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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Paper Rings

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 10,191 Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music) Link to A03 or read below! “Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.

You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.

That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.

You are not the only one to notice.

“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”

“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.

That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.

“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.

“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.

“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”

“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”

Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.

He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.

Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.

Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.

As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.

“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.

He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.

“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”

It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.

“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.

You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron. A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.

“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.

“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.

It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.

He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.

You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.

“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”

He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.

“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.

“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”

He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.

When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.

He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.

“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.

“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.

“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.

“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.

She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.

You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.

It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.

When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.

The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.

“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”

He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.

“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes. The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.

“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.

“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”

He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.

“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.

“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.

“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.

“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.

More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.

“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.

Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.

When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.

The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.

“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.

He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.

He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.

You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.

“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack.”

He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.

“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.

That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight. Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.

You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.

“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”

You hold back a smile.

“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.

“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”

“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.

“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.

“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.

You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.

Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.

You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”

“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.

“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.

“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”

“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.

You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.

Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?

You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date. Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.

“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.

“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”

“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.

“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.

“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”

It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”

You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.

“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.

“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.

“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…

You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.

“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”

“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”

You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.

At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.

Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.

“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.

“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.

With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.

Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.

“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.

“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.

“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.

You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.

“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.

“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.

It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.

“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.

“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.

It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.

“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”

You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.

You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.

“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.

“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.

“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.

“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.

“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”

You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?

When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—

He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.

That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night. The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.

You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.

Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.

You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.

Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.

You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.

“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.

“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.

“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.

“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”

“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.

“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.

“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.

“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.

“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.

“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”

“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.

“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”

“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”

“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”

You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?

“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”

“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”

“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”

You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.

You’ve never felt less like celebrating.

At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.

“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.

“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.

“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”

You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?

“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.

“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.

Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go. Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.

At least there are two beds, this time.

You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.

You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.

It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.

It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.

“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.

“Where would she be? The front or the back?”

“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.

Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.

The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.

You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.

“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.

“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”

“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.

“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.

“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him. You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.

The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.

You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.

“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”

He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.

“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”

He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.

“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.

The words are nice to hear, though.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”

You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.

“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.

“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”

“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.

“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.

It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.

“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.

“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”

“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go. The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.

“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”

“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.

“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.

“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”

“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.

“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.

“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”

“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”

“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.

“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.

“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.

“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.

“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”

You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.

The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway. A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #paper rings #inspired by #taylor swift

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nxrthmizu · 3 years

Text

| the song of your heart | day 12

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@daminette-december2019-2020

prompt | soulmate au

pairing | Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng

words | 679

author’s note | You know that tiktok trend where your soulmate can hear the song you’re singing? Yeah, this is it (Also yes I’m aware I skipped days :P ) Note: Paris is 6 hours ahead of New York (Which I’m going to use as a reference for Gotham).

»»——⍟——««

[Gotham, 3pm]

“Again?” Damian grumbled, the tune of the unnamed song drifting through his mind. 3pm classes were usually the worst for him- It seemed to be the time when his soulmate would hum the most.

The melody wafted through his senses and drowned out the teacher’s explanation of the circle theorem. Everything else paled in comparison to the sweet voice that was weaving around in random patterns, drawing a net between him and reality as he relaxed, listening closely to the harmony instead of the teacher.

I wonder what she’s doing, Damian mused. She always hummed at 3pm without fail, going about in for the next 2 hours- Sometimes 3. Without stopping.

[Paris, 9pm] - Same time

A continent away, a certain bluenette was humming happily, feeling rather lively as she sewed the pearls into the hem of her latest commission. The dress was coming along nicely- It was Penny’s dress for her wedding to Jagged, and Marinette would run through hell not once, not twice, but three times in order to get every last detail perfect.

The tune drifted out of her closed lips (That were biting onto a pinch cushion as she only had two hands and those two hands were occupied) as she tightened the thread around her twenty-third pearl. “Seventy-five more to go.” She breathed, picking up another pearl from the container.

