of the soft sweater an unwanted comfort. Ransom's arms hugged tighter, lips going to your hairline, and staying like that until reality hit you. A weak push, one he could have easily ignored and overpowered, and he stepped away, his features much more readable, looking far more vulnerable. He was much more vulnerable, much more vulnerable than you were ever used to.

Shaky breaths fell from you, trying to clear the fog that was beginning to form over rational thoughts. Wiping your eyes you looked at him, "What exactly is it that you want, Ransom? Why did you really ask me to come over?"

He looked almost taken aback, confused and dazed by the question, but more so by his own train of thought. His mouth opened then closed, repeating the action a few more times before groaning out exasperatedly. "I don't know, for things to go back to how they were?" It sounded far more like a suggestion than an answer. "Come on, (Y/N), we were good together."

The words came off as if he was trying to convince himself that this was what he wanted. You waited, seeing if he would try to convince you, persuade you like he believed he so easily could, how he used to. "I- No," you shook your head, "I can't do that to myself again, I can't let you do that to me again."

"Do what?" He practically snapped, jaw setting as agitation made home in him once again. He didn't expect it to be so damn hard. He no undoubtedly assumed that he'd immediately have you wrapped around his finger like nothing had changed. "Treat you like a fucking princess? Treat you how you deserve to be treated? You and I both know that you're never gonna be able to find someone who can give you what I gave you, nothing that's going to have that same thrill we did."

Shaking your head you grabbed your bag, throwing it over your shoulder. "See Ransom, you're the one that doesn't get it. I want that more than anything. I want the spontaneous trips and heartfelt gifts. I want the late night conversations and finishing each other's sentences. I would give anything to be on your jet flying to whatever place you're insisting I need to see. I want it all," your voice was practically a whine by the end of it, "But I don't want the sneaking and the hiding. I don't want the separate houses. I don't want lying to everyone."

Running a hand through your hair, you took a shaky breath, trying to calm your nerves. "I need someone who isn't going to just care for me behind a closed door," the calmness of your voice even scared you in the moment, and seeing that Ransom practically froze you could tell he was feeling the same, "I need someone who is going to be there for me how you were, but isn't ashamed of it. That won't get mad when I take cutesy pictures of us on the beach, that won't pretend to hate me in front of their family and friends, that I don't have to pretend is someone else when I'm talking about them. I don't want things to go back to how they were, I want them to be better than they were."

You walked past his nearly frozen stature, heading for the door. "I love you Ransom, and probably always will. But I love myself more than that and I can't let myself be hurt like that again."

The words echoed off the hallway, ringing in his ears and sitting like a heavy weight on his chest. Your reached for the door, stopping suddenly as his voice reached back out, "Wait - I- fuck," he let out a shaky breath. "Don't leave. Not yet at least. Can we sit and talk over dinner? Please."

Taglist: (Slash through means unable to be tagged) @sweetlittlegingy @star-spangled-steve @jessiejunebug @fresa-luna @thegirlwithpaperheart @jesaigne @introvertedmouse @sinner-as-saint @sp2900 @qrndevans @dammitcaswhy @livsheph @darcia22 @paranjaperiyauniverse @dramaticsassmaster @rose-k @lovemesomeavengers @steeeeverogers @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @bemysugarbean @dreamlesswonder86 @ambrosixx @heyiamthatbitch @daazzeey, @fresa-luna @bitchcraftandwitchery @thatoneslytherinbeater @breezyfreezey @quesadellacatburglar @renxzs @imsonick @sambucky8 @honeybabybubba

#ransom #ransom drysdale #ransom thrombey #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom thrombey x you #chris #chris evans #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #cruel summer #cruel summer fan fiction #knives out #knives out fanfiction

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kiatheinsomniac · 5 years ago

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I’m the CEO of showing up late to everything. Here’s a modern AU fic I wrote on wattpad for Arno’s birthday last year :)

Bon Anniversaire

(Y/n) looked down at her lover in awe as she balanced the tray in her hands, settling it on the edge of the bed before sitting daintily on the edge and leaning down to cup Arno's face with one of her hands, pressing a soft yet firm kiss to his lips, fingertips caressing his jaw as she peppered the corner of his mouth in kisses and left lingering ones on his soft lips.

