#I’m truly so lonely that I can barely cope and like there just | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

danses-with-dogmeat · 3 years

Text

Male!Companions react to waking up alone after spending the night with Sole.

Hey all! So, just a heads up, I’m also working on this prompt for the Female!Companions for FO4, and also a bunch of companions from FONV and FO3, but if you have any specific requests or want me to add anyone, just let me know! Sorry this is so damn long, but I hope you all enjoy!

Also, there is a bit of angst in here with some mentions of suicidal thoughts, so just a heads up on that!

P.S. If you’re one of the lovely folks who has sent me an ask, I am currently working on writing them up and I will definitely get them out as soon as I can, I just really like the prompts y’all gave me and I want to do them justice :)

Danse:

Danse sat up with a start, immediately trying to gain his bearings, only to find himself still in the bunker, in his own bed. He let out a shaky breath, still dazed from the heavy sleep that had claimed him. It had been years since he'd slept like that, the last time he recalled sleeping so peacefully was when he was stationed at the Citadel in the Capital Wasteland. Even more than that, he had barely slept at all since discovering his true identity. Danse shook his head, trying to clear it of its sleepy fog, he went to rub his eyes, and he felt his heartbeat increase tenfold as the memories of his night with you came flooding to the forefront of his mind. Even now he felt the heat of a blush rushing to his cheeks. He turned his head, expecting to see your peacefully sleeping form on the mattress beside him. When he didn't, he wasn't sure what to do. Immediately, a slew of emotions and thoughts ran through him, ranging from shame, to panic, to anger, and most of all, hurt. Before he allowed himself to arrive at any premature conclusions, Danse called out for you, looking around the room. Nothing. He stood up, holding the blankets around his waist to conceal himself as he made his way to the hole in the wall that allowed him to peer into the other section of the bunker. Still nothing. The slew of contradicting emotions bubbled up again, leaving him feeling slightly numb. He stood there, just staring, trying to grasp a hold of any clear thought, but they were inadvertently tumbling into his consciousness at an alarming rate.

All at once, one feeling prevailed over the others, and Danse found himself feeling extraordinarily guilty. Guilty for agreeing to last night, for jeopardizing his friendship with the one person he had left in his life by greedily pushing too far. What right did he have to you and your feelings anyway, when his weren't even real? The pain of being deserted by you was overshadowed by the knowledge that he didn't deserve you in the first place. Even when he thought he was human, he had trouble rationalizing his feelings for you, thinking you deserved better than someone like him. Someone as hard headed, as inexperienced, and emotionally ignorant as he was. But now? Now, he wondered why you even bothered to waste any of your time on him, even just as his partner, when it was proven that he's nothing but a machine. Why had you even suggested last night, when you knew the truth about him?

He simply couldn’t understand it. Why had you allowed him to be with you in such a way? To be with you so intimately? Why had you allowed him to touch you so invasively? Why had you spoken to him so softly, so earnestly? How could your gaze have been so full of admiration, of love? He was a goddamn machine, and you’d let him share a bed with you, make love to you. He didn’t even know what love was, didn’t know if it was possible for him to even feel it; and yet, you’d been more open with him than he had been with anyone before. And he wasn’t even human. He was at a complete and utter loss for any form of explanation or reasoning behind your actions.

Danse stood alone in the bunker, staring ahead with brows furrowed low at no single thought in particular. It was then that he realized his heart was still beating out of his chest, he took a deep breath, and prepared himself to leave the bunker in search of you. Because, even now, when you were at the center of his feelings of uncertainty, of guilt, of hurt, he still felt the need to seek the counsel of the one person left he could truly trust, the one whose opinions he had sought in the darkest hours of his existence. He needed you.

More than that, he needed to make sure you were safe. At least that's what he told himself as he dressed, donning his power armor, before he rode the elevator up to the surface, his iron-clad hands clenching tightly as he gripped his laser rifle.

As Danse arrived at the surface, he noted the sunlight bursting through the lone window of the bunker, indicating how late he'd slept in, and he mentally kicked himself for his irresponsibility. If he had woken at his usual hour, would you have still been beside him? Perhaps he could've spoken to you before you left, encouraged you to hear him out, begged you to stay with him. Even just as a friend, just as a partner. He felt he simply couldn’t cope with the loss of you, of the security that you provided him.

Danse shook his head in an attempt to banish these useless thoughts from his mind. He couldn't control the past, he had to keep looking forward. With that, he crossed the threshold out into the Commonwealth.

Danse returned to the bunker a few hours before sundown, feeling utterly at a loss, he'd been everywhere he could reach, everywhere you could've gone in the period of time you had had to get there. He checked every house, farm, settlement… everything in the bunker's vicinity. His limbs felt weak and numb as he approached the entrance to the bunker. He could feel heat rising up in his face as his chest ached. He felt like he needed to hit something. Tears of frustration and dejection threatened to spill over, and he brought a gloved hand up to roughly wipe away the first drop that fell. Though, through the blur of wetness, he spotted a silhouette in the doorway ahead of him.

"Where the hell have you been?!" You shouted, running from the bunker and straight into Danse's arms. For a moment, he remained still, unable to reciprocate your relief in his state of utter shock. In the next instance, his rifle fell from his grip and he was wrapping his arms around you, as tightly as he could without injuring you.

"I believe I could ask you the same question, soldier." Danse said, willing his voice to remain stable. You pulled away so that you could look up at him, your expression one of confusion,

"I thought I told you last night. I had to go to Greentop nursery in the morning and talk to the settlers about their mutant problem." He blinked at you in surprise. At least, you thought you had told him, but maybe it had slipped your mind. It didn't surprise you, given last night's activities.

"But… Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because Danse, I've never seen you sleep in, I wanted you to get some rest for once."

"I would have rather been with you." He said quietly. You opened your mouth to speak, but he continued,

"It was irresponsible of you to leave me uninformed, you should have woken me. You scared me, Sole. I thought…" he took a quick breath to steady his voice, "I don't know what I thought. I woke up and you were gone, I wasn't sure if you were in danger, or if you were angry with me, or whether or not you even meant to return."

"Danse, of course I was going to come back, I just didn't expect you to be gone when I did."

"And for that, I apologize. However, I implore you to understand--"

"Danse. It's okay, we're both here now, we're both safe. And I don't know about you, but I'm starving. C'mon." You turned towards the bunker and went to make your way inside. Danse stood a moment, watching you walk away. Feeling began slowly returning to his limbs, and for the first time all day, his heartbeat slowed to its normal rate. He reached down to pick up his rifle, a small smile spreading across his lips as he moved to follow you back into the bunker.

Deacon:

Deacon opened his eyes, only to immediately close them again, as the bright morning sun showed through the windows of Ticonderoga safehouse, and directly into his retinas.

“Damn,” He said, reaching over to grab for his shades from beside the mattress. Once they were placed onto his face, he decided it would be safe to open his eyes once again. Deacon groaned as he rolled his shoulders, and sat up, stretching his arms overhead.

God, he felt good. The tightness of his muscles serving as a reminder of the… ahem, events of last night. Last night, with you. How the hell had that happened? He almost couldn’t believe it. After so many years of being alone, of feeling emotionally inept, and unable to move on. Here you came, seemingly out of some sci-fi novel, with your futuristic, time-traveling backstory, and inhuman good looks, and for some reason, you’d thought he was, of all things, cute. That was the word you had used, he remembered it vividly, and of course he had feigned being annoyed by the use of the word to describe him, but in reality? He adored the fact that you thought so. No one had ever referred to him as such, and the fact that it confirmed you reciprocated the feelings he had for you; that was truly extraordinary. These feelings that he had tried so desperately to bury deep down, where they couldn’t meddle with your friendship, or your professional relationship, or his own crippling fear of being committed to someone again (given how well it went the first time). Now, he barely understood why he had tried so hard to snuff out his emotions if this was one of the possible outcomes of revealing them to you. He never dreamed that you could have returned the affection he had for you. However, if last night was any kind of indicator… yeah, he’d say the two of you had pretty strong feelings indeed.

At least, that’s what he had thought. Until he turned to you excitedly, looking to see if you had woken yet, and found your spot next to him quite empty. His jaw clenched at the sight, but he took a breath and resolved himself to looking around the safehouse for your belongings. His teeth worried anxiously against the inside of his cheek as he noticed the distinct absence of anything belonging to you. Deacon stood in the middle of the safehouse, bringing his hands up to roughly rub at his face.

“God dammit.” He said aloud, unable to keep something from escaping him. Deacon liked to think he had a good bit of self control, it came with the job after all, a spy with no sense of restraint and proper judgment didn't live very long. However, you had this way of making him forget everything he thought he knew about himself. There he was last night, doing the one thing he vowed he'd never do again. Falling for someone. Him! Deacon, the immature, sarcastic, dishonest, and unemotional agent of the railroad; and here he was, head over heels for a widowed, pre-war saint like you. What a pair you two would have made.

I suppose it really was too good to be true. He thought bitterly.

Deacon grabbed his things and set off into the Commonwealth without so much as a glance over his shoulder. He stared dead ahead, refusing to address the pressure he felt in his chest. Trying desperately to maintain his cool and unbothered exterior, to remain the type of person he was before he'd met you. He always knew he could change the way he looked in a day or less, but the way you'd changed his perspective of the world, of his place in it, and his future? He didn't think you could have changed who he'd turned out to be if you had all the time in the world. Deacon was firmly set in his ways, so much so, that even he couldn't change who he was. No matter how much he despised himself at times. But man, had he been wrong, all the disguises in the world couldn't mask the fact that, for the first time in years, Deacon had a priority in his life besides the railroad, and besides himself. And that scared the shit out of him.

Now he wasn't really sure what to think. If you had simply wanted nothing more than a one-night stand, you could have just told him so. At least then he would’ve been prepared for this shit. For you leaving him, seemingly without a second thought.

The sniper shook his head roughly as he kicked up the dust of the wasteland, his footfalls much heavier than they had any business being. He always had prided himself at being a good judge of character, at being intuitive, but he never would have expected something like this from someone like you. Someone who cared about the happiness of everyone else more than their own well-being, someone who was kind, and selfless, and empathetic, someone who constantly put their own life at risk for the benefit of complete strangers. Sure, he did that occasionally, but his life was worth a hell of a lot less. You were a good person, and always had been. From the moment he saw you, everything he heard about you, all of it pointed to the fact that you, even after all you’d lost, after everything you endured, you were a better person than he could ever hope to be. And now, for you to do this to him? It was completely out of character. Whatever, he thought, if this is all you wanted from me, then fine. It's all you're going to get.

As he approached the Old North Church, Deacon mentally prepared himself for the possibility that you too would be at the Railroad headquarters. He decided to simply not acknowledge your… ordeal, and act as though nothing had changed. Though, if Deacon was honest (which he rarely ever was), he would rather not have you as his partner anymore. With the way he was feeling-- the way he had once felt about you, it would be too complicated. He didn’t need complicated. The railroad missions provided enough of that.

He entered HQ quietly, and mulled about, visiting with the others and picking up missions left and right in an effort to acquire enough distractions to keep him out of the church for as long as possible. He figured that way, the likelihood of bumping into you would be decreased enough for him to get a handle on himself before having to face you. But, of course, his plans were all for naught, he realized as you stormed into the catacombs, your glowering eyes falling directly to the bald sniper in the corner of the room; the sniper who was trying desperately to make himself seem distracted as he felt your eyes burning into the back of his head. At least you had the decency to lower your voice as you approached him,

“Deacon!” You hissed, shouting his name as quietly as one could shout.

He continued staring at the blackboard, a hand at his chin as he feigned interest in what was written there.

“What the hell?” You asked, taking another step towards him, close enough that he could feel your hot breath on his cheek.

“Hmm? Something wrong?” He asked, turning his head towards you while his eyes stayed glued to the board in front of him. You took a step back, and the next thing he knew, you had extended your hand forcefully towards his face, leaving a stinging red mark imprinted on his cheek in its wake. Deacon’s head snapped back towards the blackboard at the power of your blow, his sunglasses barely managing to hang onto his face by the bridge of his nose.

I’m not sure if I deserved that or not…

He brought his own hand up to rub the spot you had just slapped, finally letting his eyes meet yours from beneath his crooked shades. He nearly gasped at your expression. Your eyebrows were knitted together above your tear-filled eyes, your mouth a straight line as your chin trembled slightly. He’d say you looked sad, but behind your eyes, all he could see was fire. The same fire he’d felt when he saw that you had deserted him that morning. Or, at least, when he thought you’d deserted him.

Almost without thinking, Deacon grabbed your hand and dragged you back to the more private area of the railroad HQ. Despite your clear vexation with him, you allowed him to lead you to the back of the church catacombs, near the emergency exit.

“Alright, you finally ready to explain yourself?” You asked, wrenching your hand from his grasp.

“Me? I’m pretty sure it was you who walked out on me, and who just slapped me in the face for asking a simple question.” Your nostrils flared at that and for a moment, Deacon thought you were going to do something violent again.

“Okay, look, I know I’ve fallen for your lies before, but I think it’s pretty damn ridiculous for you to think that I’ll believe this one. I was there, Deacon! You left me. You took all your shit and left me alone at the safehouse. I don’t care what happened the night before, even if it was awful for you, or awkward for you to see me in that way, or whatever, you still don’t abandon your partner. We agreed to that the moment I became an agent.”

Deacon’s jaw dropped to his chest at his realization, and your accusation. He had left you? When? How? When was he supposed to find that out?

“Look, Sole, I’m a liar, I’ll give you that. But I’m a good one,” you rolled your eyes at him, a scoff sounding from your throat, “so, I wouldn’t even attempt to lie to you if I could see that you absolutely knew the truth.”

“God, if you’ve got a point, make it, asshole.”

“Ouchies, no need for name calling there, slappy. I’m just trying to figure out the miscommunication issue we’ve got going on here.” You glared at him, and he was forced to continue.

“The truth is,” Deacon looked down at the floor as he spoke softly to you, feeling as though the words were being wrenched from his throat, “I only left because I thought you had first. I woke up, and you were gone. Your things were gone. I thought that was it, that you were done with our… partnership. Done with me. And hey, I can’t say I’d blame you. Especially if you’d really think I could just up and leave after spending a night like that with you.”

“Oh.” you whispered, before trying to explain yourself, “I wasn’t-- I didn’t just leave, I mean, I went up to give High Rise the MILA for Tom. I was gone for five minutes, Deacon. I was coming right back.” The two of you stood a moment, as realization washed over you. And a bit of regret, too. And a sprinkle of foolishness.

Finally, he brought his gaze up to meet your eyes. Hoping his apology was as evident on his face as it was on yours. You brought your hand to his cheek, soothing over the angry red mark that you had left earlier, and Deacon flinched slightly at your touch, his eyes falling once again to the floor.

“It really only took you five minutes to think that I had left you?” You asked gently, the anger that had once been prevalent in your voice dissolving into concern. Deacon chuckled dryly.

“Haven’t I taught you anything? When you assume the worst, it’s a lot harder to be disappointed.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But I bet it makes it all the better when you find out you were wrong.” Deacon smiled weakly at you, shaking his head.

“Yeah, no. I’m not seeing the appeal in being wrong just yet.” The hand that still rested on his cheek slid to the back of his neck, grasping firmly as you pulled his face towards yours. The pressure of your brow displaced Deacon’s shades as you crashed your lips into his. He toppled backwards against the wall of the catacombs as you pressed more forcefully into him, his arms falling behind him to steady himself against the cold brick, as your unoccupied hand slunk up to his chest, keeping him pinned between you and the wall. You pulled your head back, but kept your hands in place as you murmured,

“What about now?”

“Hmm?” Deacon’s ginger eyebrows raised above his glasses as his mind went blank. You cocked an eyebrow at him, a smirk forming on your face.

“Oh, right. I suppose so. Though, I think I’m gonna need a few reminders every once in a while.”

“Hmm,” you mused, “I think that can be arranged.”

Hancock:

The ghoul awoke with a purr, stretching one ruined arm out to blindly search for your sleeping body. He distinctly remembered curling up with you wrapped tight in his embrace before lulling off into the best sleep he's had in years. For the first time in months he didn't have the nagging ache of wishing you were pressed against him as he settled in for the night. The thoughts of you lying so close but so painfully out of reach were finally pushed from his head to make room for the sheer bliss of being able to touch you, to feel your unbelievably soft skin, to breathe in your sweet scent and relish in the closeness of your body against his.

That was of course, until this morning. Hancock opened his eyes lazily, his dark gaze sweeping over the mess of bed sheets and pillows that littered the plush mattress. The sight of the disheveled blankets bringing back heated memories of last night. Before his brow furrowed at the realization of the current situation he found himself in. Hancock slowly rose from the bed, his dark eyes searching the surrounding room for any sign of you. He found his trousers, his hat, his coat... but nothing of yours remained where they had been tossed last night. If Hancock had a nose, it would have been curling alongside the rest of his scrunched up face as he thought of you leaving in such a hurry this morning. Hancock felt a pain in his chest and immediately craved a hit of something, anything, to numb the hollow feeling that began spreading through his body.

Sunlight shone through the windows of the old state house, the beams of light diffused by the ringlets of smoke rising from the ghoul's mouth as he took yet another hit of jet, trying hard to keep his mind blank, but inevitably failing as his thoughts returned to last night's events. Coming almost in slow motion, he picked apart every movement; every touch, kiss, lick, and caress, nitpicking every action he had made and thinking about what he might've done to warrant your desertion of him. But deep down, he knew that his actions mattered little. You had assured him on numerous occasions that him being a ghoul didn't bother you, but you had never really seen him before. Not in the way you saw him last night. Had never felt his rough skin on yours, had never run your hands up his ravaged body, the softness of your touch only amplifying the harshness of his own leathery flesh. You had never uncovered the gross discoloration of his radiation-ravaged body. But last night, you had finally gotten a good, long look. And here he was, thinking that you of all people could’ve seen past that. You had been able to forgive him for his past, after all. Hadn’t you? But maybe that had been part of it too. Maybe you’d finally realized all that he really was. A reckless and cowardly poor excuse for a man, who spends his life in a haze of delirium rather than facing the pain of being alive. A pain that he had inflicted upon himself to break away from that same self-righteous fog that he’d found himself in in the first place. It’s no wonder you’re gone. Maybe you were never even really here. Maybe you were just another daydream of his, just another hallucination. God, if that was the case, he didn’t even know what he would do. After having you so close, being with you like this? He didn’t really see the point in living without you.

Hancock sighed heavily at the thought. He didn't know how long he sat simply thinking, his perception of time temporarily altered by the jet, but he had to do something to alleviate this torture, and if chems wouldn't do it... well....

"I need some air," he rasped aloud as he stood and headed for the balcony, donning his coat and hat on his way out. The mayor had to keep up appearances, after all.

He almost didn't see you as he stepped through the door, the way you leaned out against the rail, eyes closed, a soft, beautiful smile playing at your plush lips. Hancock could've stared at you until the world around him turned to dust, but you moved long before that musing could come to reality. Turning to look at him, your smile brightened further, and Hancock couldn't keep himself from touching you. He grabbed one of your hands in his, using his other to caress your pink-dusted cheek, affirming that you truly were physically there, standing in front of him.

"And what were you doing out here all by your lonesome? Trying to give a ghoul a little taste of heartbreak?" You let out a soft laugh,

"No, sweetheart," you called him affectionately, leaning into his light touch upon your cheek, "I thought that you would sleep longer. I just wanted to get out and enjoy some sunshine." You turned once again towards the morning sun, the rays highlighting every one of your perfect features. Hancock beamed at the sight of you, before turning and looking out at his city in thought,

"Hmm," he mused, "Sunshine, huh?"

MacCready:

MacCready had been lying on his back for a while now, staring at the crumbling ceiling of the dingy little room at the hotel Rexford. This certainly hadn’t been his idea of an ideal location for your first time together, but who was he to complain? It was safe, and private, and it had been a damn good night. But he’d been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, waiting for you to stir. He’d thought it was odd, given the fact that you always woke up first when the two of you traveled together, but he’d like to think you hadn’t yet stirred because of the way he had exhausted you last night, his chest puffed out at the thought of it and he let out a contented sigh. The thoughts of your night together spilled into his consciousness, and he stretched out his arms in front of him, snickering slightly at the soreness of his body, and suddenly, he couldn’t wait for you any longer.

“Geeze, you awake yet, sleepyhead?” MacCready rolled onto his side to face the lump under the covers. He ran his hand over the mattress, over to you, but as he reached the lump beneath the blankets, all he felt was plushness. He withdrew the covers from atop you, only to find… pillows? Just a pillow, and a blanket. MacCready’s body spasmed as he jolted out from under the covers on his side of the bed, his head flying from side to side as he looked for you.