Her humming resumed shortly, only pausing whenever she had to take a drink or a breather. Glancing at the time on her alarm clock, Marinette decided that it was time to go for a nightly stroll around the city of lights.

»»——⍟——««

[Gotham, 8pm] - A few hours later

His soulmate’s humming had stopped a few hours ago, and Damian would rather die than admit his mind felt a little too quiet without it, but it was true. Something was just missing when her voice wasn’t running through his mind, humming those unnamed songs that he just wished she could learn the lyrics to so he could at least guess what languages she spoke.

Dinner was a short affair, and after it he swiftly returned to his room to finish up any of his measly assignments. Vivaldi’s winter movement- Allegro mon troppo- Flowed out of his laptop’s speakers as he began humming the familiar melody, once in a while putting down his pen to mimic the movements he would make if he were playing the violin.

[Paris, 2am] - Same time

Eyes squinted open as Marinette groaned, peering at the bedside clock. It wasn’t even surprising anymore- Her soulmate had a tendency to hum classical music in the early hours of the morning- Or the late hours of the night. She rolled back into her bed with a huff as she came to the conclusion that her soulmate was either a very late sleeper/a very early riser or he lived in a different timezone.

The notes of Vivaldi’s winter movement cascaded familiarly over Marinette as she let them lull her to sleep, knowing the melody by heart as her soulmate had been singing the movement for weeks now.

»»——⍟——««

[Gotham, 6am] - A few hours later

Damian groaned, his eyes reluctantly stretching them open to allow a little light into his receptor cells. A familiar tune lingered in the back of his mind, soft and hiding away, just simply existing quietly-

His eyes widened. He sure wasn’t the one that was humming the tune, so...

His soulmate was humming Vivaldi’s first winter movement.

[Paris, 3pm] - Same time

“Marinette,” Adrien said after a moment, stopping in his tracks as he looked up from their assigned classwork to turn towards the girl seated behind him. “Are you singing Vivaldi?”

“Oh, that’s what it is?” Marinette looked delighted. “I’ve been asking around to see if anyone knew what I was singing!”

The blonde looked slightly surprised. “Wait- What you’re saying is...”

“My soulmate’s a Vivaldi fan, I suppose.” The bluenette shrugged with a smile on her face. “He hums it in the middle of the night. Has such a lovely voice, too.”

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taglist. @maskedpainter @animegirlweeb @starmist19 @myazael @stainedglassm @user00000003 @toughluna

please help me by reblogging these fics! Pretty sure Tumblr has me in tag jail atm so I don’t think much of my stuff is showing up on people’s dashes. Thank you so much!

»»——⍟——««

#damian wayne #marinette dupain-cheng #daminette #damian wayne x marinette dupain-cheng #mlb x dc #daminette december #cady writesss «#cady's daminette december 2020

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topsytervy · 3 years

Text

Good Night ~ Rafe Cameron

Ahaha I did a Part 3 to goodbye. It kind of got a little dicey at the end but it’s chill. You can read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Blurb: You and Rafe go out for some drinks and I don’t know what else to say.