He groaned slightly before kissing her back, waking up. His hands went to the sides of her neck, thumbs caressing her jaw as she slowly pulled away and gently brushed some disarrayed hair away from his face.

"Morning, birthday boy." She spoke with a teasing grin as she sat upright. Arno pushed himself up so that he was leaning against the headboard. She placed the tray on his lap and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I made you breakfast."

He smiled warmly at her as she crossed her legs on the mattress. She hadn't dressed yet thus she wore one of his shirts with little else underneath. However, her (h/c) hair was nearly done into a bun with a light grey scrunchie from where she had made his morning meal and didn't want it in the way. He reached for her hand, rubbing circles on the back of her palm with his thumb in an appreciative gesture.

"You're too sweet." He cooed.

"Hey, it's your birthday, I get to spoil you. Now eat up before it gets cold then get dressed, I'm taking you out." She piped up before leaving to get ready herself, knowing that she took a lot longer than he did.

Arno watched as she reached into the wardrobe and picked out an outfit before turning her back to him to dress. He had seen her naked countless times but she was always shy nonetheless.

As she pulled off his shirt, revealing that she wore nothing else underneath, he let out a whistle. She laughed at this and looked over her shoulder to where he was staring and her nude ass.

"Hey, focus on your food else you'll choke." She scolded as she pulled on a pair of pants and clipped a bra into place, a matching set of pale pink lace with tiny little jewels stuck to them that caught the light when she moved. They were very see-through and left little to the imagination.

She pulled on a pair of beige pants and tossed on a thin white shirt to go with it. She tucked this into the trousers before doing up the belt and then pulled on a pair of socks before sitting to do her hair and makeup.

By the time she had finished her eyebrows, Arno was done and walked over to the mirror where he sat down on the floor beside her.

(Y/n) did own a vanity but it got used as more of a desk, a space where she would write or paint and stuffed all her pencils and paints into the drawers that had been intended for makeup alongside skin and hair products. However, she never grew out of the habit of sitting on the floor in front of a full-length mirror.

"You're stealing all the mirror space again." Arno pouted playfully as he kneeled behind her in order to be able to see what he was doing. (Y/n) giggled playfully as she curled her lashes and put a pair of dangling pink heart earrings on. She threw on a pale pink lace choker and a golden floral necklace before tipping her head back to get an upside-down view of her lover.

"Can I do your hair?" She smiled as he looked down at her.

"That depends, are we going out?" He replied with a question.

"Yes."

"Then absolutely not." He glanced down to see her pout and furrow her brows, glossy bottom lip jutting out.

"Please? I'll give you like 20 pretty bonus points." She grinned giddily.

"Bonus points?" Arno quizzed as he took a seat.

"Well, yeah, because you're already a god. This will just add to it." She made her way behind him and took the hairbrush from his hands, gently untangling his long hair.

"A god, huh?" He quoted amusedly.

"Eros wants what you have, chéri (darling). Apollo could never." She hummed as she parted his hair with the end of a comb. She set one half aside to add a twist to the other before gathering it all at the nape of his neck. She put her hand out to signal that she needed a hairband and Arno placed one into her expecting palm. She expertly tied it into his usual ponytail before parting it above the band and slipping it through itself to create another little twist to it. "Ok, I'll let you add your ribbon because I can never get the bow right." She spoke as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head beside his and admiring him in the mirror. "Please don't ever cut your hair short, I adore it." She added with a kiss to his temple before pulling back to grab her purse, keys and phone to throw into her light blue bag. She shoved her feet into a pair of grey trainers while Arno dressed.

He put on a pair of light grey trousers with a Louis Vuitton belt and a white shirt that showed off his defined torso underneath. He tossed a denim jacket onto his shoulders and sat down to put on a pair of black boots.

"Do you want to know where we're going?" (Y/n) hummed as she leaned on the doorframe to their room.

"Sure." He stole a glance in her direction.