“Sole?” He cocked an eyebrow at the empty hotel room, and as he noticed your absence, his expression quickly changed from confusion to one of anger. You had left? But why? Had he done something wrong? He didn’t think so… but maybe he just... wasn’t everything you expected from him. Feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach, MacCready climbed from the bed, grabbing his trousers from the floor and stomping around the room in pursuit of the remainder of his clothes, not failing to notice how everything belonging to you was no longer in the room either. Heat rose to MacCready’s face as he pulled on his duster, but he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, or anger, or heartache, or some combination thereof.

What the heck? He thought, you were the one to suggest doing this, why would you do that if you were just gonna leave me like this? Right when MacCready had thought he’d found the one. The person who could help him move on from Lucy after everything he’d been through. You were perfect, not just for him, but for Duncan too. You were selfless, and kind, compassionate, resourceful, sometimes you were a bit of a sarcastic ass, but he loved that about you. You were a parent and a spouse, just like he had been. You were both lost, and broken when you found each other, just a couple halves that had made each other whole. You were his future... Or so he’d thought. But who was he kidding? You were so out of his league, the two of you weren’t even playing the same damn sport. He should’ve known this would be the outcome. But then, why the heck did you let it go this far? Sure, he was the one who had poured all of his feelings out onto the table, but he didn’t know what he’d expected you to do. He just felt like he would explode if he held them in any longer, especially when the two of you spent so much time together. He saw you every damn day, and all he wanted to do was hold your hand, he wanted to sleep beside you and hold onto you through the night, to have you run your fingers through his hair and tell him that you felt the same way. MacCready never imagined you’d do something like this to him, never thought you’d get his hopes up, dangling the future he'd always dreamed of having right in his face before ruthlessly snatching it away.

He rolled his eyes at his own ridiculous train of thought and groaned as he bent down to grab his rifle.

“At least you paid for the room up front.” he mumbled as he placed his hat on his head and made his way to the door.

MacCready’s footsteps fell heavily onto each stair as he headed down to the lobby, wondering where he’d go from there. He considered going and looking for you, but what was the point? Clearly if you wanted to see him, you wouldn’t have freakin left. Was he really petty enough to seek you out just to tell you how messed up it was that you’d left him the way that you did? Maybe… but he needed a drink first. To the Third Rail it was, then. What was it, 10am? He could drink at 10am. He could do whatever the heck he wanted, especially now that you were gone.

MacCready reached the bottom of the stairs, looking straight past the small crowd of people that were gathered in the lobby as he made his way to the exit. Just as his hand reached the door, he heard his name being shouted. His body shuddered at the sound of your voice, and he stood stock straight as he decided what to do. One fist clenched as the other hand pushed the door open and he crossed the threshold into Goodneighbor. The door never closed behind him, and he felt an iron grip on his forearm as he tried to head towards the Third Rail.

“Ow, hey!” He spun to face you, face slightly contorted in his confusion. What was he supposed to think now? He was still angry and hurt, but should he be? Ugh.

“Wait, Mac. I know how it must’ve looked, but really, it’s just a misunderstanding.” He stared at you, his deep blue eyes clouded with suspicion. He didn’t say a word, not wanting to ruin anything by making false assumptions or accusations. Instead, he waited for you to explain, wrenching his wrist from your grip as he folded his arms over his chest.

Before you could continue, Rufus came up from behind, asking quietly if he could go through the doors.

“Come on,” you urged, “let’s get out of the doorway.” You herded MacCready to one of the couches in the lobby, seating yourself next to him.

“Alright. Explain.” He said, brows still furrowed. You almost snickered at how put-out the sniper seemed. You couldn’t quite tell if it was an act or not, but knowing MacCready… yeah, probably not an act.

“Rufus was having some trouble with Drinkin’ Buddy.” You told him, “The bot shut down and no one could get him to turn on again. This morning, some sort of warning light started flashing, so he came up and asked if I could help him fix it. I would’ve asked you to come along, but you were still asleep, and I know how you hate being woken up…” You trailed off, waiting for him to say something in response.

Man, MacCready felt moronic. Why had he been so quick to assume the worst? Okay, maybe not the worst, the worst would’ve been… Well, that’s not important. He shook his head, finally letting himself breathe deeply again.

“You sure that was it?” He asked, uncertainty coating his tone as he narrowed his eyes at you.

You leaned forward, smoothing a hand up his chest to the back of his neck as you brought your lips to his. Your fingers fiddled with the hair at the base of his neck and held him to you as your mouth moved against his, trying to answer his question without having to use your words. This was better, anyway. You felt a hand move to your waist as he relaxed into the kiss, his strong grip pulling you nearly into his lap as he returned your fervor. Only when you needed air did you pull back from him, your heartbeat still racing as you watched his gorgeous eyes flutter open.

“Did that answer your question?” You asked cheekily. He smiled, face still pink from the heat of your kiss.

“I don’t know, boss, I may still need some more, ah, reassuring.” You snickered at that, and glanced back at Clair’s desk.

“Any more convincing and we may need that room again. You think if we go now, we won’t have to pay the hotel for a second day?”

God, I think I’m in love. MacCready thought as he nodded to you, a boyish grin spreading across his lips. At that, both of you scrambled off of the couch, quickly making your way towards the stairs and up to the hotel room.

Nick:

The synth didn't sleep, but he didn't mind it. He stayed awake beside you in bed, replaying memories of the night over and over in his mind. Although he wasn't sure how comfortable it could be, he had his arms curled around you, holding you tightly to his synthetic chest while the memories of his favorite night (in either of his lifetimes) were running through his mind. You snored softly in his embrace, utterly at peace, as he gazed affectionately at your soft features. Nick didn't often feel blissful, and he never would've imagined himself in this situation, being completely content with the person he admired, and adored so adamantly, safely wrapped in his arms. He should've known it wouldn't last.

Without a sound, he felt as you slowly and gently pried his arms off of your body, climbing off of the shared mattress. Nick figured that you would give him an explanation; perhaps once you were out of bed? When you went to go and dress yourself? Before walking through the door? But you were silent throughout, even as he heard the door click shut behind you. Nick closed his eyes tightly, sighing to himself and wondering if the pain in his chest was substantial enough to cause him to short circuit. What had he done wrong? Even if it was nothing, he would understand why you had left. Even at his best, Nick could hardly amount to what any average human could give you, and he could never give you everything you wanted. Everything you needed, and deserved. He wasn't real. So he wouldn't blame you for leaving, hell, if he hadn't been so caught up in his own blissful feelings, he might've encouraged you to go. And he had, before last night had truly begun, he recalled asking you if he was what you really wanted. Then, you had seemed so eager, almost laughing at the thought that he couldn't be enough, after all this time the two of you had spent together, and all your pining over him. These thoughts circled through the synth's mind as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He willed himself to grab a file and get to work, to do something, anything, to distract himself from the pain, but it was as though the weight in his chest was too much to bear. The height of his earlier high only amplifying the depths of his current low.

Every attempt to look through a case file was a failure, his yellow eyes roaming the first few lines of writing before his mind drifted off. To thoughts of where you could have gone, whether or not you would come back, and thoughts of last night. At the way you made his pistons fire at triple times their normal rate, the way you made his metal heart flutter in his chest, and the way you had come so beautifully undone in his arms. That was it. The moment he needed to remember for the rest of his days on this ruined earth. At that very moment, nothing else seemed to matter. He was sure he'd been foolish before, thinking you could never care for him in such a way. How foolish he'd felt then... it was nothing compared to now. The synth brought his metallic hands up to his face, the tips of his fingers displacing the worn hat on his head. He imagined tears flowing from beneath the heels of his hands as he dug them into his eye sockets, but of course none came. Would that have been acceptable? If he had been able to shed real tears, like a real human being, would you have stayed after last night? If he had been able--

The door to the agency burst open at that moment, interrupting the old detective's thoughts, and sending his head shooting back to see who had busted in so aggressively, his hat flying from its usual place atop his head.

The fact that the synth couldn't breathe didn't matter in this moment as he huffed a massive sigh of relief at the glorious sight of you, the light of the early morning sun casting a warm glow around your body.

"Oh doll..." the words escaped him as a smile began to spread across his synthetic lips, "for a moment there, I thought you were an angel." You giggled at that, your flushed smile causing the whirring in his chest to increase exponentially.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, I was just about to open up a missing person's case on ya." You finally closed the door and made your way to his desk, leaning down to give his cheek a chaste kiss as you smoothed your hand over his chest, stopping to grab at his tie and pull him up towards you.

"Always the professional, hmm detective?" You smirked at him and he gave you a crooked smile before bringing his good hand up to stroke his thumb over one of your soft cheeks.

"Although," you continued, teasingly bending down to pick his hat up from the floor, "your uniform doesn’t seem to be up to the usual standards."

"Oh? Is that what you think?" He said, reaching for the hat before you held it behind your back, a mischievous grin forming on your lips,

"Sure is. You don't have your hat.”

“Oh? And whose fault is that?” He interjected playfully.

“And” you continued, “look at this coat, full of rips. It’s practically in shambles." you ran a finger down his side, allowing the tip of your fingernail to catch at the tiny holes littering the worn fabric.

"Hey now, my coat's always looked like that. You didn't seem to find fault in it when you were cold last night." You shook your head,

"Nope, I'm sorry Mr. Valentine, it's all in disarray, I'm afraid we'll just have to scrap the whole thing."

"Well now, if that’s what you were after, you could've just told me, darling. No need to insult--" His sentence remained unfinished as you tightened your grip on his tie, pulling him in for a kiss that was anything but chaste. He had so many questions left unanswered, but for reasons unknown, he couldn't seem to think of a single coherent inquiry to voice to you in this instance. Looks like it will just have to wait until later.

Preston:

Preston felt uneasy. His eyes had opened slowly when he had awoken, his heartbeat had remained consistently calm, dapples of sunlight shone through the holes in the curtains beside the bed, indicating that he had slept through the night. Why did everything feel so… so peaceful? No nightmares, no panic attacks, the usual insomnia Preston tended to face in the wee hours of the morning had never reared its infuriating head.

Then he remembered.

It was all because of you. Amazing, incredible, infallible, irresistible you. Heat flooded to his face as a coy smile touched his lips. Suddenly, he felt he had to be near you, he had to see you to believe what his mind told him had happened last night.

“Mhm, good morning," he sighed, as he turned to face your side of the bed, "how are you-- ?" Preston's eyebrows creased as he noticed your absence, his voice trailing off as he realized his question had no recipient.

"Sole?" He sat up, rubbing his awakening eyes before glancing around the room of your Sanctuary house.

"Sole?!" Preston said, louder than the first time. Perhaps you had simply gone to the washroom? Or to the kitchen maybe? Rising from the bed, Preston fetched his trousers from the pile of clothes that rested at the foot of the bed, trying not to dwell too much on the thoughts that it inspired.

But... only my clothes are here. He reflected, feeling a pang in his chest, before reminding himself that you might want to be clothed, wherever you’d gone, even if it was just in your own house. He released a bit of his anxiety in a quick breath, before heading for the bedroom door, he opened it gingerly, glancing down the hallway before making his way to each of the rooms in search of you. He did so slowly, hesitantly, in fear of what he might find. Or, rather, afraid of what he wouldn't find.

Preston stood in the empty kitchen, numb, his fear utterly realized. He collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table, afraid to let himself think, but unable to do anything else in his current state. Why, why, why did he have to act on his feelings for you? He just had to tell you how you made him feel, he had to be vulnerable and had to “put himself out there.” He just had to be intimate with you, he had to ruin everything. Why couldn’t he have just been happy with the way things were, with you as his friend? There he was, his life in danger, unable to help the people who needed him most, the Minutemen in complete disarray after having failed those they vowed to protect, and there you were. Here to save their asses, to turn his disaster of a life into one full of hope, full of light, and now, you were gone. You had left because he was an inarticulate, inexperienced, greedy, fool of a man who couldn't keep his mouth shut and just settle for having you as his general, and as his best friend. Why had he needed more? He didn't deserve more, not with you, hell, the whole damn world didn't deserve you, so how did he ever think you could want to be with him?

But you told me you did. You said you cared about me and-- No. Actions speak louder than words, and your absence after the first night you two had spent together… that spoke volumes.

Maybe you finally realized that I'm nothing special. Not compared to you. Maybe you realized that, next to you, and without you, I'm nothing at all. Preston balled a fist and pounded it weakly against your worn kitchen table, the dull thud resounding through the empty house. He sighed, sliding the chair back with a groan as he rose to his feet, heading once again to the back of the house. Entering your room without you felt like a crime, but he figured he might as well remove his things, and put on the remainder of his clothes, before leaving.

He stared down at the pile of tousled fabric at the foot of the bed, slowly untangling each individual article, secretly hoping that, if he took long enough, you would eventually make your way back into the room. That you would give him some inconsequential excuse for your absence, and he could forget all of the confusion and uncertainty of the morning. As Preston gingerly began to re-dress himself, thoughts came unbidden to the forefront of his mind. The way your soft, gentle fingers had undone each of the buttons of his shirt, the pressure tickling his neck, then his chest, down his stomach to his naval, your hands wasting no time as they moved upward to push the silky material off over his shoulders. He recalled the feeling of the smooth fabric of his scarf, as it unraveled slowly around his neck, a chill creeping onto the sensitive skin before you had chased it away quickly with the heated touch of your sweet lips. He remembered the breathy gasp that had escaped from you as your hands grasped tightly at the lapels of his coat, his mouth colliding with yours over and over again as his mind screamed for him to stop, to slow down, to ignore the fire blazing beneath his skin.

This is your general! It had told him, this is your friend, your recently widowed friend, your friend that you desperately need to keep in your life! If you screw this up, how will you ever be able to forgive yourself?

He should have listened to his head then. Why hadn’t he? Preston was sure that, if he had, it would have spared him from the awkward discussion he was bound to have with his superior officer in the near future. It certainly would have saved him the pain he was feeling now.

At the same time though... Last night had been the best night of Preston’s life. Did he really regret having those memories now? Yes, he had to. After all, what did last night matter if it hadn’t made you happy?

Preston shook his head, releasing a breath he was sure he’d been holding since he left the kitchen. Pulling up his boots, he grabbed the remainder of his things and left the room, glancing back at the empty bed one last time before placing his hat atop his head and pulling the door shut softly behind him.

The beams of morning sunlight chased away the fog that had settled in the streets of Sanctuary, bits of bright blue sky peeking through the gaps in the clouds. Looks like it’ll be a nice day. He thought somberly, trying desperately to perk himself up, lest he bump into any settlers on his patrol. He wouldn’t want to worry anyone with his troubled expression, and he certainly wasn’t prepared to answer any questions about his current state. Preston started towards the bridge, planning to begin his patrol of the perimeter from there. He was so focused on his destination, he nearly failed to notice the hand waving him down from the side of the street. When he did turn to look, his breath caught in his throat.

“Sole!” He exclaimed, much too loudly, as he noticed you, nearly dropping his laser musket. A wounded settler was seated on the curb, you were kneeling next to him on one side, wrapping a bandage around his arm, with Sturges standing on the other, an empty stimpak in hand. As soon as he processed what he was seeing, the Minuteman lieutenant tried desperately to compose himself, a blush inadvertently creeping up his cheeks as his eyes met yours. He adjusted his grip on his musket, and cleared his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Is everything alright over here?” He asked, making his way over to the group, “What can I do to help, general?” you gave him a small smile, assuring him everything was alright, and finished tending to the settler who, as Preston found out, was a new arrival who’d run into a pack of mongrels on his way to Sanctuary. When they were all certain the settler would be okay, Preston quietly asked the general if they had a moment to talk, much to Sturges’ amusement.

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it, then. And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” Sturges slapped Preston on the back as he passed by, snickering to himself. Preston felt heat rising to his face again and quickly motioned for you to follow him behind the house, hoping to get a little privacy. He took in a sharp breath, before releasing it slowly, and you smiled warmly at him. That’s a good sign, I suppose.

“How are you feeling?” He asked you quietly. Your eyes looked past Preston, almost as though you hadn’t heard him, and he felt a pang in his chest. Turning your head slightly, you glanced to either side, ensuring no one else was looking on, before turning back to him, looking into his eyes as a flush touched your cheeks.

“If I’m honest?” you started, and Preston’s breath caught in his throat, “I’m a little sore.” you said with a little smile, and Preston felt his knees wobble as his legs nearly gave out in relief.

“Heh, if I’m honest, me too.” He said, shyly looking down at his feet as he felt heat rise to his cheeks. “So, about that,” he continued, “last night, I mean. Did you, ahem, did you like--”

In an instant, your lips were on his own. The kiss was soft, but forceful, affirming all that Preston was uncertain of.

“Last night was… amazing, Preston.” You told him after you had pulled away, your hands resting on his shoulders, keeping his body pressed to yours.

“Then, when you left this morning ... ?”

“Sturges was looking for you when he found the settler on his patrol this morning, but he obviously didn’t find you in your bed, so he came to find me and--”

Preston groaned, an embarrassed smile forcing its way to his lips,

“He didn't see anything, did he?” You giggled at that,

“No, honey, he didn’t see anything.” You rolled your eyes playfully, before pulling at his shoulders, urging his ear to your lips, “But someone did. And I hear they really liked what they saw. You know who it was?” you whispered.

“Who?” you heard him breathe.

“Hmm, you really don’t know?” You sneaked a peek at his face, noting the goofy grin that spread all the way to his warm, chocolate eyes, and you couldn’t help but lean further into him. Preston drew an arm around you, his hand on your lower back, keeping you anchored to him, and all apprehension following this morning’s events seemed to be forgotten.

“You might just have to remind me.” He said cheekily, pulling you into another kiss.

X6-88:

The tightness in his chest was the least of the courser's worries as he woke to find himself utterly alone. You were gone, that, he knew. But where-- no, how? How had you woken and readied yourself without also waking him?

He never should have agreed to last night. Not only was it completely inappropriate, given your future position in the Institute, but it had distracted him from his main duty. The most important mission he'd ever been assigned: to watch over his charge, to keep them safe. To protect you. He had grown distracted, and now you were gone. The future director of the Institute, someone he respected and idolized, a person he cared about, more than anyone he'd ever come across in his existence, was just gone. His loyalty to you was akin to his loyalty to the Institute itself, and that was non-negotiable, unbreakable, hard-wired into him. You had won his devotion on your own, which made it that much more meaningful. And that much more painful when he realized that you might not feel the same loyalty for him. But why would you? And why did he care? He was allowed to feel allegiance towards you without you needing to return it, was he not? But … if you had felt this loyalty for him, you surely wouldn't have left him alone, correct? At least that's what it seemed like, but X6 wasn't particularly knowledgeable when it came to this subject. He didn't know, these thoughts confused him, and normally you were the one to help him make sense of his more... human tendencies and emotions, but clearly in this instance, he was on his own. You had treated him like no one ever had, like a real person, and so he thought he could start acting like one. Feeling like one. But he was wrong. X6 wasn't wrong often, and he hated the feeling. In his current state, every feeling he had was a negative one. He decided to shut it out. These feelings weren't helping him protect you, which was still his mission, reciprocated loyalty or not. Sitting around, contemplating his emotions didn't help him to find you.

The courser sat up and climbed off the mattress, grabbing his clothes that he had folded neatly beside the bed last night, noting that only his were present. After you had fallen asleep, X6 had untangled his body from your own as gently as he could, so as not to wake you, and had placed your clothes beside the bed in preparation for the morning. He had retrieved his courser uniform from the floor, with the intent of dressing himself and sitting on watch for the night, but you had stirred, sleepily requesting he return to the space beside you. He remembered hesitating, before folding his coat and placing it on the table beside your own clothes and doing as you had asked. Sliding beneath the covers, he had laid on his side, placing an arm around your waist. He remembered wondering if what he had done was correct, if he was doing this all right, but you had seemed happy, and that was all that mattered to him. So, if he had done nothing wrong, why had you left? Taken your clothes, and your bag, and your gun, and vanished without a trace? And when had he started caring about your happiness? Your health, and your safety, yes, he should certainly care about those, given the nature of his orders. But now he cared about how he made you feel. He wanted you to be happy, and he wanted to be the one to make you feel that way. But why?

X6 shook his head, attempting to clear it, and grabbed his rifle from the top of the dresser. It was distracting thoughts like these that had forced him into his current predicament, he wasn't about to make that mistake again. Placing his shades onto his face, he prepared to head through the door, and out into the wastes to search for you.