Word Count: 3,323

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, grammar/spelling mistakes, I think that’s it

~~~~~~

Rafe smiled as he unlocked the door to his apartment and walked in, closing the door behind him as he placed his keys in the little dish on the counter.

He walked further into his apartment, taking off his coat and placing it on the back of a chair before walking down the hall to his bedroom to change into pajamas. He flopped down on his bed and stared at the ceiling as a smile crept onto his face.

He let out a breathy laugh as he ran his hands over his face as he thought about his day with you in the car. It was a dream come true to have alone time with you after all these years. All he wanted was 5 minutes with you and he got 8 hours instead.

His phone vibrated on his nightstand and he reached over, grabbing it and unlocking it before his grin grew.

My plans for tomorrow fell through and I don't work the day after, so drinks tomorrow night?

Rafe looked up towards his ceiling. "I'm starting to think you exist, big guy."

Yeah. I'll pick you up at 7?

I'll see you then.

Rafe set his phone back on the nightstand and positioned himself under the covers, closing his eyes as he thought about your conversation when he dropped you off.

Rafe held open the door to your apartment complex for you before walking in behind you.

"Thank you," you smiled as you began your journey up the stairs to your apartment.

Rafe stood at the bottom of the steps and pointed to the elevator. "Why are we not using the elevator?" He asked.

"I got stuck in one a few years back and I decided that I'm staying far away from those things for the rest of my life." You shrugged. Rafe chuckled lightly and took his first step up. You looked back at him with a grin. "Hope you plan on skipping leg day cause I'm up on floor six."

Rafe waved his hand, dismissing your sentence. "Please, this will be a cinch."

Halfway up, Rafe looked over at you as he heard the slight panting coming from you. His lips formed into a smirk as he spoke. "Are you okay over there?"

You nodded. "Peachy."

"Mhm,"

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." He shrugged.

You rolled your eyes as you two continued up the stairs, Rafe offering to carry you the rest of the way but you denied his offer.

Rafe watched as you brought your tired feet up the last step, opening the door that separated the stairwell from the hallway of apartment doors.

You led the way to your apartment door and pulled out your key, shoving it into the lock. "Thanks for letting me ride with you. It was way better than the ride with Kie, JJ, and Pope." You glanced at him as you turned the key.

"It's no problem. I enjoyed the company." Rafe leaned against the wall, praying his voice wouldn't waver at his next sentence. "So, you wanna go out tomorrow night? Hit the town or whatever?"

Even though he knew that you two were on alright terms now, after all the car ride was filled with catching up and bad karaoke, there was still a part of his mind that was nervous.

Nervous that you would tell him that, as fun as the last two days were, you couldn't see yourselves being more than civil acquaintances. Nervous that you'd say, 'yes, as long as the guy I've been seeing in secret for the past month can join us'. Nervous that you'd say 'let me check my schedule and I'll let you know’, but then ghost him.

Nervous that he would have to watch you walk out of his life again.

"I kind of already have a prior commitment to tomorrow," You told him before reaching into your bag and pulling out your phone, "but I'll let you know when I can squeeze in some time for you when I check my work schedule." You smiled as you extended your unlocked phone to Rafe.

"You promise?" Rafe asked as he hesitantly took your phone.

This was the beginning of one of his scenarios he created in his mind and not one of the ones that ended with you two saying 'I do'.

You shot Rafe a look. "Rafe, you and I both know that I wouldn't be looking this calm and collected if I was lying to you. I'd be a stuttering, panicking mess."

Rafe chuckled lightly at the truthful statement of your terrible lying as he began putting in his number under his name before texting himself a ‘hi’ so he'd have your number.

He handed your phone back to you with a grin. "To be fair, you were a stuttering, panicking mess when we first met, Y/N/N, and all you were saying was hello."

You blushed profusely at the memory of you being nervous as hell when you met Rafe for the first time and Rafe wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you and tease you about the sudden redness on your cheeks like he used to do whenever you blushed.

But instead, he just added, "Don't worry. You were a cute stuttering, panicking mess," before he walked back towards the stairwell.

As Rafe slipped off into dreamland, you stayed awake, waiting for your kettle to go off so you could make your tea.