"Only your favourite museum." (Y/n) smiled. Arno had taken her there so many times that she had lost count. She adored it but not as much as he did. She delighted in watching his face light up as he told her all his knowledge on the exhibits and related historical topics. Arno was very proud of his country's history and many of the countless books which he owned were dedicated to it. He was a lover of classical culture and Baroque society. He adored music and art and literature and the like, valuing the beauty and knowledge it all had to offer.

That's what really made them click.

"The Louvre. . ." He spoke, drawling out his French accent that lit up a fire in her no matter how many times she heard it. It was a very touristy location but that didn't put him off from the history which it had to offer. "As much as I adore it, my favourite piece of it is in fact not an exhibit but it's a memory."

"And what would that memory be?" She prompted with a knowing smile.

"The first time I saw you, admiring the renaissance art. You looked gorgeous admiring it. Though, I can't remember what the painting was, I can recall you telling me all about Adonis and Aphrodite and red roses." He mused as he made his way towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close in a loving embrace, "And you could tell me something about the context of each painting while I followed you around. I'd never met someone so enthusiastic about historical art before. Especially not someone so adorable. . . Two complete strangers lavishing in the knowledge and company of the other in the closing hours of the museum."

"I was sure I'd half-bored you to death and you'd never call the number that I gave you." She giggled, "I was just as surprised to find someone as interested as I am, let alone someone so handsome." She reached up onto his toes to give him a sweet kiss, her hands running up his chest. "But let's go hop on the train, I've got a lot planned for today."

"Oh? You do?" The Frenchman smiled as she took his hand, intertwining their fingers as she led him outside of their home above Arno's historic café theâtré.

"Indeed, I do." She hummed as she grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, standing on her toes to plant a kiss on his lips. When she fell back into her feet, Arno wrapped an arm around her waist, the two of them making their way to the metro.

Paying their fare, they waited on the platform in the blistering heat of the metro. It was rush hour so it was a difficulty to squeeze in with all the other passengers. Luckily, they managed to get into a carriage with fewer people than most. Arno held onto the support above his head while the other arm made its way around (Y/n)'s waist, holding her close to make sure she didn't lose her balance.

She warmly rested her hands against him as her head leaned on his chest. He pressed little kisses to the top of her head, coaxing her to look up so that he could give her a much more tender kiss on her lips.

She quickly pulled away, hiding her hot cheeks against his neck. Arno cooed at her lovingly and amusedly, giving her (b/t) waist a squeeze. Arno adored showing his affection for her in public but (Y/n) was always shy about it. To begin with, she wouldn't even hold his hand in public but she eventually grew comfortable with his hand holding hers or his arm slung over her shoulders or around her waist. He had been trying to warm her up to kisses in public too but it was a process and, clearly, she was still far too shy.

A few stops later, they were getting off at the nearest station. As soon as they had climbed the stairs, the whoosh of cold air was a relief in comparison to the hot, humid and stuffy air that was underground. It was enough to make one feel lightheaded, especially in the August heat.

The next few minutes were a blur as all (Y/n) could focus on was Arno's smile. That smile was so rare that she couldn't help but stare whenever it came out, she couldn't bear to miss a second of its presence on his handsome features.

She was only snapped out of her daze once they were inside and admiring all the exhibits they had seen before and many which were new.

The entire time, Arno kept an arm around her waist. They paused in front of a baroque painting, (Y/n) snuggling against Arno's chest as they admired the art together. He looked down at her briefly, smiling at the contact, before turning back to the painting.

"I can imagine you modelling for a painting." Arno hummed, the two of them enjoying having the particular room to themselves.

"Really?" (Y/n) questioned, amusement in her tone.

"Oui (yes). . . But it would do you no justice. The painting would be breathtaking but nowhere near your true beauty. It wouldn't be able to capture you well enough and you cannot convey such intellect and personality into a picture."

"What's with the flattery, hmm?" She teased. "All the same could apply to you, why am I getting the spotlight on your birthday? Let me spoil you for once." She poked his chest almost accusingly as she smiled up at him.

"Mon ange (my angel). . ." He sighed with a tone of 'you-should-know-this-by-now' in his voice, "You cannot expect me to simply turn off my adoration for a day, can you?"

"Stop it! I'm treating you today!" She pouted, making Arno laugh heartily, hand trailing to the back of her head and gently tangling in her hair, caressing the silky locks there.