X6 surveyed the surrounding area outside of your home in Sanctuary: the gas station, Abernathy farm, Tenpines bluff, even the inside of Vault 111. Yet, there was no sign of you. He returned to Sanctuary and found your house still empty, the hollowness growing in his chest as he realized that your leaving really had been intentional. Elsewise, he would have stumbled across you, or some sign of you, by now, right? He stood in your old kitchen, his knuckles paled at the death grip he held on the edge of the counter, his jaw clenching as he tried to hold his emotions at bay.

How could he have agreed to last night? And why would you have presented the idea if you had meant to do this to him in the end? With a groan of frustration, X6 pounded a hand against the countertop, leaving a small indent in the shape of his fist. Not only had you left him, you had done so without warning, without explanation, and now he couldn't find you. He couldn't find you. That's what he did, he was a relentless hunter, a cold pursuant, he completed all of his missions efficiently, he followed Institute protocol, he followed orders. What he didn't do was get wrapped up in human emotions, he didn't throw caution to the wind and give into his most base desires. He was a synth. He didn't yearn, or want, or love. Or at least he hadn't.

Not until he met you.

The courser sighed, fists still clenched in frustration. He didn't know what to do, you were his mission, but if you commanded him to leave--? But you never actually had ordered him away... In his eyes, there was only one option for him to consider.

"Unit X6-88, ready to relay back to the institute. Alone."

A flash of blue, and he was back. No one asked him to report in, and he didn't offer. He started straight towards the SRB, wondering what the consequences would be for his behavior. A memory wipe would be the best outcome, especially if... Oh. But if they saw the memories from last night, what would happen to you?

X6 stopped in his tracks, turning quickly to go up the stairs that ascended to the residential portion of the Institute. Once again, he was at a loss. He didn't want to lose those memories, but more than that, he didn't want anyone else to see them. You were the first person he's ever met that treated him as a human, saw him as one, made him feel like one, and he couldn't bear the thought of what the Institute scientists would say about you, say to you, or do to you, if they saw what you had done with him. The courser looked down at his feet as he walked quickly, moving instinctively towards your quarters. He turned down the hallway, and recoiled at the figure that appeared as your door dragged open. X6’s eyes widened beneath his shades, and he cleared his throat to keep himself from gasping in surprise as your eyes met his.

"There you are! I was wondering when you would finally turn up, I finished with the meeting hours ago. I was just about to go out and look for you. Don't tell me you slept in this late?" You said with a grin that spread all the way to your glorious eyes. X6 couldn't form words, he just stood gawking at you, his mouth half open, looking like a complete fool. Right, the meeting with Father. How had he forgotten?

"Is everything okay?" You asked, your smile being replaced by an expression of concern. The courser didn't answer, he still couldn't keep his thoughts in order; instead, he stepped forward until his chest pressed against yours, urging you to back into your quarters. You did so rather hesitantly, a confused expression causing your brows to crinkle. When the door had closed behind him, X6 slowly reached out his arms, wrapping them tightly around you, just as you had shown him last night, he pulled you to his chest and held you firmly. The warmth of you, your soft hair and sweet scent calmed his strained nerves, and he finally allowed himself to take a deep breath and close his eyes, just for a moment. As quickly as he'd initiated it, he pulled away from the hug, squaring his shoulders and straightening his posture,

"I'm glad you're safe, ma'am/sir."

709 notes · View notes

harry-writings · 3 years

Text

We’ll Be Alright

The one where Harry and Y/n have a hard time coping without one another, and Harry finally understands what it means to be a husband

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist

How to support me <333

Y/n knows she’s hit rock bottom when she pours her fifth glass of whiskey at three in the morning, lighting up her seventh cigarette on her bedroom balcony, as if furthering herself away from her right state of mind will somehow bring her closer to all the answers she had been looking for.

She doesn’t even smoke.

The last time she came this close to a cigarette was five months before she found out she was pregnant with Topher. It was the third time Harry didn’t show up to marriage counseling, and Y/n was so upset and so angry and so hurt that she couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop crying until it was in her hands.

This time, though, the shaking and the crying don’t stop.

She’s sitting on one of the balcony chairs, her elbows propped up on her knees, one hand resting at the roots of her hair and the other holding her glass in her palm and her cigarette between her fingers. Her leg is bouncing and her eyes are wet, zoning herself out from the rest of the world, trying to get as far away from herself as possible.

She hasn’t seen Harry in thirteen days.

Not only has she not seen Harry, but she also hasn’t talked to Harry or had any ties left to Harry for nearly two weeks now and Y/n can barely hold herself together anymore. She’s surprised she’s even gotten this far without him.

They aren’t divorced — the papers were left on the courtroom table practically untouched, and though she hates to admit it to herself, Y/n was the first to leave them behind — but they might as well have been.

He wasn’t even the one to pick up Topher today. And she didn’t realize how much she’d miss their traditions — even the ones they’ve made while being separated — until she saw Mitch standing at the other side of her door and watched as he buckled her son into the same carseat Harry once had in his car.

It was at that moment that she knew that even though they weren’t divorced, they really were over, and it was enough to push her over the edge.

Now she’s so drunk she can barely remember where she is. The skyline and the buildings look familiar, but everything is so out of touch she can’t find the same peace and comfort in it as she once used to.

Everything has faded to nothing.

And whether it’s from the alcohol, or the revisitation of bad habits, or if it’s from grieving the loss of somebody still alive, but everything to her feels numb. All that’s left is pain and sadness and the fear of living the rest of her life exactly like this — lost, hopeless, and alone.

She thinks back to the day she slept with Harry — as she does, she throws the last bit of whiskey down her throat and swallows it down without a flinch — and how that day was forever going to be the last day she had ever held him, had ever kissed him, had ever told him that she loved him.

If she had known — really, really known — it was going to be her last chance to do any of those things, she wouldn’t have pushed him away. She would have done all the things Harry wanted — would have spent the rest of their day in bed, drinking wine, celebrating all that once was and what always could be.

Because that’s what she wanted, too. That’s what she’s wanted since the beginning of this mess they’ve made of themselves, she just didn’t ever want to admit it.

This feeling that burns in her stomach at the thought of not being with Harry makes her want to scream. She can’t escape it, even as the alcohol seeps into her bloodstream and takes away every other feeling in her body.

She sobs, her chin tucking into her chest and her palms pressing to her forehead, agonizing and inhumane cries falling past her lips.

Her Harry is no longer hers.

She squeezes her eyes shut, a puddle of tears falling down her cheeks as she does so, her hand dropping the whiskey glass, her cigarette left sparked on the balcony floor as her fingers twist and pull at her hair. She hunches over her knees, trying so desperately to put herself back together again.

But it’s impossible. She knows it’s impossible because it’s him that makes her whole — him that holds her and keeps her together, even when everything else around her is falling apart.

She’d do anything to feel his arms around her now.

And it’s all she can think about — how lonely and cold and frigid it feels without the feel of his touch, and how loud the silence is without the sound of his voice in her ear, telling her how in love with her he is, giggling at her blush.

And she’s had so much to drink she can trick her mind into believing that he’s here, if she thinks about it hard enough. She mistakes the wind for the feel of him walking past her, smells his cologne in the liquor, but it’s still too quiet for her to really, truly believe it.

And she just wants to believe it. For once, she wants to pretend that he’s here with her, loving her, wanting her the way he always used to. Even if it’s the wrong thing to do.

Her hand shakingly reaches for her phone.

“‘Ello, this is Harry! I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your call, but I promise to return to you whenever I’m next available. Thank you, talk soon! Bye.”

And oh, how good it feels to hear his voice again.

It brings her back to all the times she’d call Harry while he was away on tour and how every phone call lasted at least two hours. Whether it was to check up on him, or to wish him goodnight, or to have phone sex, he never failed to make every second they were spending apart feel so worth it.

She calls him six more times just to hear his voicemail.

By the seventh and last phone call, Y/n is so low she’s tempted to just finish it off — down the pack of cigarettes and the bottle of whiskey that have kept her more company than her husband. Maybe filling her void with vices will be enough to last her until the blackout, where she will finally be free.

But what will she have left if she does?

The loneliness and the sadness and the hopelessness will all still be there. She will still wake up to a cold bed, in an empty home, with nobody to share her life with. She will still have this sick and twisted feeling that happiness doesn’t exist outside of her Harry — that happiness doesn’t exist within these walls, miles away from him, with only herself to hold.

She can’t keep waking up without him anymore. She can hardly keep living.

So, she does the first and only thing that comes to her mind.

She calls Mitch.

The clock nearly at four in the morning doesn’t seem to strike her as her drunken fingers struggle to tap on his contact name, knowing that this is the only way.

“Mitch.” Y/n hiccups when he answers her call, watching as everything around her starts to spin out of her control, instinctively reaching her hand beside her to hold onto Harry’s — the way she always did whenever she got too drunk. Her heart hurts even worse than before when she’s met with nothing but the ache of what once was. “Come get me, please.”

Something in the air shifts around Mitch.

He has known Y/n for years now, yet he can barely recognize that it’s her voice on the phone. He has to look down at the name on his phone twice before pressing the speaker to his ear, his heart nearly still as he wonders the reason behind such a disturbing and unexpected request.

“Y/n… is everything alright?” He asks tentatively, carefully, because she’s never awake this late at night and has never sounded so hurt. “What’s happened, love?”

She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling, almost angrily.

“My husband’s been ignoring me for the past two weeks and I’m not —” She stops, sucking in a broken breath, not even believing the words she just spoke because she never believed he’d leave her all alone for so long. “I’m not taking it so well, obviously.”

Mitch sighs.

He should have known, from the second he saw the look on her face earlier that evening, that her night was going to end like this. The love she and Harry share is a kind he’s never seen before — something so far from ordinary, something he couldn’t even understand despite the love for his own girlfriend, who lays beside him so peacefully now.

Their love is more than love. It’s deeper, more soulful, as if they have found each other in every past life and every after life. They truly are, in the most unexplainable of ways, made for one another eternally. Forever, they are theirs.

It’s both a blessing and a curse — their preexisting connection— because they are everything together, but absolutely nothing apart.

“Y/n, love... he’s not ignoring you. He wouldn’t dream of it.”

Oh, how she wishes it was true.

“He didn’t even want to see me tonight. He sees me two days out of the week and he didn’t even want that. There was a time he’d do anything just to look at me for even a second.”

He wishes he knew what to say.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to see her — all he does is cry and whine and sulk about how he hasn’t — he just believes leaving Y/n alone is truly what’s best for her right now.

She has barely had any time away from him. Surely, she did have the weekdays to herself and Topher, but she still had to see him every weekend — still had to face him at her doorway; still had to be around him, even on her worst days; still had to be reminded of everything that had gone wrong.

Being around him confuses her. He knows that now, and so does Mitch. But Mitch always knew. Y/n has always been too in deep with Harry. One proper look at him would be enough to send her to her knees.

He’s her greatest weakness.

She needs to be alone.

Or, so he once thought.

“Have you been drinking?”

Y/n laughs in an almost sarcastic way, the side of her wrist pulling at the corner of her eye as she wipes away at her tears.

“Drinking, frying my brain with nicotine, crying my fucking eyes out.” Her lips tremble as she stuffles away a cry. “All of the above.”

Mitch frowns.

This behavior isn’t unusual for her — it hasn’t been since her marriage with Harry started to turmoil — but it never gets easier to witness.

It’s when she’s in the depths of her own hell that she depends on the intoxication to get her by, as if it numbed her from all the pain she’d be living with without it. And as hard as it is for him to admit it, she only ever feels this way whenever it comes to Harry.

This side of her never existed until she met him.

“You want to see him, don’t you?”

To see him. To touch him. To talk to him. To hold him. She wants it all, everywhere, for the rest of the night — for the rest of her life if he were to let her.

But she can’t get ahead of herself. She won’t be able to survive it if she does.

“Even if it’s just for a second.”

His heart falls.

“Will it get you to put down the drugs and alcohol?”

Her eyes linger at the nearly empty bottle of whiskey, and though it still calls for her just as strongly, she knows it’s not what she truly wants.

“Yeah.”

She can hear him smile softly through the phone.

“Then hang tight, love. I’m on my way.”

Harry hasn’t been able to sleep all night.

And if he wanted to get technical, he supposes he hasn’t been able to sleep since he and Y/n nearly signed their marriage away, but tonight is far, far worse than anything else he’s ever felt.

His body senses his good days. The sun somehow brighter, the rain lighter, the clouds thinner — he sees it all so differently on the days he goes to see Y/n. He’s used to the routine, he looks forward to it all week, even if it is just to see her for a couple minutes at her doorway.

So to say his body feels the loss of her is an understatement.

He caught himself reaching his hand over to her side of the bed one too many times, only to shiver and whine when met with the emptiness of it. His fingers would squeeze at her pillowcase, hugging it closer to him, fantasizing about her smell and her feel as he tried to drift into his dreamland — that only, of course, consisted of her.

But it was helpless.

He moves to the living room couch, where he finds himself flipping through the photo album of their wedding day — the same one he claimed he had thrown out when Y/n asked if she could keep it, moments before she was about to move out after he had brought the divorce papers home.

Of course he hadn’t thrown it out, but he could never tell Y/n about the lies he only told to make himself feel better about his decision.

He was angry and he was hurt, both of which consumed him in the scariest and most dangerous of ways, leading him to sink his teeth in a lie and spitting it in her face just to make her feel all those things, too. Though he’s sure she already did.

But as he flips through the pages now, reliving that day torturously in his head, remembering how beautiful she looked and how in love he was, he can’t help but feel like these moments weren’t his to take.

He had kept their home — had kept the furniture they bought together when they first moved in, kept all the movies and cd’s they’d play together each night, kept all the pictures she had chosen for the walls and tables he hadn’t had a clue on how to decorate.

He stayed so perfectly in their past while she was forced to move on, away from him, when she wasn’t even the one who wanted to leave.

He had truly taken everything from her — her love, her trust, her marriage, her home — and he didn’t even have the decency to give her the one and only thing she had asked for before she left.

That day was hers, it always has been and it always will be. She never once gave up on it the way he once had, always holding it so close to her, always cherishing its moments.

This simply doesn’t belong to him.

He presses his forehead down to a picture of Y/n wildly smiling at the camera, her hair styled up, makeup slightly smudged, as if holding her to him. And he rubs his thumb along the laminate, right against her cheek, in the same way she always liked.

“I’m so sorry.” He sobs out before he can try to reason that it’s not her, that she can’t hear him, that she can’t feel the way he’s holding and touching her right now, that he looks like a lovesick idiot for thinking this is anything close to the real thing.

None of that matters to him right now, though, as he holds the picture to him and realizes this is the closest he has been to her in so long. And she needs to know.

She just needs to know.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Harry must have cried himself to sleep because the next thing he knows, his front door slams open against the foyer wall, julting him off of the photo album and leaving him with dry and confused eyes.

Without much of a second thought, he throws the photo album off his lap and stands frantically from the couch, his head twisting around in an attempt to follow the footsteps scurrying towards the living room.

He knows it’s her just from that sound alone.

“Y/n?” He calls out in question, still delusional from his sleeping state, wondering if he had even woken up at all.

But it’s when he sees her stumbling toward him with soaken and beaten eyes that he knows this isn’t just a dream — that she really is here, back in their home, with him at last. And he would be happy, would be so goddamn happy to have her in front of him again, if she didn’t look so broken.

He can’t stand the sight of her like this.

“Y/n?” He asks again, devastated.

But she doesn’t answer him. Rather, she does the one and only thing her mind can make sense of now that he’s in front of her again.

Her trembling hands cradle the back of his neck before pulling her to him, their lips meeting for a sloppy, drunken, frenzied kiss — one that nearly has Harry falling to his knees before her.

She pushes him onto the couch, barely giving him any time to compose himself before she sits herself down on his lap and kisses him again, hard — harder than before and harder than she ever has, she thinks.

Teeth clattering, tongues battling, mouths opening, lips smothering. It’s desperate and messy and sloppy, but she doesn’t want it any other way.

She knows this feeling. She wants this feeling. It’s what she keeps going back to because it’s safe and warm and familiar. She could be in the middle of nowhere, lost with no direction or any sense of belonging, yet the feel of his lips on hers would somehow make her feel at home, just the way she is.

She moans against him, her hands splayed on the back of his head and neck as if to keep him there — on her, with her.

His hands, however, don’t know where to go. They switch between her arms and her thighs, setting boundaries for himself because he’d give into her in a heartbeat if he were to touch her just right. And he’s already doing so much he shouldn’t, he’d ruin himself if he were to go any further.

So as a subtle way to slow it down, he drags his lips down to her chin before leaving open-mouthed kisses along the shape of her neck — devouring her taste, savoring the sweetness.

He’s missed this. He’s missed her, so much so he can’t even remember the reason he let it all go. Right now, in this moment, nothing seems worth it enough to ever give this up.

He can hardly think straight.

“Y/n, please don’t do this to me…” Harry whines against her collarbone, her touch and smell and feel overwhelming him beyond all forms of comprehension. “This isn’t you. We’ve been here before and —”

“And I want to make it right this time.”

He nearly cries.

He bites down gently on the base of her throat, nibbling at it, a strangled whine falling from his lips as his hands slither to her back, pushing his body up against hers as if to bring her closer. And he growls silently to himself as she starts grinding herself against him.

“Y/n —”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Baby…” He tries again, to which she giggles and smiles as she nibbles on the lobe of his ear. He gets lost in it for a moment — to hear her laugh, to feel her hands rub along his chest and up his neck, to have her so close, like nothing ever happened — but he snaps himself out of it just as quickly as he fell into it. “You’re drunk.”

He tries to reason, to make her see that he does want this, more than anything else in the world, but he can’t. Because if it were to happen again, he wants it to be real. He wants her to mean it, to need it, to be all in it with him the way he’s all in it with her.

He wants her to stay.

“I’m only drunk because I miss you so much.” She confesses breathlessly to him, to which he groans and throws his head back, as if he were in pain. “So give me what I want and nothing else will matter.”

His hands find purchase to her hips, his fingers squeezing at the flesh of them as he tries to steady the movement of her groin against his, desperate to hold himself together. But she makes it so hard when she knows exactly where and how to touch him — when she knows that he can never resist her all over him, begging for more.

His eyes are pinched forward and closed, his head still hanging off the edge of the couch, words seeming to fail him as she moans against his shoulder, sinking her teeth into the flesh of it as she works herself harder against him.

“Fuck, you know I want to.” He croaks out, his hands giving into their urge to wander every dip and curve and inch of her, even the places he shouldn’t. “You know I do.”

Good, she thinks. I want you to want it. I need you to want it. I want you to want it so bad you give it to me all night, all morning, all day. I need you to want me.

She lifts her head up from his shoulder so that she can look at him with a winning smirk, both of her hands fisting at the collar of his t-shirt to steady herself upon his lap, her movements now smooth and effortless, giving him everything he needs to give in.

He lets out a proper moan at this, allowing himself a moment of weakness to feed his undying greed.

His mouth hangs open and practically drools as he touches her in ways he’s been aching to, rubbing himself against her, allowing her lips to wander anywhere and everywhere they craved.

It all feels so good and all so right, he wishes it was enough to make things work, but he knows in his heart that it isn’t.

Not now, at least.

“But I can't — I can’t take advantage of you. I — oh, fuck!” He yelps from below her when her arm sneaks between them so her fingers can scratch at the skin of his upper inner thigh, mercilessly giving him everything that has ever made him feel good.

And it’s all too much.

One more right touch in the right place and he’s done for, as pathetic and weak as that makes him. But it’s only for her. Only for her does he find himself shuddering and moaning and creeping on the edge for, one push away from falling off, waiting to be caught by her.

After all this time, after all they had been through — all the fighting, all the tears, all the downs and lows they’ve lost themselves in — she still consumes him whole. She still is and forever will be the only person he’ll ever love like this.

There is nothing and nobody else. There is only her.

Which is why he can’t let himself do it. He can’t let her do it.

So right before he reaches the end, his hands frantically grab onto hers and pin them down against each side of his legs, her forehead meeting his shoulder, her body collapsing onto his.

“No!” He bites through clenched teeth and shut eyes, his hands squeezing hers as his body ricochets back to reality, yet still holding her close. “No, no, fuck. No.”

And whatever remained of Y/n’s heart burns to a crisp at that one godforsaken word.

Harry never denies her.

Even at their lowest and darkest moments, her simple touch made him powerless. He succumbed to her even when he told himself he wouldn’t, gave into her touch like a drug he couldn’t get off of no matter how hard he tried, drowned in her love even when he swore he no longer craved it.

It’s the very reason Y/n found herself pregnant in the midst of their downfall. Harry never stopped wanting her.

She should have known that everything was different now, but she never expected it to be like this.