You grabbed your phone and unlocked it, Rafe’s contact staring back at you. You clicked edit and erased his name before typing out his new name.

Bub

You smiled slightly at the familiar nickname from years ago and hit save before opening Spotify. You went to click on your liked songs before remembering something from the car ride with Rafe and went to the search bar, typing in Rafe’s Spotify name that you still had memorized.

"You're music is so fucking basic, Rafe." You laughed as you once again listened to some random pop song that you had already heard way too many times on the radio.

Rafe shook his head. “My music is not basic. I just have different playlists with different genres. It’s called being organized Y/L/N.” He answered with a grin.

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow,

Rafe nodded. “Mhm. If I’m in the mood for rap, I have my rap playlist. If I want alternative, I have my alternative playlist. And so on.”

“Mind if I look through and choose one?” You asked.

Rafe grabbed his phone from his hoodie pocket and unlocked it with his fingerprint before handing it over to you. You found Spotify and clicked it open, going to his playlists. You were going to click on his alternative playlist but another one caught your eye.

My Girl’s Favorites.

You glanced over at Rafe.

“My girl’s favorites?”

“Hmm?” He glanced over at you and you turned the screen to him. “Oh. Guess I never deleted that one.”

“Oh. You want me to delete it for you so you don’t have to remember her?” You clicked on the playlist and went to click on the three dots but Rafe spoke up.

“No!” His hand reached out and he placed a hand on your forearm to stop you. You turned to look at him and moved your finger away from the dots. “That’s… that’s your playlist. It’s probably a little outdated considering it’s been five years but… yeah. That should be all your favorites from when you were 16.” He admitted, glancing out his window before turning his attention back to the road ahead of him.

You bit your lip before clicking play on the playlist, gasping when Mr.Brightside came on first.

Rafe looked over at you and smiled as you immediately went to turn up the volume before beginning to yell the lyrics as you scrolled through all the songs that were apparently your favorites back in high school.

“This is going to be one hell of a trip down memory lane.” You commented as your eyes widened at some of the songs that you had forgotten about.

Rafe nodded. “Oh yeah. You’re in for a treat.” You glanced at him and you saw his cheeks redden slightly. “I have, on occasion, listened to it.”

You smiled and thought about Rafe listening to all of your old favorites while he was alone. If you were being honest, you still had a playlist of Rafe’s favorites that you found yourself putting on from time to time.

You smiled as you found the playlist of your high school favorites and clicked on it, playing the music that brought back so many memories. The kettle began to whistle and you quickly turned off the heat and removed it from the burner, pouring the water into your mug that already had a teabag in it.

You grabbed your phone and your tea, heading off into your bedroom so you could begin your nightly hour of coloring to help you unwind before bed.

******

When you and Rafe pulled up at the club at 8 the next night, you got out of the car, shivering slightly in the cold breeze s you waited for Rafe. Once out, he held out his fist.

“Rack, paper, scissors for designated driver?”

You waved him off. “I’ll be DD.” You told him and Rafe had a look of confusion on his face.

“Really? That easy?”

You shrugged. “I’m used to being DD. I almost always am with the pogues.” You went to grab his keys but he pulled them away.

“Y/N, when’s the last time you got shit-faced?” He asked.

When you didn’t answer, Rafe pocketed his keys. "I’ll be DD tonight. You, my dear, are going to drink to your heart’s content.”

You ignored the slight flutter your heart did at my dear and went for his pocket to grab his keys. “Seriously, Rafe. It’s not that big of a deal. I don’t want to ruin your fun of getting wasted.”

Rafe grabbed your wrists gently and pushed you away from his body with a small laugh. “I find the thought of you getting wasted way more entertaining.” You shot him a look and he turned you around, pushing you to the back of the small line. “Think of this as your opportunity to let loose and have some fun.”

You rolled your eyes before walking to the back of the line with Rafe behind you.

Two hours had passed since you two entered the club, sitting next to Rafe in a booth in the corner after you two had spent the last twenty minutes dancing. Rafe had two beers the whole night and you… well, Rafe would say you were closer to the shit-faced side of the scale from what he could tell.