They continued around the museum, telling each other things they both already knew but told one another anyway, delighting in hearing the enjoyment of the other sharing what they knew.

♡♡♡

A few hours later, they were thoroughly done with the museum and all its exhibits, therefore, (Y/n) led him outside and back down to the metro.

"Where are we heading to now then, mon amour (my love)?" He quizzed as he watched her body sway with the train.

"I'm treating you to lunch." She winked, adoring the ghost of a smile that he flashed her. He knew that she wasn't too keen on leaving the house so the fact that she had arranged everything for today just meant all the more to him.

"Oh? Where?" He prompted.

"That fancy place where you took me for our fifth date." She stood up proudly as his face dropped.

"(Y/n), that's far too expensive!" He exclaimed.

"Not for someone who's been saving since New Year's and certainly not for a couple with a reservation in half an hour." She spoke cheekily. Arno wasn't sure what to think: on one hand, he was flattered that she'd gone to such an extent but on the other, he felt a little bad that she was spending so much money on him.

"Fine. As long as the presents aren't too expensive." He said.

"No promises there, love." The (e/c)-eyed female muttered under her breath.

Arno was about to protest when the train stopped and a group of guys got on, standing between them. (Y/n) averted her eyes away from them, looking up at the adverts inside the carriage instead.

After one stop, one of them was standing too close for (Y/n)'s comfort. He had more than enough room, so why was he brushing shoulders with her? She shied away, not wanting to fuel him by giving him any form of her attention. It only took another thirty seconds for her breath to hitch in her throat as an unfamiliar hand rested on her hip and glided down to her ass.

She was so shocked and scared that she lost her words altogether, shooting Arno a distressed look instead. As soon as he caught her gaze, he knew something was wrong and pushed his way through the group of men to wrap his arm around (Y/n), pushing her behind him.

"Hey, what's going on here?" He narrowed his honey-brown eyes at the man who had been standing far too close for comfort. He had a thick brown beard and wore a blue and white striped shirt.

"Nothing. Is something happening that I'm not aware of?" He retorted, depending on (Y/n)'s obvious quiet nature to enforce his lie.

"Arno, come on, there's no need to make a big deal out of it. I'm used to stuff like this happening." She spoke softly, hoping to ease his clearly growing anger.

"All the more reason to make a big deal out of it." He never once took his eyes off the man, "Keep your hands to yourself." He spoke through gritted teeth.

"Fine, fine, I didn't know she had a boyfriend." He held up his hands in defence. By now, other people on the train were watching the scene unfold.

"That's no excuse!" Arno exclaimed, "You can't just go around-" the doors opened and (Y/n) tugged on his sleeve strongly.

"Arno, come on. Let's get the next train. Please, for my sake." She negotiated. Arno shot a hateful glare towards the man as he stepped onto the platform and the train went off.

"We'll catch the next train, love." (Y/n) rubbed her hand up his arm to ease him but he remained tense.

"Does this happen often?" He furrowed his brows.

"That's a talk for tomorrow, don't let this ruin your day." She soothed, him agreeing that it should be left for later and letting go of it, storing it away to be dealt with at a later time.

♡♡♡

Fully satisfied with their meal and a day of roaming Paris's parks, Arno and (Y/n) returned back to the café theâtré.

She was a mess of excited smiles and giggles as she dragged him up to their shared bedroom which was illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun. She grabbed his shoulders and playfully forced him down onto the thick, fluffy rug in front of the fireplace which had been lit by a maid (him having a lot of money came with its perks).

He watched his lover, both curious and excited as she reached into the wardrobe to collect a few wrapped gifts, sitting down opposite him with the presents in the middle.

"(Y/n). . ." He looked up to meet her eyes gratefully yet guiltily, "How much did you spend on today?"

"I spent my money on what I wanted to. . . And that happened to be you so: enjoy." She smiled adoringly as she placed the first gift in his hands. He looked up at her, wanting to scold her for splashing all her money on him and yet he couldn't deny her that smile or the spark of delight in her eyes. "Come on!" She exclaimed, bouncing on the spot impatiently, her grin widening. The Frenchman gave in, reflecting her smile as he opened the first gift, pulling the ribbon on the gift bag in order to get inside.