“Oh.” Y/n’s lips tremble, her eyes wide with woe, glossy with burning tears as she looks at him through slow blinks. “I get it, I —”

“Y/n…”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

She’s nearly sobbing now, her breaths heavy and frantic as she pushes herself away from him, practically falling off of his lap. And if his head wasn’t so clouded from what had just happened between them, he wouldn’t have let her go.

She’s a mess, a kind he’s never seen in her before and it breaks him in two when he sees her face soaked in tears, her hands trembling as they push her hair back, her eyes looking at everything but him.

He is just so sick of her looking away from him, and so tired of watching her cry.

He never wanted this.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Harry speaks softly, his hand reaching out to grab ahold of hers before she has the chance to walk out on him again. And the shock of his touch is enough to bring her right back to him. “Baby, this is your home more than it is mine. Your son is here, I am here, don’t ever think you have to be sorry for wanting to come home.”

She’s silent for a moment, trying to make sense of his words and what they mean. But it’s so hard to focus on anything other than how good it feels to be holding his hand, and how that’s all it took to get the room to stop spinning around her.

She trusts him.

Whatever he wants out of this and whatever he’s thinking, she trusts. Her body wouldn’t be so reliant on him if she didn’t. And it’s been years since she’s felt this feeling she feels so fiercely now, but she could never mistake it. It was once the most familiar feeling in the world to her.

He rubs at her knuckles, patiently waiting for her to respond. But she doesn’t, her gaze just drunkenly fixated at their intertwined fingers, a hint of longing in her eye.

Even when he’s right here, holding her, convincing her to stay… she still feels as though he isn’t all hers. She wants more of him, as if she hasn’t seen and touched and loved every inch of his body and claimed every last beat of his heart.

She is the only one and yet she feels as though she’ll never be enough for him, after all this time, after all these years spent together. It makes him feel like the worst person in the world.

He lifts her hand up to his lips, as delicate and gentle as possible, just the way she likes.

“And as for kissing me.” He adds, eyes looking up fondly at her as he kisses at her knuckles one by one. “You’re my wife, it’s what I want. I just don’t want us to make the same mistakes we once did.”

He settles her fingers against his mouth for a moment longer before pulling her closer to where he sits, looking insistently in her hopeful eyes.

“If we sleep together… it’ll only drive us more apart, just like it did the last time. And I swear to god —” he hangs his head off the edge of the couch again, his fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose, trying to fathom the idea of it. “If I have to go another day without seeing you, I’m going to fucking lose it. I’m fucking miserable.”

She knows it’s true. Whether she wanted to hear it or not, sleeping together without speaking to one another would only bring them back to the same dark, numbing cycle they’ve been through for far too long now.

But she wants to milk it — wants him to do whatever he can to get her to stay because she needs to know he really wants it, needs to know he really wants her, before it’s too late.

And when Harry lifts his head back up to look at her, his heart nearly explodes from within him.

“Come here.” He tugs softly on her hand, a small smile playing on his lips when he sees Y/n pouting down at him with furrowed brows — the same face she used to make whenever she wanted to be angry with him, but couldn’t. It brings him back to all their happiest times. “Come here!”

He pulls her down to him until she lands on his lap, both of them laughing as she nearly trips over her own two feet.

The moment stills when their eyes meet, however, the giggling dying down and their smiles falling as they captivate each other with just a single look.

His fingers move her hair out of her face, his palm resting on the side of her cheek, his thumb rubbing along the skin of her blush as he admires just how beautiful she’s gotten since the last time he had seen her.

And she does the same to him — her fingers pulling at his hair, dancing along his scalp, humming in admiration as her eyes wander every dip and curve of his face. He is just so perfect, it endlessly mesmerizes her.

“I’ve missed you.” She confesses softly, her gaze trained on his lips, her tongue poking out to lick her own.

“I’ve missed you so much more, my love.”

And they meet for a kiss — a real kiss this time. Not the hungry, desperate, fevered kisses they’ve been sharing since their separation. It’s slow, their lips just settling against each other’s, refusing to move, only leaning in deeper when desired.

It’s how he kissed her on their wedding day.

She remembers how different it was, now, as she feels it again — full of vows and promises, hopes and dreams, a hint of sorrow for all the times he had let her down, and how he’d never wish to do it again.

Quite truthfully, she never wants it to end. She could stay pressed against his lips like this all night and never once get tired of it — would probably beg for more if it ever came down to it. But she doesn’t have to anymore, she knows that now.

They both pull away together, dopey and loopy smiles painted on their faces. And it doesn’t get better than this.

“Can I show you something?” He whispers to her, his thumb pets at her temple, circles and circles. “And know that when I give it to you, it’s me trying to make this right again? No matter how much it hurts?”

His breath falters when her lips press gently against his wrist, humming a small “mhm” against the skin of it.

She always did that whenever she could. Whether he be holding her cheek, or rubbing at her head, or running his fingers through her hair, her lips would seek just the smallest bit more of him. And it always warmed him to feel it. It reminded him that yes, she did in fact love him and want him and need him with the same burning he has for her.

It always felt too good to be true.

And to know that she’s feeling it all over again makes every worry in the world collapse around him, leaving him with nothing but the life he had always desired with her, and the hope that it only gets better from here.

He smiles in endearment, his own lips seeking the sole of her cheek before he turns his body to the fallen photo album, his fingers shaking as he reaches for it.

She gasps before he even has the chance to sit up fully.

“Is that —” she stops before she finishes, her hand flying over her suddenly trembling lips because it is.

He looks at her with eyes full of regret as he holds the photo album out for her to take, but she’s in too much shock. All she can process is that it’s here, still alive in the home they once shared, not shredded and burned and broken like she always thought it was.

And it just doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that over a year ago, he told her a lie that ripped her apart from the inside out every day since he’d spoken it. It doesn’t matter that all she had left of their wedding were the moments captured in her memory, to which she went back to every night before bed.

It just doesn’t matter because she’s just so happy to see it again — so, so, so fucking happy that she can’t help but sob into her palm, admiring it, somehow at peace with the idea of reuniting with it with her husband right beside her, shedding the same tears as she is.

All she has ever wanted is happening all at once, and she couldn’t ask for more.

“Can we look through it?” She sniffles, her fingers graciously running along the cover of it.

He pulls her in closer, his head nodding, a breathy laugh of euphoria falling from his lips.

As if she even had to ask.

It was the next morning that Harry decided he couldn’t do it anymore.

Upon waking up to an empty bed, there wasn’t this overwhelming sense of sadness rippling through him, or loneliness drowning him to his duvets, refusing to set him free. It felt… right, and warm, and safe, and like it had always meant to be this way.

He was weightless as he carried his naked body over to his dresser, where he slipped on a new pair of briefs and one of his plain white t-shirts. He even found himself humming a tune he only ever sang to on good mornings.

And it was when he made his way downstairs that he started to hear his company.

He found Y/n in his day old t-shirt, holding Topher at her hip, flipping pancakes at the stovetop, humming and bouncing to the beat of a song they played during their wedding ceremony.

Her hair was unbrushed, her nail polish chipped, one of her socks pulled too high and the other too low, in her most hungover state. And the world stopped turning then, it seemed. Because it was the most simple and most casual sight to see, yet something he was once so blinded to.

He finally felt at home.

And it was as if nothing else had ever really, truly mattered. His world simply revolved around the two littles ones in his kitchen, getting their hands messy with pancake batter, giggling with every other step they took.

And he knew he couldn’t do it anymore.

Which is exactly how he ended up here — seven hours later, standing on one knee in front of his wife, whose hand fits so perfectly in his.

She sits cross-legged upon the kitchen chair, her plate half empty and on her second glass of her mocktail. And if he had more preparation, he would have taken her out instead of settling for her favorite home cooked meal. But something about doing this here, in the home they once shared together, at their happiest hour, feels much more real to him.

“H? What are you doing?” Y/n asks with wide eyes, looking down at their intertwined hands, squeezing onto his tighter.

“I know we’re already married, but I needed to do this anyway.”

He sucks in a breath as the pad of his thumb passes through her knuckles, slightly flicking her engagement ring in the process.

“When I left earlier, it wasn’t for work. I mean, it was for work but not — but not in the way you may think.”

Y/n tilts her head down at him, her eyebrows furrowed. Her heart races with all the endless possibilities, the pit in her stomach falling with it. And she really does try to not seem worried, but she can’t help but let it crash over her.

She had just gotten her husband back. Finally, she’s his and he’s hers and that’s all she ever wanted. That’s all she ever needed, so how is she expected to say goodbye so soon?

How would she ever survive it?

“I terminated the contract.”

Her heart stops beating.

Her body sits frozen still as Harry bites at his bottom lip, where he hides a smile.

This truly is it — the beginning of their forever, the start to the life they always wanted to share alone, with no distractions, no obligations, no anything besides each other and their child — and he doesn’t want it any other way.

“I’m done with having a career that takes me away from you. And I’m so sick and tired of pretending like this is the life I wanted to have with you. It wasn’t, baby. It isn’t.”

But she just can’t believe what she’s hearing.

The words had translated yet somehow, she can’t make sense of them. She can’t make sense of anything as her mind twists and turns around what they could mean and what it could mean for them as a couple.

“You — you terminated the contract? I don’t — I don’t understand. I —”

"If it were ever to come down to you or my music, I’d choose you in a heartbeat.” The fingers of his free hand twist at her wedding band, hypnotizing her. “I did it all for you — the writing, the touring, the traveling. My future with you was all I ever cared about and yet, I had somehow convinced myself that my music meant more to me, when it never really did.”

Her breaths get deeper and deeper, completely and utterly overwhelmed. And if it weren’t for the tears of happiness leaking from her eyes, Harry wouldn’t know what she’s truly feeling inside.

But he knows. Oh, how he knows.

“I choose you, Y/n. And I choose Topher and I choose our Alaskan home everyday for the rest of our lives. That’s what I choose. That’s what I will always choose.”

It’s those words that make her really start to lose it.

How long she had been waiting for this moment, she can’t even remember anymore. So much time has passed and yet everyday, she dreamed and hoped and prayed and died to hear him say that to her.

She had been waiting for so long, she once believed them to be impossible.

But here he is on one knee again, sacrificing his entire life and heart and soul just to make their marriage right. He wants to leave the music behind rather than leaving her to be all alone. He wants to move away from the life he had built for himself and rather spend the rest of it with her.

He wants her, for the first time in what feels like centuries, he finally wants her.

“But — but you — how? How did you — what did you do?”

“Don’t worry about the how, okay? What matters is that I made it work and I have more than enough to last our family a lifetime. I promise you that.”

One of her hands reaches forward to cup at his cheek, pulling herself closer to him because she needs to feel him, all of him — needs to feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart, the warmth of his breath.

She needs it all, all around her, until she drowns in it.

“Don’t care about the money, just — just want to make sure you’re okay.”

His wife is reaching for him, pulling him in, wanting and loving him despite everything he put her through… how could he not be okay?

He’s on top of the world right now.

“Baby, I’m so much more than okay. I have you, don’t I?” She nods her head as she wipes her tears away, sniffling with trembling lips and shaking hands. “Then that’s all I need.”

She sobs against him, her face tucked in his shoulder as he holds her hands between them, kissing at her head.

And sometime in the near future — when Harry and Y/n have found everything they had lost, have grown to be better together than ever spent apart, and have become the best parents they could ever be to their son — he’ll rent out a small venue in the outskirts of town and renew his wedding vows to his wife, whom he plans to never be parted from, even in death.

“So, Y/n, baby love.” They both giggle at the pet name, her head lifting from his shoulder and meeting his eye halfway. “Will you please do the honors of being my lawfully wedded wife, and the mother of our disgustingly perfect child, in our home in Alaska? Forever?”

She nods her head, her thoughts clouded by euphoria, her hand still in her husband’s.

As if he even had to ask.

#THIS REALLY TOOK ME FOREVER #THE WRITERS BLOCK WAS REAL HERE #BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT ANYWAYS :D #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines

796 notes · View notes

hey-hamlet · 3 years

Note

Can we hear more about some of your SVSSS AUs? I’m particularly curious about how the linked souls/dreams one would play out, but they’re all intriguing!

YOU ARE MY FAVOURITE PERSON I LOVE YOU

AHeM-

YES YOU MAY

OK SO! Linked Souls! Sickly!Shen Yuan because im projecting a little bit, hes also around 4 years younger than Shen Jiu. When Shen Jiu turns four years old, he starts having hazy dreams of a soft, warm bed, a full stomach, but constant fevers and aches. He feels bitter - not even his dreams let him really enjoy anything. Its quiet and mostly formless until Shen Yuan learns to talk - they gain the ability to talk to eachother, like riding passenger in a car, able to talk and watch but not interact. Shen Jiu learns to read better than any of the other slaves, and teaches Yue Qi everything he learns.

He tells Yue Qi about Shen Yuan, and Yue Qi believes him because he’d always believe his Xiao Jiu. Shen Yuan likes his Qi-ge a lot, and likes him even more when he sneaks Shen Jiu sweets ‘for a-yuan to taste’

When Shen Jiu turns 11, he’s taken by the Qius. He feels scared and guilty, because Shen Yuan will feel this too, no matter that the little brat didn’t deserve it. He was still too soft and naive, this might break him. He begs Shen Yuan to find a way to leave, but he refuses to leave his ‘big brother’ all alone.

3 years pass, Yue Qi never comes back. Shen Yuan gets sicker and sicker, and Shen Jiu fears that one of them will die before the year’s end - either from sickness or Qiu Jianluo. Qiu Jianluo tries to touch Shen Jiu one night and he snaps, killing the man and everyone in his way on the path out. He might have grit his teeth and borne it if he was alone, but he’s not letting Shen Yuan get hurt like that.

Shen Jiu doesn’t go with Wu Yanzi after Shen Yuan begs him not to - the man is scum, and while Shen Jiu might be scum himself, Shen Yuan is soft and sweet, he doesn’t deserve to see a man so vile. Cultivating from manuals he steals from people who are likely scammers, he ends up at the immortal alliance conferance. Shen Yuan convinces him to enter - hes too tricky to get himself killed by any of the monsters, and placing anywhere better than the last dregs will be impressive for a 15 year old rouge cultivator.

Wu Yanzi is back! And hes trying to murder Yue Qi, who caught sight of Shen Jiu and froze like a deer in the headlights. Shen Jiu runs him through with a sword he stole from some asshole a few months back and then cries all over Yue Qi’s robes, and then has a very repressed panic attack about getting blood and tears on robes that cost more than his life.

Yue Qi is also crying! Shen Yuan has no control over Shen Jiu’s eyes but by the way he’s babbling he’s probably also crying! Everyone is crying!

Yue Qi brings Shen Jiu before his master a bit like a cat presenting a dead bird and Shen Jiu wants to die in a hole a little bit because he’s scruffy and bloody and everyone around him look like peerless immortals. He covers this up by acting as much like a pampered young lord as humanly possible. Shen Yuan is cheering him on internally.

Shen Jiu is snapped up the the Qing Jing peak master because he’s obnoxiously intelligent and knows a truely frightening amount of characters and some really impressive maths, esspecially considering his lack of formal education (Shen Yuan, internally “Yes Jiu-ge I know, I’m amazing and the light of your life and you’re so grateful to watch my miserable homeschooling lessons”)

Yue Qi explains nothing about why he didn’t come back because! Thats just what the man is like. Shen Jiu is less furious about it and more depressed because having a perminant Shen Yuan in your head helps you develop slightly less violent coping mechanisms. Plus, Shen Yuan can’t hold a grudge to save his life and Shen Jiu uses the fact Shen Yuan missed him as a reason to visit.

Yue Qi sticks his foot in his mouth a little less.

Liu Qingge hates Shen Jiu On Sight as usual, and is still convinced hes a murderous little noble snake. Shen Yuan is furious, and Shen Jiu has to fight the urge to laugh at the creative streams of insults he gets running.

Shen Yuan gets well enough to attend high school in person. He doesn’t really make any friends, but hes not lonely considering the other Shen who, while not there constantly, is basically always there by the time his first lessons start. The running commentry makes it less dull anyway.

He graduates, applies to university. Shen Jiu becomes head disiple. Shen Yuan finishes his first year of a teaching degree before his illness relapses hard. He gets through another year of part time study before he dies.

Something in Shen Jiu, now Shen Qingqiu, Peak Lord of Qing Jing, dies with him. His students liken him to a ghost, dressed in mourning white, rising late and sleeping early, but often seen wandering the peak in the dead of night. Yue Qingyuan visits often, but Shen Qingqiu says nothing.

Liu Qingge, angry at what he assumes is a fit of drama crashes onto the peak in a self rightious rage, challenging Shen Qingqiu to a duel. Thats the only time he ever loses a duel to him. The Yue Qingyuan has to pull them apart, Shen Qingqiu still snarling with rage.

The news that he deviates that night shocks no one. Yue Qingyuan is frigid with Liu Qingge, and it unnerves the other peak lords.

Shen Qingqiu has barely recovered from one of the worst Qi deviations he’s ever had when a disiple all but crashes through his door, scared shitless of the half dead looking man who stumbled through the peak’s barriers like so much air.

Shen Qingqiu doesnt dare hope - Shen Yuan is dead, and a world away at that - but wouldn’t his soul be allowed to pass through the barrier? Shen Qingqiu had never had a problem when they shared bodies.

The man (barely a man, he would be 21 if he hadn’t been dead for 3 months) looks truly awful, feverish and flushed, but Shen Qingqiu know’s that face better than he know’s his own.

“A-Yuan?”

#i'd kill a man for you #svsss au #svsss #i just worked out my arms are like jelly #painful painful jelly #key to my heart is asking me ab my svsss aus #and i know you asked about all of them kinda? but you got an indepth breakdown of #one way by day and another by night au #i think thats a shrek quote but whatever

167 notes · View notes

taeescript · 3 years

Text

29+1 (Part One)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (taehyung x reader if you squint real hard)

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin (diva!seokjin)

𝔴𝔠: 3.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: heavy use of alcohol as a coping mechanism, a plethora of sarcasm (please don’t be offended) and a sprinkle of softness (is that a warning?).

𝔞/𝔫: this sat in my unwritten folder since 2017 no lie. I wrote the premise and a singular paragraph at that time, then just gave up. I opened it a few days ago, got inspired again and this word vomit came out (heavily influenced by a midnight Zoom call with my friends). Ngl this was so much fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. This will probably be in three parts. 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: I did not know that DailyHive is an actual online news source when writing. This work is purely fictional and has absolutely nothing to do with the real DailyHive.

part two

Your friends have a saying: After 29, nobody shares their age until they’ve accomplished something.

In the past, you didn’t understand it. What’s so bad about saying you’re 30 or you’re 32? That’s still a young age! Sure, you’re not exactly in your prime anymore but you’re not old, right?

So, you continue in your own wondrous world of naïveté until that fateful day at your class reunion. You had simply been walking around, minding your own business when you had been stopped by an old colleague.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” she waves you down.

You smile kindly, not even bothering to try and remember her name (you sucked at names, what could you say).

“Hey…you!” you chuckle lightly, “How have you been doing?”

An everyday question leading to catastrophic effects.

“Oh you know,” she says and rolls her eyes as if you truly did know, “I’ve just been out and about. Did I tell you though? I got married last year!” She holds out her hand in which a giant diamond adorns her finger. “Wow!” you gasp, feigning interest. It’s not that you aren’t happy for her, but you are reminded of just how single you are currently. When was the last time you felt another human’s touch? Does kissing come back as easily as riding a bicycle? “Hey!” she says suddenly, “I’m actually meeting with a couple of friends from our class. You should come join! I’m sure they’d be happy to see you again!” You want to wave her off, but against your better judgment, you find yourself following in her footsteps and listening to her speak about wedding venues and honeymoon destinations.

“Oh my god!” another female voice filters in.

The “couple of friends” this old classmate had mentioned is in fact a fairly impressive size of twenty. This is also the third time the wedding announcement has been made.

“Last year?” the female continues, “Weren’t you young?”

Yes, you want to respond. Yes she was young. A full 365 days younger than she is now.

Your classmate, Sooyoung (or Kiko as she insists going by now) titters in front of you. “I mean, you can sort of say I’m a late bloomer. I got married when I was 31.”

Her words unintentionally cut into you. Here you are at 29 without a beau in sight. You take a fast swig of your beer and end up hitting the empty glass with a clink to your teeth. Nobody notices.

“Enough about me, however, how about you?”

“I started my own business actually. It’s been doing really well and it’s been a crazy mind. Imagine me, my own boss at only 33!”

You nervously join them when they suddenly laugh together.

“Hi, can I get another pint please? Actually add a tequila shot to that,” you whisper the last part to the waitress you had just stopped.