He reached inside it and pulled out a black trench coat, peering at the label to spot the designer branding. He looked over it and shot his smiling girlfriend an appreciative glance, letting it fall to his lap so that he could reach out for her hand.

"You know exactly what I like, don't you?" He spoke.

"You spoke about wanting it in the store around two months ago. . ." She shrugged, "So I ordered it online and hid it in the loft until now." He raised a brow as he picked up the next gift, a wrapped box. He tore off the shiny teal paper to reveal a box of his favourite cologne. That was something they both had done since they started to date: she bought his colognes and he bought her perfumes. He smiled at her again, placing it beside him on top of his coat.

"I'm going to have to go broke by the time your birthday comes around." He joked.

"Hey, stop thinking about the money." She poked his leg as she leaned towards him.

"Ok, ok," he gave in, holding up his hands in surrender, "I just feel bad because—"

"Oh my god!" She exclaimed, her smile not faltering, "I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you!" She got up onto her knees to lean into him, over the small pile of gifts, "I don't care how much money I spend on you! I adore you! I adore the way you smile when you open them." A kiss was planted on his cheek while her hand cupped his jaw. "C'mon, next one." She placed it in his hands.

It was a small gift and when he tore off the paper, he was holding a velvet drawstring bag in his hands. He gave (Y/n) a curious look before opening it up and tipping out the contents inside.

A beaded bracelet fell onto his palm — all-black beads with one red bead. It seemed somewhat familiar and he glanced to her left wrist where she wore an identical one.

"The card explains what they are." She said, "Dedication bracelets. It's kind of silly, I know. But. . ." She shrugged, "I thought that the idea of it was sweet." He slipped it onto his wrist and leaned forward to cup her face in his large hands, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.

"It's not silly." He hummed when he pulled away, keeping their faces close, "It's cute of you." She let out a little giggle, cheeks heating with a blush, and ran her hands over his shoulders.

"Ok. For the last gift, you have to close your eyes." She chuckled. Arno, albeit suspiciously, closed his eyes and relied on his hearing to piece together what was going on. He could hear shuffling in front of him before he felt a warmth and weight on his lap. Her hands caressed his chest as he hovered her lips by his ear. "Open." She whispered.

He opened his eyes and his hands found her waist. She wore only the pale pink undergarments that he had so briefly spotted that morning. He admired the way the softly coloured lace complimented her (s/t) skin tone and the way it hugged her beautiful (b/t) figure. It had little gems that shone in the light of the fire with the rise and fall of her chest.

Her lips grazed his when she spoke:

"Let me spoil you one last time before the day's over."

#arno dorian #Arno Victor Dorian #arno dorian x reader #arno dorian imagine #modern arno dorian #arno dorian/reader #modern au #assassins creed unity #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed x reader #assassins creed/reader #happy birthday arno

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wishiwasntstillhere · 5 years ago

Text

and when the world is crashing down on you, will you give me a call?

Kyouya makes a different decision, and does not end up threatening someone he cares about.

Kyouya-centric for his birthday!! Episode 8 fixit fic, no ships but also im clearly in love with all three of them so :) also on ao3!

Haruhi bursts into his room and goes straight for the bathroom, never even seeing him. Heaving noises ensue from within. He winces. Too much crab, then. He lays the towel down, grabbing his glasses so he can stand, but-

Should he go check on her?

For the hundredth time, the waves crash against that jagged rock and Haruhi plunges silent into dark water. He blinks it away.

Instead, he sits, toweling his hair, and wonders at her. Will she be awkward once she realizes he’s just finished showering? Hmm. Probably not. Oblivious or indifferent, Kyouya can never tell which, but Haruhi never seems flustered by that kind of thing.

That thought should be intriguing, but today there's only a churning in his gut.

“All done?” Kyouya asks, once his bathroom door opens again. He doesn't look up.

“I’m sorry for intruding into the room of a stranger-"

“How rude. It’s me.”

"Kyouya-senpai? Oh. I’m sorry, I seem to have gotten everyone worried about me.”

He refuses to let it play again. Yet in crashes the sea, the fall, the silence of that terror. He just can't shake it.

And so, the Shadow King must act.

Kyouya glances past her to the lightswitch and draws up the words he needs.

“I wasn’t particularly worried.” He stands, then drinks out of his water bottle. Cool, casual. That’s the key to this ruse.

He lays out the bait, recounting Hikaru and Kaoru’s scuffle with her attackers. Pinning his focus on his destination across the room, he spins some nonsense about bouquets and apologies to the girls. Kyouya doesn’t look at her once, even as he positions himself for the catch. In a way, it’s hosting. A careful dance made to look careless, subtly guiding her to the right outcome.

“I’ll pay for those flowers myself,” Haruhi promises, of course.

And his timing is precise. In the exact moment he lays out her six-figure mistake, he flips the lights off, and finally, Kyouya can turn to face her.

Something about the ruffles on her dress sends cold water splashing frantic up his insides. He takes another breath. He reaches down, drawing up the calculated cruelty he needs. He doesn’t like playing the bad guy, but he is best equipped for it. And someone has to.

“Why did you turn the lights off?”

She’s stepped in the snare, the cold teeth of the trap must snap shut around her now. Now, or she’ll never see the danger as it should be.

But his eyes catch on her face, blurry in the dark but watching, open, patient—and the teeth don’t move. He doesn’t move.

“Senpai?”

She fidgets, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Surely she senses the strangeness in the air.

“Senpai, you’re starting to worry me,” she starts cautiously.

Is he? Is he finally? He can hardly breathe, only he knows this isn’t enough. He grasps for his plan, the words that will make things right-

“Senpai, I’m sorry about the expense. Please don’t worry about it, I really will pay it off,” she tries, and he knows that she really means it. She gives him a look, gentler than a smile, something surreal and infuriatingly comforting in her very Haruhi way, and he chokes.

“Why didn’t you call for help, Haruhi?” he asks, relieved that his voice comes out so indifferent.

Haruhi sighs. “So you were worried.”

A Kyouya with the lights on would fill this space with words, flooding it with hurtful meaningless things. As a member of the host club, you are but an asset to me at best, commoner. Don’t presume your own importance. You are obligated to stay out of trouble until your debt is paid, at least.

There are yet other things he could have said in light, things that would have been kinder, truer, and yet just as deceptive. You scared Tamaki. You drove the twins to violence for you. Don't you see how they worry for you?

But they’re in the dark, and Haruhi’s not dumb, and his hand is already shown. Kyouya has an infinite capacity for unkindnesses––but for once, he’s willing to admit that he doesn’t want to go through with this plan.

“Why didn’t you?” he repeats.

She cocks her head, answering frankly. “It didn’t occur to me.”

And the cold inside him wails.

He clenches his jaw to keep from shouting at her, how completely unhelpful that would be. But still more iron leaches into his tone than intended.

“And just why didn’t it occur to you?”

Haruhi’s chin jerks, eyes sparking. Oh, no.

“Well, those guys weren’t listening, so I didn’t have time to worry about how my gender would impact things. I had to act.”

She’s not listening, and the water is growing more agitated. Careless. Disrespectful. She should be afraid, and he can make her fear him.

Stomach lurching, he holds that thought in place. No. He doesn’t want to hurt her. He doesn’t want her to fear him.

This isn’t about Kyouya. It’s about Haruhi, and her safety.

How can he make her understand? How can he understand?

“I don’t disagree that something had to be done,” he starts. “Those girls were in real, immediate danger, and your intervention allowed Kurakano-kun to get the rest of the club to help. And Tamaki was being unreasonable by making the issue about your gender.”

Even this much is exhausting, so he sits down on the floor.

When she follows suit, her shoulders have settled a little from their taut hunch. Progress. He searches the dark and blurry bedroom for the next right words. But Haruhi finds them first.

“I know that rushing in to fight those guys was reckless,” she murmurs. “But the girls were scared. If I didn’t act, right away, they were going to be hurt.”

Kyouya pauses. She won’t like his next question. But he holds her gaze, intending to understand.

“Had you considered that you could get hurt, by intervening?”