And that was how the rest of the night went. People asking one another what they had accomplished. Any moment in time after 30 would not be mentioned until somebody travelled to Uganda to build houses at 31 or another gave birth at the same age. Below 30, anything would be attributed to luck or in your case…

“What are you doing currently?” somebody asks you, “The little baby of our class.”

Swallowing your third tequila shot of the night, you wonder for the umpteenth time how you had become a part of this giant sharing circle. You wonder if it’s a blessing or a curse that you had graduated a little early and thus was younger than most of your peers.

“Well,” you start, “I’m currently working at DailyHive.”

“Ohh!” a man gushes. You recognize him as the once-upon-a-time science partner you used to cheat notes off of. “I use DailyHive nearly as much as Instagram these days. You guys cover everything from news to sports to fashion.”

You shrug. “Yeah. It’s, uh… it’s a pretty big company!”

“What are you doing there?”

Kiko-ex-Sooyoung hits the man teasingly on the shoulder. “Y/N is probably the Director of Marketing or something. Remember how she used to spend all class doodling in her notebook?”

“Or sleeping!” someone quips.

You don’t join in when they all laugh.

“I’m…an intern,” you say with as much pride as you can in a group of established professionals ranging from dermatologists to that one guy who had flown around the world as a TedTalk guest speaker.

A hushed silence befalls everyone.

“That’s…cool!” the same man encourages you, “Interns are totally rad! Everyone wants an intern spot these days.”

His girlfriend pats your arm, almost empathetically. “Yeah. I know a bunch of people who first start off as interns and then they shoot up the ladder quick enough. As long as you’re no longer an intern at 30, you’re golden!”

Once again, the entire group laughs as if she has said the most hilarious of jokes.

She composes herself and says to you, “Because after that, you should have accomplished something.”

Her words still ring in your ears as you sit at your desk this morning.

Yeah…something. All you need to do is accomplish something in the next three months before you are officially, 29 + 1.

Your fingers tap against your thighs silently while you observe the current debate that is occurring in the conference room. You barely have time to sweep the falling hair back behind your ear as your fingers ferociously fly across the keyboard to keep in track with the meeting.

Fei is arguing that the implement of a new search word system would boost users while Daniel says that it is a waste of resources. Instead, everything should be put into updating the entire system as a whole. You have long since lost track of their words as neither pertain to what you do as an intern.

“Enough,” the CEO of DailyHive holds up a hand. His one word causes the entire room to hush over – truly, the words of a god.

And that might as well be what he is. With his hair swept back and a lone tendril curling perfectly above his brow, Kim Seokjin is legitimately a walking god. Off his broad shoulders hang an expensive white linen suit bought with his pocket change and your yearly salary. A pair of sunglasses hangs in the V of the collared shirt dipping low enough to blur the lines between being fashionably professional and just downright sexy.

The snap of his fingers brings you back to the present.

He dramatically rolls his eyes and accepts that you are an incompetent minute-taker.

“I have to remember that the world just doesn’t move as fast as I do.”

- Quote: Rolling Stones 2019 Kim Seokjin.

Now if only he’d remember he had once said that.

He points at each of them with one finger, then swipes to the left. “Both of you, solve this outside. I don’t want to hear your voices any longer. You two from the marketing team, Ungroomed Stache and Acne Chin, create me a report if we are to implement Ms. Song’s idea. The two of you from…” he takes a pause here clearly having forgotten who his employees are, “The two of you do the same thing but for Mr. Hwang.”

The pair from accounting open their mouth to protest that they are in charge of only numbers, but they are ignored.

“All of you out now. Except you,” he points his finger directly at you, “Stay.”

Nobody utters a single word until they have all left and you are left alone with him. Standing before him with your hands folded nicely in front of you, you blink and wait.

He stares right back at you, picks up his coffee mug and drops it. The clatter of ceramic smashing against the ground causes a pause in the loud buzz outside the room. You know everybody’s focus has been shifted into the room.

“Do you want to kill me?” he drawls.

You take a long inhale. “No,” you say.

“No?” he repeats the word, “Well I think you do. Did you check this coffee before you brought it to me? I tasted cinnamon in it. You know how I’m allergic to cinnamon. Get me a new cup. And this mess, get somebody to clean it. I don’t want the smell of coffee in this room when I have my next meeting here in twenty. I’m taking a smoke a break.”

He stands up and brushes past you without saying anything else.

Nobody can be allergic to cinnamon. Besides if he had actually tasted cinnamon and was that sensitive, he would be dead. And good riddance to that.

Of course, you say none of this and wordlessly begin to pick up the broken ceramic pieces of the dead mug. The bustling outside the meeting room has returned back to its normal state of chaos. Seeing the ugly stain of coffee on the once pristine carpet causes you to swear beneath your breath.

“Who the fuck is allergic to cinnamon?” a new voice says, sliding up beside you.

The second god in DailyHive; the much nicer and evidently preferred Kim; Taehyung takes the mug pieces from you and drops it into the garbage bin.

Blessed with not only intelligence but devilishly model-like features, he is your desk buddy in the small space allotted for interns and your sole friend in the company.

“Tae,” you sigh with exasperation upon seeing your lifesaver, “What am I going to do about this stain? He’s going to return in fifteen and there’s no way I can get a coffee stain out of this expensive-ass carpet.”

Taehyung taps a long finger to his lips, leaves the room briefly, and returns with a roll of Bounty sheets and a can of Febreze. He promptly blots as much of the coffee off from the carpet then proceeds to pull the meeting table.

“C’mon, Y/N, don’t just stand there. Help me! Time is of the essence!”

You laugh and join him in moving the table so that one of the legs cover the stain 80% of the way. Once he is satisfied, he takes the Febreze and sprays until the whole room smells like “Hawaiian Aloha”.

“You’re welcome.” He gives an extravagant bow, the motion popping open the top button of his shirt to expose a surprisingly chiseled chest.

Fei returns back into the room holding a phone to her ear and a clipboard in her left hand. “What the hell? It smells like a Bath & Body Works in here. Intern, aren’t you supposed to be filing or something? Stop standing around and be useful.” She grips Taehyung’s arm and drags him out of the room. “Button up. This is a professional workplace.”

You give him a tiny wave as Taehyung is steered away by his girlfriend and back to the cubicles.

Taehyung may be your saviour at work, but outside, it cannot be denied that your brother is the true Fountain of Life.

A week has passed since the coffee incident (you suspect a cleaning personnel had found the stain and cleaned up after your improv as aforementioned stain can no longer be found), but Jimin still brings it up.

“I still can’t believe that he said he was allergic to cinnamon. I’ve never heard of such bullshit before,” your brother says over the phone. You can practically hear his eyeroll from across the world.

As a renowned ophthalmologist, you have not seen Jimin for close to a year as he has been initiating his new clinic, a flying eye hospital.

“You should hear his Starbucks order. I always feel like I’m ready to launch my next EP whenever I’m at the counter,” you say.

Jimin laughs. There is the muffled sounds of voices as his never-ending flow of patients have arrived for the day.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” you say upon hearing that, “You’re probably really busy.”

“No,” he says, “I’ve got a few minutes if you’ve got a few. I miss talking to my baby sister.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Jiminie,” you say using the nickname he hated.

“Oh that’s right. Your birthday’s in a little under three months, right? My baby sister is turning the big three-oh.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

“Want me to come visit you?”

You contemplate the idea once, having not seen Jimin in quite a while.

“Only if you have time. But I feel like Mom and Dad would probably want to see you more. Speaking of which, um… How are Mom and Dad?”

“They’re good. I hear Dad is finally going to retire this year. He’s giving his practice to Kibum, you remember him? Mom will probably start pestering us about what to do for his retirement party.”

There is a pause.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to say hi to them once in a while.”

You sigh. “And say what? Hey, it’s me. The child that ran away from home at 18? Yeah, I’m not a doctor like everybody else in the family but a 29 year old intern at a popular app company. Whassuuup?”

“Y/N, that’s not what I – ”

“It’s okay, Jimin. I’ve come to accept that not everybody is cut out to be a doctor. I just wish Mom and Dad could realize that.”

Jimin sighs on your behalf. There is the sound of a crying child coming through the earphone. “Well, your contract expires a few weeks after your birthday, right? Who knows, you might be the next Mark Zuckerberg.”

He has never explicitly inquired about your life plan and you know this is as much as he is willing to push without asking, “What’s next after this intern hiccup?” At least he had the decency to compare you to a controversial Internet entrepreneur.

The child is crying much louder now.

“Again with my birthday. But I’ll let you know,” is the only reply you can come up with at the moment. “Okay, brother, go forth and heal the blind. I bless thee in the name of the Holy Spirit, Son and Ghost.”

There is true laughter that rings from Jimin as he ends the call. “It’s Father, Son and Holy Ghost you dweeb. I love you sis.”

“You too.” You hang up first before he can add anything else.

With that, you enter into the 7am Starbucks queue and prepare yourself in running the first single of your long overdue EP.

Seokjin leans back in his chair, watching you from inside his office. Today he has chosen a black turtleneck and a brazen maroon-nearly purple suit jacket to complete the outfit. For once, there is an empty mug of coffee beside him and his morning headache has been appeased.

He knew he had given you an impossible task.

“Compile all the troubleshooting errors we have received since the launch of DailyHive. Organize it in a manner that allows me to identify the most prominent problem. Run it through whomever you please before giving it to me. I don’t need to waste my time correcting your mistakes.”

There is an amused smile that bubbles beneath his otherwise stoic features. He cannot deny that there is, might he dare say, a cute quality about you as you manually scan through the received concerns on your laptop dating back to the initial beta tests – the ones that were lost in a data crash and only backed up with unintelligible scribblings of previous interns.

The moment you had been introduced as the new intern, you had caught his eye. You are exquisitely mundane, and perhaps the reason you had even caught him the first time was due to solely to the fact that you were older than most interns – himself even. Nevertheless, you continue to present him small surprises in your tenacity and capability to tackle challenges.

“Mr. Kim.”

His intercom comes alive with the voice of his secretary.

Seokjin’s eyes do not leave you as he answers.

“Mr. Hwang is on line two. Would you like me to defer him to a later time if you are currently busy?”

Seokjin cannot help but sigh. Hwang Junho, his co-founder, while a genius in international business is also a notorious chatterbox and gossip. There is seldom a reason for Junho to call him except to relay the cover titles of E!Magazine.

“Did he mention a reason for calling?” Seokjin inquires.

His secretary seems to be reading from a note. “He says it’s to do with the company. Something he read from Cosmopolitan this morning.”

So not E! but another sister celebrity gossip blog. He checks his watch and duly notes that he certainly has no meetings scheduled until later in the afternoon where your report would be needed to run a preliminary analysis.

“Sir?”

“Yes, put him through. But tell him I’ve got only five minutes, so he’s better give me the Cliffnotes version,” Seokjin sighs again.

Before he can be connected, Seokjin quickly says, “What’s the name of that intern again?”

“Who?” his secretary asks, “We’ve hired four since the beginning of the year.”

“The one who keeps wanting to poison me.”

“I’m sorry, Sir?” she sounds concerned.

“The one who keeps forgetting that I despise cinnamon.”

There is no response.

“The older one. Spilled coffee a while ago but still has enough coordination to pull together a decent report.”

“Ah,” she says.

He waits patiently as she searches through the database, eventually giving him your name. He gives a slight pause and then says, “Good. Now patch me with Junho.”

There is a momentary buzz as the call becomes connected in which Seokjin turns over the syllables of your name wordlessly.

“Mr. Kim. The man of the hour. How are you, my brother?” Junho’s baritone fills the office in a manner of seconds.

Despite the little annoying quirks, Seokjin cannot help but smile when hearing the voice of his best friend.

“You’ve got three minutes, Junho.”

Junho grumbles. “That’s not my fault. You were the one still on the line with your secretary. Is it still Yerin? ‘Cuz I won’t blame you if that’s the case. Did I catch you doing some naughty phone sex during office hours?”

“Two.”

“Holy hell. Fine. It’s always business with you. That’s why the tabloids are always writing you as an uptight asshole.”

This shifts Seokjin’s attention to the phone. His name is seldomly mentioned except for the features in business columns. He prefers to stay out of the limelight.

“What?”

“Put your name on Google.”

Seokjin does as he is told.

There are millions of results, but the first few pages share the same headline. He clicks on the first one with a grimace.

“Kim Seokjin. Mr. Worldwide Handsome as noted by his fans, has recently sparked Internet outrage.”

A quick skim of the otherwise trashy article brought to the surface a summary: his last dating scandal had ended badly and the repercussions of blowing off a famous celebrity’s daughter had finally caught up with him. The Internet was calling him arrogant, narrow-minded, and even greedy. “The young Chief Executive Officer of booming social media app DailyHive has been accused of using his relationship with actress XYZ to further his own business. Once he gained recognition from aforementioned relationship, he has cold-heartedly cast her away to pursue his next.” “You’re calling me for this bullshit?” Seokjin scoffs. Junho tuts his tongue loudly. “This is not bullshit. It’s affecting the image of your company. Do you think people want to download and support an app that is run by somebody who is being called cruel and dishonest? You’ve got to address this soon before it gets out of control. You’re lucky I have alerts set for these type of things. I caught it for you just in the nick of time.” Seokjin inhales deeply. “You’re also lucky that I’ve got the perfect solution in mind.” “That is?” “The Silver Gala,” Junho references the prestigious event. The Silver Gala is hosted annually and attended by the largest celebrities as well as other wealthy investors and guests. Those in the social circle shared between Seokjin and Junho often yearned for tickets to attend events such as this, as they serve as excellent networking opportunities. Besides the above, such events are circled by reporters and writers of gossip columns to get the exclusive scoop on any eyebrow-raising rumours. “The solution lies in such an event,” Junho continues, “You know how many people will be there. All you’ve got to do is show up with your average girl-next-door type and it’ll show how you’re actually really humble and down to earth. Kim Seokjin is perfectly capable of dating like any regular human being. He doesn’t use “love” or whatever to further his business. Love is the connection between two souls; two individuals who – ” “Beep. Your time has run out Junho. I’ve got another meeting scheduled right this moment,” Seokjin interrupts. “Dude, seriously. Think about it. You could bring Yerin. Everbody loves a good CEO and his secretary affair. And if that’s too juicy for you, I can introduce you to some girls. Or maybe we could go back to our university days and hit a bar, y’know?” Junho tries his best to persuade. “Fuck!” you swear beneath your breath right as you walk into Kim Seokjin’s office. His door had been open and, in your excitement to show your completed report, you had dropped all the loose papers on the ground. Four hours of organization gone, just like that. You hope that at least Seokjin hasn’t heard or noticed you as he had been engrossed in his phone call. Seokjin had in fact noticed you. He can’t help himself but follow the curvature of your bare shoulder as your bangs escape the hold of your scrunchie and sweep across your skin. “Don’t worry, Junho, I’ve just thought about it,” he says with a smile.

288 notes · View notes

bubblybubbubs · 3 years

Text

Stuck With Me (3)

Summary - Draco’s POV on losing his soulmate

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count - 3.5k

AN- I am so sorry this took so long, I hope you all enjoy it!

Part 1 2

taglist - @lonely-kermit @lifeasdreamgirl @mera-shifts @abbyloubaton @clumsilyclueless @confusedscreaminggremlin @seanh-boredom @weasleysmalfoyxstyles @thefandomplace @mayempress @shadyrose66622 @jay-jay-love @ktvia @lovebynorth @sweet-creature98 @remmyswritings @chaoticgirl04

Sometimes Draco thought about how different his life would be had he not left you, had you not gotten hurt and lost your fucking memory.

It was truly ridiculous, the universe was actively conspiring against him, he was sure of it.

His current living situation just proved that further to him. “Wake the fuck up.” Blaise said slowly pouring water on his face even though Blaise himself was evidently groggy. “I will kill you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Draco was unsure as to why Blaise had chosen to live in a crappy apartment when his family Manor was free. He missed his silk sheets and expensive pillows. Yet sadly the ministry had decided they wanted to take that leaving Draco on Blaise’s smelly consignment store couch. Had he gotten completely cut off by his family? Perhaps, it would make the disgustingly plain beans and toasts they ate daily make a lot more sense. He’d hate to think that Blaise fed them this by choice.

“Guess who wrote.” Blaise said, wiggling a letter in Draco’s face.

“Loud ginger?”

“Loud ginger.” He confirmed dropping it in on Draco’s face. “You should answer her before we get a howler, then we’ll really see how loud the ginger can get.” Draco looked at the letter, Ginny’s name was scrawled on the envelope and the aggressiveness of the signature made him heavily considering not opening it but the possibility of getting a howler from her convinced him otherwise.

Draco,

You are the worst and I hate you. I’m not sure if you care anymore given that you have refused to make contact with her but y/n is doing fine. I mean sure she’s been asking about her soulmate and lying to her is slowly killing me, but I’m glad you and Blaise are having fun in your bachelor pad and that you have successfully cleared your amnesiac soulmate out of your head.

Looking forward to hearing your pathetic excuses,

Ginny Weasley.

It was way too fucking early for this.

Things were strange.

You had gotten most of your memories back but everything was very different than what you remembered, everyone was different after the war.

The Weasleys, oh the poor Weasleys, they were like your family but the life has been sucked out of them without Fred. They had all tried to hide it from you, they believed you were already going through enough and you didn’t need their problems too. Ginny especially, she hadn’t left your side since you woke up. You kind of felt bad for Harry because whenever he wanted to spend some one on one time with Ginny she always insisted you tagged along.

For example whatever the fuck this current situation was.

“I’m really sorry Harry.” You whispered to him. “I told her I’d be fine alone.”

At first it had sort of made sense how careful everyone had been around you, but at this point it was exhausting. You would walk into a room and it would just go silent. You lost your memory, not your basic communication skills.

“It’s fine, I understand Ginny can be quite persistent.”

“What about me.” Ginny said hooking her arms with the both of you.

“Just that I don’t think I should be going on your dates anymore, it’s kind-“

“Ginny.” Harry said interrupting you pointing towards a boy down the street. He was blonde and lanky, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

You had seen Ginny mad, in fact it was one of the first things to come back to you. Her calm fury was something that hadn’t remained constant since she was young and right now you saw it on her face as she stared daggers into the boy.

She scoffed. “I’ll be back.”

“This might take a while.” Harry said quietly, shaking his head. “Come on we can meet Ginny there.” You stole a glance across the street as Harry dragged you away. Ginny was yelling at the boy but he didn’t seem to care because he wasn’t looking at her he was looking at you. You felt your face heat up and you looked away from him following Harry. “Who was that, should I know him?”

Harry paused for a minute.

He had that face that people had whenever they were walking on eggshells around you.“He went to school with us but I don’t think you two were ever friends.” The way he didn’t look you in the eyes screamed to you that he was lying.Harry was always a horrible bloody liar.

It was really hard for Draco to process what Ginny was saying. Her anger had gone right to her face and Draco had been silently betting with himself as to how long it would take for her face to turn the same color as her hair. “Your face is really red.” Draco said, struggling to hold back his laughter. “Are you drunk.” Ginny said stoically.

Was he? It was likely, he honestly couldn't remember the morning or yesterday. The days were sort of blending together.

“Malfoy.” Ginny said. Usually when people used his name they were yelling at him or were angry at him. But Ginny said it with pity which somehow felt worse.

“I don’t get why you're doing this to yourself.” She said. “You’re miserable.” He deserved to be miserable.

“It’s for the best.”

“How’s that.”

Draco had no interest in divulging his feelings to weaslette of all people, but it seemed his judgement was slightly impaired by the alcohol he may or may not had been drinking. “I’m going to fucking Azakban Ginevra,I just dont see the point in telling her I’m her soulmate and possibly facing rejection just for me to be thrown in Azkaban for the rest of my life.” Draco huffed. “Even if she somehow forgave me, I doubt the dementors will be allowing conjugal visits.”

“There are no more dementors at Azkaban, Kingsley got rid of them.”

Now normally Draco was against hitting girls but he was considering it heavily. “Thank you Weasley. I feel way better, I’m sure Azkaban is a paradise now. Remind me to send Kingsley a thank you letter.”

“Draco.” Ginny said.

Gross, hearing Ginny say his first name with pity felt even worse.

“You’re not going to Azkaban, Harry agreed to speak at your trial.”

“Oh great he’ll testify to the one time I helped him, I’m sure it’ll cancel everything else out.” He said. “I’m not a good person Weasley, that’s why I know I’m going to Azkaban, because I deserve it.”

“Is that why you’re staying away from y/n?” Ginny said even angrier than before. “Is this some sort of self punishment.”

Draco stayed quiet.

“Merlin, Draco go to fucking therapy.” Ginny huffed. “You’re not the only one that’ll suffer because of your self pity. She needs her fucking soulmate back, as much as I hate you for everything you’ve put her through I can’t argue with the fucking universe and neither can you.”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have fucking gotten involved with her in the first place, it’s only put her in danger.” He took a deep shaky breath. “And her losing her memory was the universe’s way of telling me to stay away.”

He had known for a long time that she was too good for him

It was dark and he was tired, turns out making potter stinks badges and teaching all of Slytherin clever chants was demanding. Draco wasn't really paying attention to his surroundings as he walked back to his dorm until of course he heard quiet sobs. He was a firm believer that crying in public was pathetic, especially in a hallway where anyone could stumble across you. And he might’ve told them that had it not been you. He had been thinking about you, not that he would ever tell anyone that ever. But how could he not, you were his soulmate and that had to mean something.

He barely had time to think as his feet moved on their own bringing him in front of you.

“Why are you crying.”

Merlin, could he have been any less compassionate.

“Why do you care Malfoy.” You said.

He hated the way you looked pretty even if your eyes were all puffy and your face was all red.

“I don’t.”

He did. He even started to walk away for dramatic effect of course.

“I’m scared.” It felt weird to hear sincere words from you that weren't you yelling at him, and he hated the fact that he didn't hate it. “Harry has his first task tomorrow he could get hurt or worse.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Don’t tell him I told you this but he has to be some sort of invincible to defeat Voldemort at the age of 1. Don't you think?”He could hardly believe the words he was saying.

“I suppose you’re right.” You finished off.

Draco sat tensely, he wasn't exactly sure what to do. He couldn't hug you could he? No that would be seriously overstepping. You would probably punch him in the face, again. After all you had been the one who wanted to forget about the whole soulmate thing and of course you were a halfblood and a gryffindor on top of that. It would never work.

For once he hated being right.

You were actively weighing how likely it was for Ginny to kill you if you woke her up.

Very, is what you eventually came up with. Maybe you could play the amnesia card.

“What do you want y/n.” Ginny grogged from under her. “I’ve been listening to you shifting around for the last hour.”

You had been staying at the Weasley’s and you had absolutely refused to take Fred’s bed so that had resulted in a cramped hammock floating in Ginny’s room.

You turned around to face her with a sorry look on your face.

“Did I know that boy, the one you were yelling at.” You said. “I just feel like I knew him.”

Ginny was quiet the same way Harry was. “No.” She said turning away from you. “No you didn’t.”

“Ginny-”

“Y/n please don’t.” Ginny said, cutting you off. “It’s not for me to tell, if it was believe me you’d already know.”

“I want to go.”

“Go where.”

“To Hogwarts.”

It was embarrassing. Everyone had gone already; they had been able to at least attempt to cope with the trauma they had endured. And you who couldn't even remember the bloody war couldn't work up the nerves to go.

Ginny stared at you for a bit before muttering. “Hermione and Ron are going soon, they’ll likely let you join them.” You were about to make an argument about going on your own before Ginny turned back around nonverbally telling you that the conversation was over.

You still couldn’t sleep and not from lack of trying. Your mind was whirring, ever since you had seen Ginny yell at the boy your lack of memory seemed to be feeling different. And your fear was beginning to settle in, your doctor said that some memories may never come back and that thought made you sick to your stomach. You didn’t feel all that different, Ginny said you were the same whenever you asked. But she could be lying (since she seemed to be in the habit of doing so these days) and you would never know because you had amnesia.

Draco was regretting not taking his plea deal. He would much rather be sleeping in Azkaban than waking up on Blaise’s concerningly uncomfortable couch to an angry looking ginger towering over him. No one seemed to value his rest and it was getting ridiculous. He pressed his eyes closed and pull his blanket further over his face in hopes that maybe Ginevra would disappear. Sadly that was not the case and Ginny ripped the blanket off of him leaving Draco quite cold.

Ginny stared down at him as she stood impatiently at the foot of the couch.

“Blaise someone broke into your flat.”

“I noticed mate.” Blaise said who looked just as exhausted hunched over his coffee.

“We need to talk.”

“We talked remember, or were you drunk too?”

Ginny did not look amused and Draco almost felt bad for being so difficult but then he remembered he didn't care.

“Y/n’s going to Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione. She’s likely going to get her memories back.” Ginny said. “Thought you should know.”

Draco sat up. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Ginny said taking a deep breath. “You need to be there.”

“How so?”

“She’s going to remember all the shitty things you’ve done to her and are yet to apologize for and you’re going to lose your soulmate for good.”

“I don't see how me being there will change that.”

Ginny didn't answer him rather she walked towards his chimney. “You know what, screw you. I truly do not care if you go, I just thought you should have the choice that's all.”

Ginny didn't look at Draco, rather giving Blaise a short nod before using the floo to go back to the Burrow.

Draco let himself fall back down to the couch as he listened to Blaises loudly chow down his cereal.

“So are you going to go?” Blaise said his mouth still full.

He felt bad for Blaise’s mum all that money on etiquette lessons for what?

“No.” Draco said, burying his head in his pillow.

“You’re a tosser.”

“I can live with that.”

He could and he has. If he had a sickle for everytime he was called some variation of ‘tosser’ he certainly would not be sleeping on Blaise’s couch.

“I’m calling Pansy.” Blaise didn’t scare him, not in the slightest. But Pansy was another story, Pansy scared everyone, especially the people that loved her which sadly included Draco. “I will kill you.”

“You’re just saying that cause you know she’ll knock some sense into you.”

“I have a lot of sense.” Draco groaned. “In fact I have too much sense.”

Blaise ignored Draco’s exaggerated groans as he called Pansy.The call was short or maybe it was long, all Draco knew was that Pansy was standing over him with that look on her face.

“I’m not going, and you’re not changing my mind Pansy.”

“Blaise leave.” Pansy ordered.

Blaise looked insulted. “This is my house.”

“You call this a house?”

Blaise huffed mumbling under his breath curses at Pansy.

“That was rude.”

“So you're going to lecture me on rudeness now, that's rich coming from you.”

“I dont care.”

“You look and smell like shit, I can tell you ‘don’t care’.” Pansy said.

Never in her life had Pansy been one to sugar coat things and apparently she had no intention of starting to do so. Draco was going to argue it was the couch but he realized he couldn't remember the last time he showered so he kept his mouth shut. Draco a year ago would’ve drowned himself in the black lake had he known he’d come to be like this.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m pulling the card.”

“Pansy no that’s not fair.” Draco said sitting up.

“Fair?”

Poor choice of words.

“Draco, do I have to remind you my soulmate is dead, I stopped feeling tugs and being able to talk to my soulmate when i was 13. Your soulmate is alive by some fucking miracle, and frankly you’re being a selfish prick.”

“Oh.” He always hated when Pansy talked about it. Not because he didn't care but according to Pansy because he cared too much and the last time he had shown any sign of pity towards Pansy it had not gone well for him.

“What lies do you have Ginevra feeding her, does she think she has no soulmate, does she think her soulmate is dead?”

“She doesn’t think she has a soulmate.” Draco said in a low voice, he wasn't proud of what he was doing but he also knew he had no choice. “She was in her coma during the tug. I figured by the time the next one rolls around I have something figured out.”

“And what about you.” She asked. “She may not remember you but you’ll remember her, you'll never forget that you have a soulmate out there that you refuse to see.”

“I won't let myself ruin her.”

“She’s a grown woman, I find it demeaning that you don't see her capable of making her own damn choices.”

“What?”

“You think she'll hate you, you think she’ll be ruined, you think she’s better off. What about what she thinks? You think she'd be okay with you slowly killing yourself?”

“You're a bitch Pansy.”

“So I’ve been told.” She looked towards the clock.

“Come on lets get you something to eat.”

She reached her hand out for Draco to grab.

“I can walk to the kitchen without holding your hand thank you very much.”

Pansy rolled her eyes and grabbed onto Draco’s arm.

“What are you-”

Draco’s sentence was cut off by Pansy apparating them both out of the loft.

Draco had gone to his fair share of therapy, did it ever work? no, Draco would rather die before talking about his feelings with a stranger but he had been taught his fair share of anger exercises . And Merlin did they come in handy, truly it was the only thing keeping him from throttling Pansy as she stood there with a smug face looking at the rubble that once was Hogwarts.

“Pansy.” Draco said slowly.

“Shut up, look she’s right there.”

“I’m not ready Pansy.” Draco said wiping his palms on his pants out of stress. “I wanted to bring her flowers.”

“flowers?”

“Forget me nots.” He said with a sardonic dry chuckle. “It was our unofficial flower, ironic isn’t it.”

“The fact that you have an unofficial flower makes me want to throw up.”

“I need flowers.” He said. Pansy groaned before searching the grass. She picked up a dandelion swirling her wand transfiguring it into a bouquet of forget me nots.

“Here, go.” He was about to give another excuse but Pansy apperated away. The one time he needed her she leaves.

He wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to approach her without seeming like a stalker.

His thoughts were disrupted by Hermione and Ron walking up to him. He wanted to turn around so bad but he had no doubt that if he did so Hermione and Ron wouldn’t hesitate to curse him.

“Granger, Weasley.” He said sticking his hands as deep as his pockets would allow him.

“I didn’t think you were going to come.” Hermione said.

Draco shrugged.

“Just go talk to her.” Ron said.

“Thats why Im here.”

Ron mumbled something under his breath but Draco didn’t feel like fighting Weasley.

Draco had never felt such anxiety because of another person. He had always been confident and walked around like he owned the world, but now he felt scared.He watched you as you traced your hands across the bricks of Hogwarts, his steps faltering as he came closer to you.

“Hi Y/n.” He called out.

You turned to look at him. Draco’s heart felt heavy at the way you looked at him, not any recognition in your eyes. You had once looked at him with such love, then such hate but now you looked at him with nothing. because right now that’s what he was to you, and it broke his heart.

“You.” You said stepping closer. “You were the one talking to Ginny.”

“I wouldn’t really call it talking, she yelled I stood there.”

“Ginny does that a lot.” You shrugged.

“Yeah.” He said.

You spotted the flowers in his hands.

“I’m sorry, who did you lose?”

His hands tightened on the flowers.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You said. “I lost my friend Fred, and my memory. But I don't feel like I lost it since I can't remember ever having it. But I miss Fred.”

He studied every centimeter of your face noting the subtle changes he didn’t notice the last time he saw you as you rambled on about Fred anxiously.

“You.” He said voice wavering. “I lost you.”

You stayed quiet for a second.

“I’m sorry I-“

“don’t know who I am?” He said with a dry laugh. “I was sort of expecting that.”

You didn’t say anything studying his face for anything that sparked a memory in you.

He dug through his jacket pocket pulling out a photo.

His hands were sweating and he tried his best not to touch your hand. Partially because he didn’t want you to feel his sweaty hands and because he feared he would break down at the realization that you were finally here in front of him.

“I’m Draco and you’re my soulmate.” He said

AN THIS IS NOT THE LAST PART THE LAST PART WILL BE THE NEXT PART

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy #ginny weasley x reader #hp imagine #harry potter #harry potter x reader #hinny #ronmione #hp #draco #malfoy #x reader #stuck with me #angst

240 notes · View notes

kunimikat · 4 years

Note

hi! i'm having a hard time mentally lately and i recently found out that i kind of erm,,,,, when my mental health is really bad my brain is like "no!😀" and skyrockets me into absolute baby mode and just want cuddles and love and i feel really lonely and don't talk a lot. bokuto is my comfort character so if you woudlnt mind could you do some headcanons or whatever you want- about him helping? feel free to ignore this i know it's a bit strange💔 but i thought i'd throw it out there :) 💞

I really hope it gets better for you, I hope my shitty HCs somehow makes your day a little better. Lots of love 🥺🤲❤️oh and this might’ve come off more angsty but I promise I put fluff at the end. And listen to this while reading cause it just makes this- 💔🦟🦗🦟🦗❤️

Requests are open! And if you have requests like this I’m happy to do them :)

Also proof read but still might be mistakes.sorry, there might be some triggering things in here, but there is nothing crazy so I think it’s ok 🧍

Before you guys even got together he’d always check up on you.

To the point were he subconsciously did it anywhere, and anytime

He’d give you small owl knickknacks or a snack before school started, or when it ended. Making sure you ate something that day.

Or he’d just try to make you laugh as much as he could during then

But sometimes he’d drop everything, and just give you a tight hug. Anywhere, no matter who it was in front of. Holding you close to him, not saying anything but you could hear him tripping over the words he wanted to say but just couldn’t.

He could tell it was a bad day where you’d come in and just sit on the benches or bleachers with both in mind but staring at the bright fluorescent gym lights. Where you’d just zone out mid-conversation and look at your feet or phone in disinterest. When you’d throw in a sarcastic self-deprecation joke when someone would ask if you’re ok.

Or when you’d have days where you’d stay up studying, doing your homework, and not sleeping for who knows how long when you come in with the energy drink in hand. Or the days when you’d get nothing done, and just sleep everything away and just deal with it the next day.

It didn’t take a therapist or a mastermind to tell you weren’t ok.

The nervous tics, the small lip bites, the impulsive “Let’s do something and think about consequences later!”

Bokuto knew he was just like the latter but at least it wasn’t all the time, so when he saw his bestfriend and crush slowly killing themselves mentally (and maybe physically, he was hoping not), yet cracking jokes about it the next second. All he wanted to do was run in and kiss you until all you felt was loved.

He just wanted to see you happy again

He felt like fainting everytime he saw you giggle or laugh at his antics(knowing Bokuto that has probably happened)

Or when you and Ahgkaaashi would hang out with him at the Owl section of the Zoo and pick out your favorite ones

When you two would try cooking some dish either of you couldn even try pronouncing and it ending in a mess. One he didn’t mind cleaning up when he got to talk to you throughout the whole time.

The times you’d have to turn in your work a little late because you were helping Bokuto cope after losing a game, which he felt bad about but you brushed it off with a genuine smile saying “I can’t leave poor Akaashi with Bokuemo for the rest of the week can I?” “H-Hey!”

When you and Bokuto would hang out in the bird themed cafe on the end of the street from school. And just be yourselves without having to impress anyone.

How you excuse yourself from the group of people you barely knew the names of, to go cry in the bathroom then come back as if nothing happened.

Times where you both forget your in highschool with insecurities, voice cracks, stress, and having to make a decision regarding the rest of your life by the end of it. And just laying in some random parking lot, staring into the blaring street lamp light and the stars behind it.

Bokuto loved it when you didn’t use the jokes to cover up how you felt. Or how you jumped to another subject when he would ask. When you tell him everything you’re feeling.,

The confusion, the way you didn’t know why your mind worked the way it did and why you felt horrible all of a sudden but fine the next.

You wanted it to stop, to have an explanation for the way you think and why. Yet now you’re telling no one, and clearly holding it in. Bokuto was now watching you letyour emotions eat you alive from the inside out.

He just wanted the you he knew. The you that he had so many fun memories with. Not the forced persona you played when you needed a cover up for how you truly felt.

This wasn’t the way he wanted to confess but it was getting all too much for Bokuto to watch,

Bokuto’s tears were streaming down his face as he had you held out in front of him. His body was trembling and his grasp was so shaky it was easy to break away. But you knew you could ever do that to him, or yourself. He clenched his jaw , not being able to lock eyes with you, a painful tug at his heart everytime he locked eyes with your hopeless look. You felt tears brimming your eyes yet you didn’t even know why he sat you down here. But you felt it was your fault, so immediately you let out a ‘Sorry-‘

Instead of an answer Bokuto pulled you toward him, pushing your head into the crook of his neck. You let out a choked noise as surprise, instinctively wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Why...why’re you saying sorry Y/N? I should be saying sorry for not helping you, I-“

Bokuto lost his breath for a second as a silent sob wracked his body, bringing you closer to him. Tears were falling down from your eyes but you could barely feel them as they became a stream.

“Y/N, I love you, I love you so, so much. Why are you doing this to yourself? You know you could come talk to me, I-I’m not the the best therapist but,-“

He let out a shaky breath, pulling you back out to look at you directly. You squeezed his arm that was holding you, reassuring him you felt the same way, but also to go on. Puffy eyes and a tear stained face looked at you sternly. “Please, please don’t keep these feelings to yourself Y/N. It hurts, it hurts me so much when I see you like this. Especially since you feel like you can’t come to me. I-, I-“

Bokuto bit his lip, clenching his eyes tight, forcing the tears that were already threatening to fall out. “I don’t want to see you like this. I love you, I love you.”The only thing lacing his tone is the sincerity in it.

He says it again to make sure you understood every word that came from him. But he didn’t need to. His grip so tight on your arms it almost hurt. But in a way, you didn’t mind it as it showed you how much more serious this was to him.

“You have me, Kaashi, the team, and honestly anyone! We all love you and what you have to say!”

You both give small shaky laughs, despite the situation, the tension slowly melting. He wipes the tears that were flowing down your cheeks, kissing each one after he did. You held each one of his hand. Squeezing them to give yourself courage, and to know this was all too real.

“Bokuto...I’m so sorry to you and everyone else. I- I locked myself away because I thought I would be bothering you and everyone and could just get over it then push the feelings down. But now seeing you...seeing you so much...pain, someone I love hurt because of me. I...I really realize how I was affecting everyone.”

Bokuto tried denying but you shook your head, your eyes that were looking down were now up at him.

“I’ve come to reality especially after seeing you like this Bo, I love you too, and I want to make it up to you this whole week! No, month...year? Whatever. I’ll be better for our future. And you know what, why don’t I help you with that math homework so we’re both gonna get better at something by the end of the week!”

Laugher filled the once cold room with a feeling of warmth that you couldn’t explain. Bokuto leaned in and gave a small peck. You were about to give a small hum in happiness. Until he pulled far back away from you in panic.

“I-Is something wrong Bo? Does my breath stink-“

“N-NONONO NOTHING LIKE THAT. ITS JUST...I just kissed you without asking...a-and I read in a magazine you’re supposed to do that or your crush won’t like you back!”

Silence.

But you interrupted it with your laughter, holding onto to one of his shoulders to not fall over. He had a confused look on his face as he fidgeted, not knowing what to do. “Y-Y/N! What?”

“You’re so stupid Bo,”

And like that you pulled him into a kiss, one he quickly melted into. He made a small surprised noise, but that was the only noise of complaint. The kiss turned into Bokuto giving you pecks all over your face. A giddy feeling in your stomach with each one. Between the kisses you say “Y’know I’m surprised you decided to sit down and read a magazine without testing on the real deal.” His face has a small flush, instead of saying anything he just kisses you aggressively all over, causing you to reel back and laugh harder. He pulls away from the assault and grabs your hand. He leads you over to the couch and hugs you as you both flop onto the couch. You looked at him confused, “Bo?”

But he just turned the TV on, clicked through the channels, until he found one he liked. He looked over at you excitedly, “Let’s cuddle and watch the movie I was talking about last week!”

The genuine excitement in his voice was all it took to have you wrapped around his finger. So now it was getting late and you were falling asleep to Bokuto gently rubbing his hand in circles on your back. And his faint smell of cologne luring you to sleep.

Hey! Sorry if this is on the shorter side, but I tried packing as much emotion as I could into it to make up. I hope you enjoyed this, cause I added a few of my little issues into it so I hope you don’t mind. (Also along with some people ik) I really hope it gets better for you, hopefully by now even though this came out late (sorry really busy this month for some reason🧍) if you need anyone to talk to I’m always open to hear❤️..

328 notes · View notes

softcallofdutyimagines · 3 years

Note

An oddly specific hc:

Weaver, Mason, Woods, Adler, and Hudson with an S/O who likes to give+recieve cuddles. (Guess whose love language is physical touch? Is me.)

DJDJDJSJ LITERALLY ALL OF MY HUSBANDS IN ONE ASK !!!! You know, love languages for the squad might be an interesting one, one day! I feel you tho, mine is words of affirmation but physical touch is a super close second 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Phew I went kind of all in on these, so sorry of they're really long or rambly, but I hope you enjoy them!! Weaver and Woods even feature a little dad bod action bc ik that's our thing 😌😌💅🏻

Adler

Honestly, at first he's not use to it

In fact, you'd be forgiven to think he didn't like it at all

However, he never shuts you down either...

If you persevere for long enough and are able to gain his trust, you'll be rewarded to find that he actually quite enjoys your touch

Well, more then enjoys I'd say

Adlers job is a lonely and thankless one, and although he could hardly bring himself to admit as much...