Haruhi frowns. “After I hit the one, I knew they would focus on me. That was sort of the point, to get him to let go of Momoka-chan. But…” Her tone shifts into something more contemplative now. “I suppose I didn’t guard myself well, but how were my actions any different from Tamaki-senpai’s? He dove straight off the cliff to get to me, wasn’t that just as dangerous?”

She does have a point there. However good a swimmer he is, Tamaki had dived off the cliff without even looking. And yet...

True, Tamaki rushes into many reckless things to help others, but it’s never quite filled Kyouya with the same cold dread as Haruhi’s tumble off the cliff. And Tamaki has taken many a tumble. Kyouya would know, after all.

Ah.

“Haruhi, if you were robbed in a foreign country and you didn’t speak the language and you had nothing on you but your cellphone and 1000 yen, what would you do?”

She startles. “Huh? I would… search for the embassy, I guess?”

“And if you had no idea where the embassy was?”

“I would... try to find a map?”

Hmm.

“And if you got locked out of your home at 3 AM in the morning?”

“Senpai, what is this about?” Her confusion has shifted into mild irritation.

“Humor me,” he says, unsmiling.

She throws her hands up in resignation. “I would… wait until my dad got home.”

“And if he was on a business trip? Or if it was storming?”

“I would break in somehow.”

“And if someone at school was stealing your books and writing slurs on your desk?”

Rolling her eyes, she sighs out, “I would let the teacher know I needed new books, and clean off my desk before school. Senpai, this isn’t very funny.”

There’s a knock at his door. “Kyouya?” And it opens. “Do you have any lotion? This sunburn is worse than I-”

Tamaki freezes in the doorway. Kyouya can’t see the look on his face, but he hardly needs to, with the perfect replica hissing steam in his mind. He has approximately three seconds to derail this explosion. Luckily, he has just the thing to reroute the wildly careening train that is Tamaki’s mind.

“What are you-”

“Tamaki, after you got scammed and you were stranded on your own in Taiwan, what did you do?”

Tamaki blinks, recalibrating.

“Uh, I think I went to the embassy?”

“And how did you get to the embassy?”

“Hmm... Oh! I called you to ask for directions.” Walking over, he drops down to sit with them. His eyebrows are pinched––he wants to ask why, but still he lets Kyouya lead on.

“Yes. In the middle of an investor meeting,” he adds to a perplexed Haruhi. “And what about that time when you tried to climb from your window to the roof and fell out of your bedroom, when you were too embarrassed to call for a maid to come unlock your own house at 3 AM?”

“I… called you and stayed over at your place.”

Haruhi makes a face at that, which is fair. Nonetheless.

This last one is a little more delicate. He softens his voice, and inclines his head toward Haruhi by way of explanation. “And when you were bullied by our xenophobic peers in middle school?”

“Ah,” Tamaki says, realization smoothing his brow. “I told you about it. And you blackmailed them within an inch of their lives, of course.” He grins at the memory, at Kyouya. It’s easy to smirk back, warm and wicked in equal measure. That plan he has no regrets about.

Haruhi looks back and forth between them. He knows she’s still turning it over in her own mind. She is certainly smart enough to get it herself. But Kyouya decides anyway to take a page out of her book and be blunt, lest a mistranslation lead to regret later.

“The difference,” he explains, “is that whenever Tamaki is in trouble, he calls.”

They sit in silence for a while, Haruhi with her face downturned, Kyouya watching, patient. Considering both of them with his own discerning gaze, Tamaki settles, too.

“I’m just not like that, though,” Haruhi concludes, at last. Her voice is a touch wistful.

Tamaki is very, very gentle with his next words, Kyouya notices. “You grew up pretty lonely, didn’t you, Haruhi? You had to deal with a lot on your own.”

She shrugs, though all three know it’s true. And then all at once, they’re thinking of mothers and childhoods lost, and the melancholy sets in heavily over them.

“You know, Kyouya grew up much the same,” he says.

Haruhi turns to look at a bewildered Kyouya, who pushes up his glasses on reflex. But Tamaki smiles, continuing.

“Yes, he’s someone I can always depend on. But he’s not very good at asking for help, either.”