The loneliness takes a toll on him

He is only interested in receiving that kind of affection from someone he has a connection with, so as you can imagine, it's harm for him to get that need fulfilled without you

In a way, he grows rather addicted to you

You're the first thing he goes for when he comes home after time away

All in all, he's down for whatever you've got to give, but his favorite thing to do is to hold you

Whether that be while cuddled up and or just standing in place, it doesn't matter to him

In turn, he particularly likes when you stroke his jawline or pepper him with kisses

He's very sensitive about his face and scars as you know, doubly so after the torture and rescue stuff he went through

So when you show extra affection to that spot, not only is it a huge sign of his trust in you, but it also just so happens to make him melt

Hudson

Hudson is an extremely similar case to Adler in that, although you wouldn't guess it, he craves physical touch

In fact, Hudson might be even worse off

I would argue that at least Adler works with his task force members, but Hudson???

He's more or less forced to stick to the shadows and only speak to others on a more or less need to know basis

Given that cannon Hudson has a whole wife and kids, I get the feeling that he just wants to be loved damn it!!!

So all this to say that, unlike Adler, I don't think Hudson would be even remotely as coy with his desire for affection

I mean, if you've managed to snag a relationship with him, he must trust you a whole lot already, so why not just clear the air, right?

However, I will say that I think he might be a little shy about it

What if he comes across as too needy or something? Not a good look for a grown man, surely

As a result, if he has nothing more pressing to attend to, he'll be your shadow around the house all day long, from one room to the next

Of course, he does his best to not follow you step for step or do anything else that would obviously give him away, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out what he wants

You'll have to invite him to come to you most of the time

And good thing too, bc when he's with you, it's like heaven

He's fond of simply collapsing into your lap when your seated, or across your torso when laying down

From there, you can do whatever you want

If you really wanted, you could balance a damn book on his back and just read in silence for all he cares

As long as he can have that physical connection to you, it doesn't matter

This is another area where he's a step up in extreme from Adler

While Adler wants you, Hudson needs you

You're like his one place of rest in the whole world, the only place he can be safe and forget about his work, and you have no idea how much that means to him

Mason

Personally, I think Alex is probably the one most (relatively lmao) well adjusted adult of the group

He of course loves receiving physical affection from you, but he doesn't need to rely on it as some sort of coping mechanism

While he can be a little clingy, its a usually only after times that he has to be away for a long while

Personally, I feel like Alex is the safest for me to say that he probably also has physical touch as his love language as well!

He will often come seek you out just as much as you so for him, and he has no problem requesting some snuggle time

Mason is perfectly confident in his masculinity after all, so asking if you wouldn't mind cuddling him is a simple task in his eyes

The height of his interest in touch comes when he's trying to sleep though

He's prone to pretty awful night terrors given all that he's been through, so I'd say that's the only real time that he truly does rely on you and your gift

Even if it's just something as small as holding his hand while you lay next to him, any little bit helps

He definitely notices more difficulty sleeping when you're not around, so he's thankful for you for sure

Mason is also pretty big on pda I think lol

Like holding hands, hugging, and kissing...

None of that bothers him!

Although he enjoys nearly all forms of touch from you, he'd have to admit that he loves it the most even you run his back or hold his hands

It's... Comforting

Weaver

Off, poor Weaver, he's a mess

Imagine someone who burns with an all consuming desire just to be touched damn it !!! like Hudson does, and yet has ten times the reservations and insecurities about it as Adler does

That's close to what Weaver is like

He's extremely shy around you, just to start off

In fact, he's probably still star struck that you actually wanted to be in a relationship with him in the first place

And so, he's not sure how to act...

He really is a big softie on the inside, and yet he's not sure if you'd like that

After all, he's the big, tough Russian guy to everyone else

That's who you met, so it would make sense that that's what you want, right?

While Hudson would warm up after a while and, albeit awkwardly I'm sure, ask you for some cuddling time or some such...

... Weaver almost never asks, but will instead make it painfully obvious that he wants it lol

It definitely does not help that he's quite insecure with his appearance

These days, he's a just a touch more soft and round then he use to be, and that's on top of his missing eye and greying hair

If you are of the opinion that such things only make him more suited for cuddling, warm and comfy as he is, it will take him an awful long time to believe you

Buuuuuuut...

Although he loves to pretend he only tolerates his at best, he does rather enjoy it when you give his chest or tummy some affection

It's sort of like Adler and his scars: Weaver loathes the state of his abdomen, amongst other things, but he must admit...

He likes that you like it

Woods

Geez, Woods is probably as opposite from Weaver as it gets

I once heard the phrase "a dog in human form", and honestly?

It doesn't get more accurate then that

This man lives for attention and the fact that you want to give it to him, drives him crazy

He's pretty shameless, and is down to be touched or felt basically whenever

It's to the point that he's taken up walking around the house shirtless just in anticipation of any cuddling or rubs to be had

He's a bit performative about it, which can be either entertaining or annoying depending, but he never misses an opportunity to show off his muscles to you and let you have a feel

Really though, anywhere you want to touch, however you want to do it, go ahead baby! He'll eat it up lmao

Of course, if you catch him at a time in his life where he's going the route of Weaver and developing some dad bod...

Totally different story

If that's the case, he's extremely adverse to letting you touch places like his thighs, chest, and of course his stomach

Really, just anywhere that's filled out

Which in his mind, could very well extend to his body as a whole

Needless to say, this creates a very powerful inner turmoil between his desire to be near to you and impress you, and his fear of rejection

With this Woods, it'll take a loooot of gentle touches and reasurace to bring him around

But once he trusts you, he's be right back to how toned Woods would act

Bare chested, tummy out, and ready for some lovin 😌

#black ops cold war #call of duty #russell adler x reader #frank woods x reader #jason hudson x reader #alex mason x reader #grigori weaver x reader #russell adler #frank woods #jason hudson #grigori weaver #alex mason

144 notes · View notes

shaolin-spin-doctor · 3 years

Note

i know you've talked about your headcanons with kung lao being touch starved but then when he becomes a revenant he has trouble with any sort of contact and animals are afraid of him. so i propose this: revenant kung lao coping through bunny plushies

I was going to reply to this ask normally but then I had a stroke of inspiration and it sort of turned into a Jin and Lao fic. Whoops?

---

Kung Lao sat on the floor of his little Special Forces barrack, eyes closed and brows furrowed as he attempted to concentrate. It had been almost a week since his confinement in SF headquarters after his escape from Netherrealm, a security measure agreed upon by the remaining Earthrealm defenders to ensure he would be under constant surveillance while they decided what to do with him; as humiliating as it was, he knew attempting to dispute it would do more harm than good, and, really, he couldn't blame them for distrusting him given the circumstances. He deserved it after all he had done. He was just thankful his nephew and Kenshi's son (the only one who believed his story, citing his experience with Scorpion as proof) had dissuaded everyone else from shooting him dead on the spot.

A knock on the door snapped him back to reality, and he found himself jumping up on reflex at the sudden sound. Despite the brief scare, he would be lying if he said he wasn't thankful for the interruption - meditating had been next to impossible given his corrupted soul's increasing unrest, and being left alone without demons to beat up to take his mind off things definitely didn't help his case. He would take more brutal rounds of interrogation any day if it meant he could escape his thoughts for a couple of hours.

The person on the other side knocked again after he failed to answer the first time, and Lao wasted no time in reaching for the handle, cringing a little at the grating sound the heavy metal door made when he finally opened it. His eyes met Kung Jin's.

"Hey," his nephew greeted with a small smile. Lao blinked.

"I thought you weren't supposed to be here today," he replied, raising an eyebrow at the other man. He was wearing casual clothes, the black shoulder bag strapped across his torso contrasting starkly against his light gray tank top. Jin gave him a fake look of annoyance.

"What, I can't come see my uncle in jail? You could at least say you're glad to see me."

"Will you break me out of here if I do?"

"I barely managed to convince the guards to let me in alone, I doubt they'd allow me to take one of our most dangerous prisoners out for a walk. Tough luck, old man."

Kung Lao snorted, a grin spreading across his face as he motioned for his nephew to come in. "That's a shame. Would you like some tea to make up for the hassle?"

Kung Jin grinned right back as he stepped into the room. "Don't mind if I do."

---

"So," Lao began, handing his nephew a little styrofoam cup. The other warrior took it with both hands and pulled it close to his chest. "What's on your mind?"

Upon hearing his uncle's question, Kung Jin looked down at the cup he was holding. He tilted it back and forth, making the liquid inside swirl, and he stared at it for a while, hesitating before finally speaking up. "I've just been thinking... a lot, about you. It can't be easy being stuck here after everything you've been through."

Kung Lao hummed, reaching up to run his fingers along the edge of his hat by force of habit. Finding nothing - it had been seized from him as a security measure, and he knew summoning it back would be seen as an act of hostility - he ran his hand along his short, uneven hair instead. "I can't really complain much about it. It's definitely better than getting attacked by hellbeasts on the regular."

Jin finally looked back up, and Lao was a little taken aback by the intensity in his nephew's gaze. "It must still be lonely."

That simple statement hit the revenant like a truck, and he failed to stop himself from grimacing. Kung Jin, understanding the implication in his uncle's reaction, took another sip of tea before leaving the cup on the counter and opening his shoulder bag. "That's why I came," he continued, carefully pulling something out and handing it over to the other warrior, "I want you to have this."

Kung Lao stared at the object in the archer's hand, and his blazing eyes widened in recognition. It was a small, fluffy rabbit plush, well-kept despite its apparent age; two beady eyes and an embroidered pink nose stood out from its discolored yellow fur, and Lao could see the characters of Jin's name sewn with care on one of its legs. He took the stuffed animal from his nephew, wary as to not nick him with his long nails, and stroked the plush gently once it was in his hands. The softness of its fur and the lingering smell of magnolias stirred fond memories in his mind.

"I remember this guy. You used to never let him go," he said at last, running his thumb alongside one of the bunny's ears. This went on for a moment before he stopped all of a sudden, glancing back up at Jin with a look of confusion on his face. "Wait, why are you-"

"He gives the best hugs," Jin cut him off, a wistful sound to his voice. "He's always up for cuddles, but he'll never pressure you when you don't want to be touched. He doesn't make sudden movements, either, and he doesn't judge you when you're sad or scared."

Jin met Lao's eyes, and the hat-wielding monk found nothing but genuine understanding in his nephew's tawny gaze. He let out a shaky breath, looking down at the worn stuffed rabbit, then back at Jin, and, not for the first time, an overwhelming feeling of grief and regret washed over him.

"Jin, this... I can't accept it," he said. The unnatural echo of his voice did little to disguise the emotion in his words. Kung Jin smiled, closing his bag and making it clear he wasn't taking the plushie back.

"This little pal helped me through a lot. I'm sure he can do the same for you, if you let him."

Kung Lao stared at Jin, and, for a moment, he could see the same child who, a long time ago, used to offer him that very bunny plush everytime he was feeling down.

The memory made him rub his eyes with the heel of his palm. He sniffed.

"Thank you," he whispered, sincerely hoping it was enough to convey what he truly felt. Kung Jin nodded.

That night, when Lao sat alone in his small, dimly lit room, he pressed the stuffed toy to his cheek and thought that, perhaps, things would get better.

#kung jin keeping his childhood bunny plush and then giving it to Lao when he needs emotional support is something that can be so personal #Mortal Kombat #Kung Lao #Kung Jin #asks #tairano-takiyashamaru #hat fics

50 notes · View notes

nick-close · 3 years

Text

Alright I just ranted in the tags of my last post and then realized I’m more passionate about this than I thought so here is my hot take:

The best thing for Anthony to do about Morgan is not mention her again.

I’m completely serious on that- I don’t think anything good will come out of him mentioning Morgan or trying to explain any of that unless it’s in a talking dads answer or something confirming because of the timeline fuckery she’s dead again. Because that is the only answer I’ll accept.

If Morgan was still alive and everything is the same from the Jodie timeline (which I don’t think it is because Jodie becoming a demon feels like it HAD to revert SOME shit in the timeline imo, but I could be wrong idk,) then that means Morgan is alone without her kid or husband. So 1- you get a sad lonely Morgan and 2- there is NO WAY to fix that for her. The only way to ‘fix that’ would be to take her to faerun and then KILL HER so she can join the Jodie Glenn thing. Which would be, absolutely horrific.

Not only would that be doing the same thing I hated with Glenn’s situation, showing death as the solution to her problems- bUT it would also disrupt what little I enjoy about the Glenn Jodie dynamic- which is that they are just trying to work shit out on their own. Even though they didn’t like eachother, they still are putting in the work to care for Nick with eachother. I don’t like how they handled any of this, but at the very least you have two fucked up fathers trying to care for their collective son while working out their own issues together. The appeal of that is that they’re both a mess and they’re trying to figure it out on their own.

Now add Morgan to the mix. First off- this is another narc situation. Assuming this Morgan is from Jodie’s timeline she doesn’t know Glenn. She doesn’t love Glenn. She has no emotional attachment to him. And now what is Glenn’s role in nicks life? Not a co-parent, Nick now has two loving parents. Glenn is completely irrelevant other than,,, like a weird uncle that’s there sometimes.

This would also add extra tension between Glenn and Jodie, disrupting what little agreement they reached. I mean Glenn hated Jodie not just because he was a cop, but because he had his kid. Now Glenn hating Jodie for basically he same reason but it’s his wife? Glenn barely mourned Morgan properly as it is- him not getting over Morgan’s death imo is a big part of his character and I think later in this series is when we see him actually SOMEWHAT coping with his loss. I think that him coming to terms with losing nick really was him coming to terms with losing Morgan as well- you don’t have to agree with that but that’s what I was seeing.

Bringing Morgan back would completely fuck up Glenn, make him unneeded in the dynamic he’s currently in, and resurface issues he already had a hard time coming to terms with. I truly do not believe Jodie Morgan and Glenn could all work cohesively as a unit- and even if they somehow MANAGED to have a relationship with all of them, I can still hardly imagine it as healthy with Glenn having memories of Morgan she doesn’t have of him, or at least just... getting his dead wife back. That feels like it would be shitty in almost all accounts.

Of course, this is all with the perspective that Glenn is staying in faerun- which I’m assuming he is because why in the fuck would he come back to earth? He at least has his son here, and he’s dead- so it’s hard to know if he could even return as a living person. Idk.

Anyways,, TLDR idk what Anthony could say about Morgan that would be satisfying to anybody if she is still alive in this timeline. Reuniting her with everybody else feels harmful both morally with death as her solution AND character wise with the little growth this attempt at an arc tried to give Glenn.

#dndads #I don’t mean this harshly tho I get everybody wanting Morgan content #but also like #I prefer not getting any Morgan content at all tbh?#even before timeline fuckery #I think we got the perfect amount of Morgan content #just enough to tell you she loved Glenn and was super endearing and charming #but not enough to make her really a full character #because we don’t know her! Glenn knows her #her being a huge part of anything other than a faint ideal of Glenn’s dead wife kinda goes against his growth #as much as I love Morgan? some characters aren’t there to be characters #some characters are just ways to move the story and express things about other characters #I love fanon Morgan and I have so many Morgan hcs and stuff #and ik women only existing to serve male characters growth is a shitty trope #but I also feel like she isn’t really meant to be much more than what she is #Morgan is a concept #Morgan is not a character #she is not nor should she be a full rounded person #because that’s simply not what she serves to do in the story #imo she’s purposefully given very little character because If she had more character we wouldn’t see her the same #we can’t see Morgan’s character flaws or her bad moments or how she’s grown as a person #because we aren’t meant to #if we saw any character flaws or details in Morgan than the point of her character would be lost #YOU fill in what Morgan is #but the thing that matters is you know how much she was loved #and you know how Glenn viewed her #imo he idealizes her #and that’s what we’re supposed to see #fuck I did a whole other rant in the tags #dndads spoilers

17 notes · View notes

not-saying-revolution-but · 3 years

Text

on the artistry of Loïc Nottet's "Mr/Mme"

We open to a cobbled, deserted Brussels intersection. The title appears in old-timey yellow against the grayscale. A white-clad Loïc Nottet enters as a piano teases the opening, and it starts.

I have a lot of emotions about "Mr/Mme," the last track on Nottet's second studio album (Sillygomania) and, to my knowledge, his first song fully en français. "Mr/Mme" dropped in April of 2020, which was still near the start of the pandemic in Europe and North America. I, for one, did not anticipate what the next year would hold. And yet when this song appeared in Spotify’s suggestions (as the algorithm knows my weakness for Nottet's vocal range and off-pop sound), it touched a nerve that has pulsed for the last 12 months.

To be clear, I'm not going to present any new revelations about this song. Nottet is indisputably a phenomenal artist, "Mr/Mme" is a perfect example of his skill, and that's that on that. I'm more interested in the raw emotions that this song explores and how the piece indicates a radical departure from Nottet's previous body of work. Or does it?

Born in 1996, Loïc Nottet is a Belgian singer/songwriter/dancer who made a name for himself on The Voice Belgique and ESC 2015. You can look up his Wikipedia page if you like. His first album, "Selfocracy," is entirely in English and handles themes of bullying, selfishness, the corruptibility of society, and related. I don't know what the Belgian and French reviewers said, but the album was fairly well received in the English-speaking places I inhabit. The songs are punchy and get stuck in your head. The lyrics feel clever but maybe a little strained. A Youtube star dropping his first studio album.

And then "Mr/Mme" came out. Nottet greets his audience with a "bonsoir Monsieur, Madame / aujourd'hui, j'te dis tout" (good evening sir, madame / today, I'll tell you everything). He proceeds to do just that. Nottet describes a living hell, a world that "m'étrangle, m'écrase et me brûle" (strangles me, crushes me, and burns me). The ensuing musical monologue swivels from individual anguish to a broader critique of humanity, described as nothing but a bully without love. Those who cannot afford morphine are refused the moon. Children turn into monsters and the rest of us pay rent.

About halfway through the song (which lacks a chorus), Nottet tells the listener how alone he feels while walking the glorious road to fame. He copes by drinking, poking fun at his youth, and grappling in the darkness for any sense of meaning (he's in his 20s after all). Despite living out his childhood dreams, Nottet admits to his own unhappiness.

While Nottet sings all of this, alternating between confessional and belting tones, the camera tracks his wanderings through the streets of Brussels. It looks utterly empty until we see another figure walking past. They look over their shoulder as they pass this strange young man who sings, skips, and spreads his arms in the way of music videos. With a bitter twinge of irony, his oversized white dress shirt has "enjoy yourself" written on the breast pocket.

Nottet takes us down the narrow, shuttered, and graffitied alleyways that spread out from La Grand-Place. He carefully avoids the Baroque square, though, taking rapid turns just when you think you're nearing it. The camera follows in its shaky way. The crowds increase as the song swells, now showing other young people in their sparkling little groups. Nottet breaks through, and everything stops as he sings "je n'sais plus qui je suis, j'suis perdu" (I no longer know who I am, I am lost).

And finally, finally. We reach La Grand-Place, and the lyrics shift. Nottet tells us how he feels when he’s on stage, which is far from the horrific picture he just described:

Car j'écris quand j'me plante

Et je ris quand je danse

Et je vis quand je chante

Et pour tout ça, j'te dis :

Merci

(Because I write when I mess up, and I laugh when I dance, and I live when I sing. And for all of that, I say to you: Thank you.)

Nottet’s figure paints a bright absence on the darkened Grand-Place. The song is officially over but Nottet launches into a series of ethereal "oohs" that transcend this mortal realm. He now shows off his dancing and spreads himself open as the "oohs" reach their highest pitch. Nottet looks like a broken bird, splayed open in La Grand-Place and suspended by his rib cage. The video ends with a few more leg kicks and spins before Nottet wanders out of frame. Everything was done in one take.

So what makes this song and music video so special? Is it not another artsy, indie production about a young singer struggling with fame?

I say to that nay. In "Mr/Mme," Nottet uses his extraordinary voice to access an emotion that is often trivialized. “A young man makes it big and then feels lonely, so what,” we could say. “Life is hard.” This is both true and not. Nottet's struggles are different from most of ours, but he speaks in terms that feel familiar. How many of us realize too late that success isn’t all it’s cracked up to be? "Mr/Mme" holds extremes that more often coexist than contradict in real life, including "humanity is fucked and we should burn everything to the ground" and "there are moments when life is worth living." I know of few other songs that capture both emotions in such a poignant way.

Moreover, the video is carefully done. Directed by Hugo Jouxtel, it seems almost self-conscious about its artsy look. The passersby may be hired extras, I don't know, but they react organically. It's almost embarrassing to see them hastily cross the street and give the singer funny looks. There’s a bit of self-recognition through the other, if you will, particularly if you’ve ever had a breakdown in public (hands, anyone? just me?). It is one thing to sing about feeling alone and quite another to be alone amid the crowds of La Grand-Place. La Grand-Place, a tourist attraction with very few things to do. A place that is good for milling about, snapping a picture, and then hurrying on with your life, oblivious.

Besides the video being aesthetically pleasing, it feels real. Nottet cannot step beyond the gated storefronts as he laments. Sometimes the camera captures an unflattering angle as he tilts up his chin in anguish. It's pretty but gritty. Like the song. Like fame. Like life.

The view from my chair is this: "Mr/Mme" signals a new moment of maturity for an artist who (I am convinced) will one day be known worldwide. It acknowledges the darker threads present in "Selfocracy" (the darkness inside us, the ever-watching “million eyes”) but strips it all down to the bare essentials. The song is honest. And for a popular artist like Nottet, who has already proven himself many times over, honesty might be the rarest thing.

*All translations are from yours truly. Any errors are, of course, my own.

#loïc nottet #mr/mme #n-s-r-b.doc #n-s-r-b.gif #whatever you followed me for i can assume it wasn't this #once upon a time i had a proper blog where this could have gone #it is unfortunately lost to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune #not to mention the sea of troubles #so tumblr it is!#anyway #i don't usually write on here #but sometimes the spirit moves me #and by the spirit i do indeed mean loic nottet's falsetto #bisous to angelxhunter for beta-ing

26 notes · View notes

onyourzeus · 4 years

Text

it just is | pjh

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: it just is pairing: park jaehyung (jae of day6) & you genre: angst with a happy ending words: 4.2k

author’s note: this took a few days to write because i wanted to approach it with sensitivity, and some realism from personal experiences. as i get to know jae as an artist, a day6 member, and a person even more, i feel so grateful for his music and his vulnerability that oftentimes is met with differing opinions from other people. i wanted to express that in this fic, and i hope i did the genre justice.

content warning: discussions of online hate, criticism, feelings of worthlessness, coping through them

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

You don’t get it— or maybe you do. You’ve been given criticism before; on a powerpoint presentation, college-level essays, exams with written solutions needed, even for work performances. It has its benefits, having other qualified people observe you through their own lenses. It makes you notice the errors in your answers, mispronunciations, and flaws in your work ethic you wouldn’t have been able to catch if you were tasked to evaluate yourself.

There’s a difference however, in the ways that you’ve experienced being given criticism and the way Jae has.

He gets criticized. Instead of firm and blunt observations that he needs to take into consideration, and adjust when necessary, he isn’t given a room for improvement. He just receives these words with a punch to the gut, a slap on his face, and it stings. A whole damn lot.

You think about the unfair times you were given criticism for work or a task that you originally thought was executed decently enough, at least for your standards. But that’s the point of being handed blunt feedback, is to let you realize that you can reach higher than this, go beyond what you previously had shown to others or even to yourself.

Criticism given to you over the years had always spared space for you to reflect, and grow with it. It was always supposed to be a weapon for you to take into your own hands, and wield it yourself. It was never meant to attack you full force, and leave you bleeding with no help in sight.

So maybe you do get it, but also you never really will when it comes to Jae.

Either way, you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t pick up the phone at a time when everyone in the city should be fast, fast asleep. When people have already drifted off into a deep slumber that enables them to dream beautiful things.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you wouldn’t ride your bicycle so late at night which you absolutely abhor. The cold air hitting your face as you speed up against its current is rarely a welcomed feeling, but that was the least of your concerns as you turned the corner to his apartment.

When it comes to Jae, your mind hums a low beep, static noise to blaring fire alarms and resounding thoughts in an instant.

You don't think much of it, however. He's just another friend, one who is in need.

You never truly believed he could be alright by himself, but you wanted to give him a chance. Now, hearing his voice crack through your phone followed by the connection breaking apart, you struggle to forgive yourself for letting him be. Even for just a little bit.

There wasn’t a need to knock, but you’re worried Jae may have forgotten he even called you in hesitation in the first place. In order to avoid spooking him, you make your presence known more clearly in the darkness.

“Jae, it’s me. I’m coming into your room.”

The door squeaks lightly, but the view isn’t any different. It remains dark, and lifeless in here. Stepping inside, the air just got a little bit heavier, and Jae’s breathing sounds more difficult that you began feeling aware of your own heart rate speeding up.

Retracing your steps from the multiples times you’ve been here, you get to the small lamp he barely uses on his desk. You turn it on the lowest brightness setting, giving the room a bit more dimension. It gives you a better view of Jae laying down on his bed, eyes staring into the ceiling. His hands support the weight of his head, lifting it up from the sheets.

He sniffles for a split second, and your heart thuds like a mic stand dropping on the floor at an empty stadium.

“Hey,” you approach him, careful not to be too loud with your movements.

The mattress dips from the weight of your body, and Jae slightly shuffles to the side to give you room. The side of your lips twitch in response as you make yourself comfortable laying down next to him.

For the next few minutes, no one talked.

Not even a hello back from him, and that’s new.

It’s… concerning, to say the least. Even in his most stressful days, you’d stop by his place knowing it’d annoy him but the sight of you and the smell of homemade spam musubi never fails to brighten up his mood.

He doesn’t forget to tell you that, and it makes you feel needed.

Taking in a deep breath, you look at him in the corner of your eye. He’s not asleep, although his eyes flutter back and forth from keeping it trained to the ceiling and drooping it ever so slightly. You squint further, noticing dried streaks of tears blurring onto his skin.

Your voice shakes. "Tell me where it hurts, Jae.”

You will yourself to resist your own choked out sobs. You’re not even sure what the issue was today. It’s always different, as if they have a giant wheel reserved just for him that someone gets to spin for their own pleasure.

Sometimes it lands on the same, debunked misunderstanding. Other times, you’ve become shell-shocked at how quick they fill in the blanks with made-up accusations for the sole purpose of hurting him even more.

None of it makes sense, and what angers you the most is the fact that Jae made you promise not to interfere. You hate that he used that word with you, promise me, please? because both of you know the importance behind them, especially when said between the two of you.

Did he change his mind tonight? Did it suddenly become too much to bear that breaking the very promise he asked of you was his last resort for help?

“Tell me,” you repeat with more determination now than overwhelmed nerves.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Jae answers, cold and empty.

Any other day that you pester him with a makeshift therapy session, you’d take that as a challenge. But tonight, his words linger in the air and you can’t shake off the goosebumps on your skin.

Maybe he’s right; at this point, shouldn’t you be more irritated than concerned? If he’s not willing to at least describe how inflicting the pain must be with every word online stabbed into him, why do you bother cleaning up the mess?

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’re not me. They say those things because it’s me. I’m the problem.”

“Jae—"

You have the script memorized, the tirade of counterpoints to every blame shifted upon himself, but tonight you stop the words spilling from your mouth.

You turn your body towards him, hands folded underneath your cheek, a lone tear falling from your right eye.

“Do you believe them?” You ask, and the pause in Jae’s staring doesn’t go unnoticed.

He finally looks at you directly, ever since laying down beside him on his bed. With his body still laying flat, he turns his head to face you, his lips pressed together roughly.

You elicit a tsk sound, ignoring the amount of time that has passed since your question. Your fingers meet the cracked skin on his lips as you gently pry them off of each other. It’s wet, and the bright ring of blood doesn’t surprise you. Instead, you wipe it away, pulling your hand back to smear it off your shirt.

At some point, Jae mouths you a sorry but you don’t acknowledge him. Just as he’s obviously avoiding your own query.

“You’re not sleeping well,” it was more a fact than another question thrown at him. You reckon he’d be more cooperative with you if you say it how it is without him denying openly obvious things.

“You’re only drinking dubious cups of coffee in a day with one meal in between, at the most.”

“I haven’t had an appetite recently.”

“But you’d cater to your growing caffeine addiction more so than bring your appetite back?”

You don’t want to sound mean, but the stress lines forming on your forehead aren’t helping with your attempt to ease into the conversation more slowly.

Jae sighs, and it’s one of his many signs that entails he wants to move on, talk about something that is less targeting his questionable behavior and more mundane shit that doesn’t fit into the mood of the room at all.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

Unexpectedly, you look back at him and answer with a hint of surprise, “You think so low of me.”

Jae laughs, and for a moment the room became brighter. Just a little bit.

“Dude, do you know what time it is?”

“Yes, do you?” It was a rhetorical question, but you’re sort of glad he’s not just staying silent anymore. “I don’t have class in the morning. Even if I did, I’d still be here. Just cursing you out more for making me bike in the cold.”

“It’s because you don’t wear enough layers, dummy,” Jae points out, pointing at the lack of thick clothing covering your upper body.

Your first instinct is to flick his forehead, nudge him by the shoulder, and call him a fool. How can you even think of yourself that way when you receive a call from someone whose voice was on the verge of tears?

But you let it go for now, it’s not like he’ll believe you. It’s not like it matters.

“I still haven’t gotten my From Friends merch, Jae,” you taunt him and he laughs once more. Slowly, you feel his mood change from dreary to a few degrees warmer as he sits up on the bed.

You follow his lead, keeping your knees close, chin resting atop them. You’ll humor him for right now, it’s probably best that you don’t force his feelings out in the open as unwanted as they may be. He might not allow you in the future if you do.

“You can have one of mine. They gave me a ton from the first test batches,” he offers, leaning into you as if to convince you even more.

“I’m seriously gonna hold you onto that. I’m not leaving your apartment tonight without a sweater or two,” you respond, darting your tongue out. Normally, Jae would reciprocate, and if he’s feeling even riskier, inch his face towards yours for shock value.

Tonight, he’s definitely acting differently than normal. Especially with what he says right after is not something you’d expect from Jae.

“Don’t leave tonight.”

“I—”

“Just for tonight?” Jae pleads, gaze fully on yours now. “I’m sorry for being selfish, but… I’m really, really glad you came. I wouldn’t know what… I’m just.. lost and I don’t know what else to think. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll stay,” you reassure him, not entirely sure what this entails.

This doesn’t feel like those nights you’d be here for sleepovers countless of times before. Those nights were planned, prepared, and eventually ends up with Jae sleeping on the couch and you hogging his bed, as per your request (yet he willingly lends you his blanket).

Maybe two, three hours at best— this was the amount of time you believed you’d stay. You’ll listen to him vent, or just sink into the silence with him. Either way, you knew your presence can only soothe his pain temporarily, and he won’t say it out loud so you show yourself out the door voluntarily.

He wouldn’t protest, just hug you goodbye and ask that you text him when you get home.

You awkwardly stretch out your legs, placing your hands on your thighs. Swallowing a nervous breath, you let out, “So, um, do you want to talk about it, pal… or…”

All of a sudden you can’t comprehend a single word you’re saying, while Jae just stares at you amusingly, his lips in a tight smile waiting to burst out in giggles.

“I’m trying to comfort you here!” you whine, pouting at the way he’s making fun of you. “When you suddenly ask me to stay just like that, it makes it… weird!”

“I’m sorry,” Jae chuckles airily, carding a hand through his ruffled dark brown locks. “It’s fun for me when I’m not the butt of the joke,” he continues on, tone spiraling to that of seriousness again.

“Is it something incredibly absurd again? What was it? What happened?”

Jae shakes his head. “The words don’t matter.”

You argue back, “Yes, they do. It’s what hurts the most.”

You’ve seen the tweets, sometimes even the hashtags and you wish there was a way to mass report the whole app altogether, and throw it all away in the trash. But Jae reprimands you for overreacting, even if you catch him smiling at the suggestion.

“Debatable,” he sighs outwardly, clasping his hands together and resting them in between the wall and the nape of his neck. “A lot of them are just empty words, sure, but the pain they inflict is something else entirely.”

There’s something about the way Jae speaks about criticism thrown at him that makes you frustrated.

It’s not a secret that there isn’t an ounce of defensive vein in you when you’re at the receiving end of people finding faults in your work, your character. You believe humans are overprotective of who they think they are, they’ve become, as much as they like to hide it.

But with Jae, he sounds way too calm and composed for your liking. Ironically so, since he mentions pain. Perhaps this is his coping mechanism, take them as they are, unembellished and oftentimes hurtful.

But it doesn’t have to be that way, because the more he speaks of them so nonchalantly, the less his eyes sparkle and show his true feelings.

Your eyebrows crease even further, examining Jae’s facial features that remain still and unmoving, giving attention to anything else in his line of sight but you.

“A lot of them are false accusations, you don’t have to accept what you think is false.”

“Are they, though? To an extent, I think it shows what others perceive of me on a daily basis.”

“So you’re saying you do believe what they say about you?”

“At this point,” Jae starts off, stretching his arms upwards before crossing them against his chest languidly. He looks tired. “What else do I believe in? You know when the negativity becomes so loud in your head, I can’t explain it, but the words that tell me to keep going get muddled and overpowered by everything that screams I’m not enough?”

You’re not sure whether to respond.

It doesn’t seem like anything you say can add value to his confession. You look down on your hands, not knowing what to do with them so you keep them intertwined. It’s sweaty, yet the buzzing of his air conditioner fills the air. For some reason, you can’t stop your heart from pounding heavily inside you either.

In a way, it’s possibly because of the realization that all you can offer Jae is an ear to listen to. All you can offer him is your body warmth hopefully exuding onto him, having the presence of another person in his space just to ensure that someone is listening to what he has to say. When no one else seems to let him do so online.

But you want to be more, you have wanted to be so much more. You wish your hands can extend themselves to his, pull him closer so he can hear your heart beating desperately for him. If it had a morse code of its own, it would have confessed the love you feel for him all this time.

It’s gone quiet again, so you slowly lift your head to sneak a peek at him. His eyes are closed, and you wonder if he’s fallen asleep with unwanted thoughts fogging his brain.

Great, the guilt makes it way on your shoulders, weighing you down with it. He asks you to stay, you don’t believe his sincerity, and when he’s opened up so much in one night, you lack the response he needed to hear.

“If it means anything, I don’t believe them. You have your share of dumb moments, sure, but who hasn’t? If they figured out how much stupid shit I have said or done in my lifetime, I don’t think I’ll have a career ever again,” you mutter, mostly to yourself now.

Your mind wanders back to those times that you’ve made yourself look like a fool in front of Jae, and he still holds you against them to this day.

“Remember when I said owls were the cutest animals ever? And then I saw a tumblr post of what their legs looked like underneath all of those feathers? I felt so betrayed,” you recall out loud, snickering at times the group chat you shared with Jae and your mutual friends consisted solely of those creepy baby owl pictures that have surfaced on the internet-- seemingly their only purpose was to torment you with the truth.

You had posted your intense distaste of the animal on your Twitter, rather proudly even. It was a good thing your account was private, but the shame you felt was too intense to keep it on your profile for too long so you ended up deleting it, anyway.

But imagine if someone had somehow saved that tweet and called you out for being cruel towards unsuspecting birds?

“Or the time I got so drunk, I basically roasted all of your solo songs, calling them the national anthem of a hopeless romantic who will never find the love they’ve been praying for?” This was before It Just Is with Seori, and it was a dare that Younghyun had given you as payback for making him act out a lovey-dovey manhwa scene with Dowoon.

You think, if their supporters heard that out of context, you’re most likely toast.

Understandably, these are all a stretch, and at the end of the day, you’re not as famous as Jae. And if anything, the “roast” you had blurted out was completely inaccurate of what you actually think of his solo projects.

A projection, if you will, of your own feelings. If anyone in your circle of friends wears the title of a hopeless romantic, the crown has been glued to your head since meeting Jae.

“I’m not making any sense,” you say, rubbing your cheeks for comfort while watching Jae just doze off into the night. You weren’t sure if he still needed you to stay, but you’d feel it would be amiss if you left.

You begin to shuffle your way off the bed to give yourself more space to think about your next move until you feel Jae’s hand reach for yours, and squeeze it tight.

“I didn’t say you can go,” he mumbles sleepily, eyes still fluttered close. Yet his lips are smiling, almost as if he’s dreaming lightly. If that were the case, you humor him, and let his hand fall into yours. You like it that way, too.

“Did you hear what I just said two minutes ago?”

“No,” he lies.

“Mhm,” you hum, slowly making your way on the bed again. This time, you sit next to him, his sweatpants clad thigh leaning against your leggings. Your hands still held together, albeit loosely, he lifts it up as if to examine it with droopy eyes.

“Thanks, though. Oddly enough, that made me feel a little better,” he admits. “Except for that time you said hated my songs. I don’t think I’m letting that go easily.”

“I was apologetic, and it was a dare! I offered you food for a week,” you protest, shaking his hand off but he doesn’t budge. He keeps it in his palms, and you don’t know what to do with yourself.

A blush escapes on your cheeks, pink and warm, and most definitely as a result of your nerves getting the best of you.

“True,” he recalls, and tilts his head to the side inquisitively, “but it sounded like you really meant it…”

“Jae, you know that’s not true. I literally stream them on soundcloud almost every day,” you say a matter-of-factly, but regret it since it wasn’t something that he had no knowledge about before tonight. He pulls your hand closer to his chest, and excitedly beams at you.

“No way?” He exclaims, and you have no choice but to confirm, a helpless pout on your face. “Yeah, I listened to it on the way here.”

“My number one fan, huh,” he coos, tracing the lines on your palm. You gulp hard, knowing how much sweat your hands had accumulated since meeting his touch. You really don’t want him to notice, but the soothing caress of his fingers felt better than not anything else in the world.

“Whatever floats your boat, dude,” you try to brush it off, and Jae nods animatedly.

You try your best not to appear sleepy as a yawn finds its way out your lips. Jae notices this, and sadly lets go. Then, he taps on his shoulder, the one right next to you.

“Sleep, my child.”

“Never call me that. Ever again.”

“Don’t be dramatic, and just lean in,” he insists, cradling your head until you plop down on him.

It feels awkward, angled a bit on the uncomfortable side. But he adjusts for you, and you feel your body giving in to the source of support for your weary mind.

“I can sleep on the couch—”

“Shh, no more talking.”

Silently, you roll your eyes and say nothing more. Your fingers fiddle with each other once again, remembering how much of Jae’s skin slid next to yours, and now your cheek is pressed down on his frame.

Again, this isn’t the first time it’s happened, but the events leading up to this particular night is all new to you. You allow your body to get comfortable, used to this feeling, even if it’s just tonight.

Your original plan was to be Jae’s shoulder to lean on, but the roles seem to have reversed.

Softly, Jae calls your name. For a second, you’re too immersed in the synchronized breathing the two of you share. When he brings your hand into his, your senses perk up but you refuse to look into his eyes; afraid of what he might see in yours.

“What? You said no more talking.”

“I’m happy you’re here,” he tells you, even softer than before as your hands melt together, filling the spaces between. You don’t know whether to let this happen, not understanding the meaning behind his actions.

It’s.. weird, unknown, foreign, but addicting. His touch is addictive, and you know you’re going to crave for more if you’re not careful with the dosage.

Biting your lip, you struggle to reply. He might mean it in a friendly way, but the invitation to relax right onto his shoulder, lacing your fingers as if they’re meant to be locked in place that way, it’s all too much for your brain to process— and definitely your heart.

Face hot, heart heavy with emotions, you say shakily, “I’m happy you asked me to.”

“Hm?”

“I.. want to be the person you call first when you’re feeling like shit. If possible, I want to be the only person.” There was no going back, no swallowing words you’ve let go in the open.

As you speak, Jae’s fingers tighten its grasp around yours. You feel weak, but you appreciate him supporting you this way as you keep going.

“I probably will never understand what it is you feel when certain words pierce through you too deep, like you said. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I want to know how you’re feeling, from good to bad. From the best and the worst of it all. I want to be there.”

“Who said you aren’t?” Jae’s low voice interrupts your stream of emotions, and it compels you to finally see his eyes. They’re shining, teary, and smiling at the same time.

You feel your cheeks soaking wet, and a hiccup arises out of your lips. With your free hand, you hide half of your face in embarrassment. Two idiots, crying together, hands never letting go of each other.

It didn’t seem long until you fell asleep on his bed. The only difference this time, from all the other times you’ve been here, Jae was sleeping beside you.

Arms over your frame, his long fingers finding their permanent place within yours. The two of you have exhausted your emotions enough that night, and there was plenty of time in the day to talk it all through.

You dream of what seems to be a possible future for you and Jae. Moments when he’d fuck up, when you’d say something out of pocket, but it was met with a healthy discussion between you.

And even if there are days when people online couldn’t understand the growth happening in his life, you see it. You see him, and you don’t hesitate to forgive, and give him space to grow. As he does with you.

#day6 imagines #day6 scenarios #day6 x reader #day6 au #park jaehyung imagines #park jaehyung scenarios #park jaehyung x reader #park jaehyung au #day6 fic #by:jiae

64 notes · View notes