Kyouya glowers at the sheer audacity, only to startle as they both look at him with eyes far too affectionate. He shifts in place and looks down instead.

“But he has the whole Host Club looking out for him. So that even though sometimes, he doesn’t ask out loud, we can see it. And we’ll help.”

Here’s a pause. Tamaki swallows, leans forward, and bows.

“Haruhi, I’m sorry I yelled. I was angry because I was scared. That was my own fault, and you have every right to be upset.”

She rocks a little in her seat. “I’m sorry, as well. I don’t want to worry you guys.”

An absurd feeling grows in Kyouya’s chest. Half mirth, half despair.

Because he realizes: he doesn’t want her to be sorry at all anymore. She shouldn’t have to be sorry, she did nothing wrong . She acted to help, because it was more important to her than any consequence.

And now it’s clear: Haruhi has somehow become someone he truly cares about. Like Tamaki. Haruhi is something precious. Completely an agent of her own, and so trusting, and so kind. She’s earnest. She’s inherently good. He just wants her to be safe.

And he will never have any control over that.

The hysteria swells, threatening the structural integrity of his ribcage. All of the understanding he’s earned still won’t stop the fear that’s been crashing through him this whole night. He chokes down the laughter bubbling up and in his sheer desperation, looks at Tamaki.

It takes only one moment for Tamaki to read Kyouya’s distress, and in the next, he’s grabbing his hand, squeezing tight. And then he extends one to Haruhi.

“Haruhi, you don’t ever have to face things alone again. Will you let us be there for you?”

Kyouya has no control over how hard he squeezes Tamaki’s hand as they wait. He watches Haruhi’s own hands curl on her lap.

"I won’t be very good at it.”

"We aren’t either,” he says. She huffs. “It’s about the trying. Together .”

When she looks up, he's ready. Her eyes are searching, so he makes sure his own gaze is steadfast. He almost missed ever having this opportunity, he's fully aware. He won't let her down again.

“Okay,” she whispers. And takes Tamaki’s hand.

Relief blooms tangibly in the air. Haruhi’s eyes crinkle at Tamaki's relieved laugh. She opens her mouth to say something else, and-

Thunder shatters the room. Haruhi squeaks, yanking on his hand and hunching.

“Haruhi?” Tamaki leans forward, but-

Lightning strikes again, closer this time, and Kyouya feels the thunder slam into his eardrums. Haruhi yelps, trembling violently. She looks around the room, spots his dresser, and stands.

“Sorry! I- I uh- have to go now!”

“Don’t hide in the dresser,” Kyouya says, then feels foolish. Where had that thought come from? Why would she-?

But then she actually starts climbing into his dresser, and he and Tamaki have to hold the doors open.

“What- why would-? Haruhi, are you afraid of thunder?”

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine, this is how I always get through it,” she stammers, curling up inside.

“Not anymore,” says Tamaki, fiercely, and pulls her out into a hug.

“We have an American-style basement. It should be soundproof there, and there won’t be any flashing. Let’s head down now,” Kyouya decides. She’s trembling, clutching hard at Tamaki.

“I can’t- I’m not going to make it.”

“Close your eyes and cover your ears. We’ll get you there safe,” promises the Host Club prince, holding her even tighter.

“Okay,” she whispers.

Somehow they make it, the three of them hobbling to the basement. And somehow, the others find them, and they play games and music until they're almost all asleep on the various couches.

Kyouya’s turned off the lights and is just throwing a blanket over the twins when he hears her.

He’d thought she was asleep when he’d passed to drape a blanket over her on her own couch. Maybe she’s sleep talking, or maybe she woke up again. Either way, he stills, hoping she won’t spot him.

“You guys are even nicer than I thought,” she murmurs to the dark room. “Thank you, Kyouya-senpai.”

Despite himself, he smiles.

#kyouya ootori #kyoya ootori #haruhi fujioka #tamaki suoh #ouran #ohshc #fixit fic #episode 8 fixit #ouran au anybody #the bisexual in me rly came out writing this #man episode 8 screws up haruhi AND kyouyas characterization im just so glad fanfiction exists :)#lai is out here

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