Rafe looked over at you and saw you yawn before picking up your drink and placing the straw in your mouth. Well, attempt to. You missed your mouth a couple of times.

"Alright, sweetheart. I think that is our cue to get you home." He told you, finishing off the beer he'd been nursing for the past 45 minutes.

You whined and grabbed his bicep with your hands. "Rafe, I'm not tired." You finally managed to get the straw into your mouth.

"Oh yeah? That yawn says otherwise. Stay here while I close the tab." He slipped out of the booth and walked over to the bar.

After getting the bartender's attention and letting him know he was closing the tab, he glanced over at you, smiling as he watched you finish off your drink. He narrowed his eyes as he saw a dude slide into the booth next to you, a smile on his face as he reached over and touched your hand, saying something. Rafe watched you take the straw out of your mouth and respond with a shake of your head as you slowly slid out of your seat, placing your glass on the table as you said something back to him.

Rafe looked back at the bartender who tapped his shoulder and took his card back with a thanks before making his way back to you quickly.

"Rafe!" You cheered, throwing your arms around his neck.

Throughout the night, he noticed how with each drink you got touchier and more affectionate. Not that he minded, of course, but the sudden movement took him off guard for a second before he slid his arms around your waist to keep you from tipping over.

Okay, half to keep you from tipping over, half because he wanted to.

But, you know, tomato, tomato.

"Hey, Ready to go?" He grinned, his eyes shifting from you to the guy who was now standing behind you.

You nodded your head and you took your arms from his neck, heading towards the door as Rafe’s hand found its home on the small of your back. Rafe led you outside and to his car, opening the passenger door for you. The sleepiness seemed to finally be hitting you now that you were away from the crowd and loud music, the quiet night taking over instead as you yawned once more. Rafe opened the door for you and you whispered a quick thanks before climbing in.

“Can you buckle yourself in?”

You nodded as you reached for the seatbelt. "Tonight was fun Rafe." You told him quietly as he watched you struggle to grab it.

Rafe smiled. "Yeah, it was." He grabbed the seatbelt and handed it to you, causing you to smile back and click it into place as he shut your door.

He walked over to the driver’s side and slid into the seat, shoving the key into the ignition before turning it and starting the car.

The ride was quiet except for the radio and when Rafe glanced over at you about halfway to your place, you were fast asleep, head resting against the window.

When he pulled up to your apartment building, he decided against waking you up, cause what kind of a gentleman would he be if he woke a princess from her slumber just so she had to walk up six flights of stairs while drunk to her apartment, and got out of the car.

He opened your door just enough to slip his hand inside and place his hand between your head and the window before opening the door all the way. He reached over your body and clicked the button to unlatch the seatbelt.

You stirred slightly as you groaned and Rafe looked at you the seatbelt retracted.

“It’s just me, Y/N.” He whispered, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms around his neck.

You tightened your grip around his neck as you wrapped your legs around his waist, his hands going to the bottom of your thighs.

“Watch your head,” He told you as he pulled you out of the car.

You tucked your face into the crook of his neck as he shut the door, beginning the journey to your apartment.

You sniffed as Rafe started up the first flight of stairs, causing one of Rafe’s hands to go to your back, rubbing your back softly.

“You okay?”

“No.”

Rafe’s face fell at your answer. “Why?”

“Because I lied to you.” You murmured into his neck.

“Oh?”

“I never got stuck in the elevator. I made that up so I could spend a few more minutes with you.” You murmured into his neck.

Rafe felt a smile creep onto his face. “Yeah?”

He felt you nod and he chuckled. “You could’ve just invited me in for tea or something, you know?”

“My plans didn’t fall through either. I canceled them. It was a tinder date but you’re way more interesting than that guy.”

“Oh really?" He smirked, his ego slightly boosted over the fact that you chose him over some random guy.

"Mhm. I blocked him too."

"That’s nice, Y/N/N." His smirk turning into a grin. "Are you gonna delete the app entirely?"

You shrugged. "Maybe." You sighed, one of your hands beginning to play with his hair.

The rest of the trip upstairs was quiet, Rafe hoping you didn’t fall back asleep when he came face to face with your door.

"Where are your keys?" He whispered, just in case you had actually fallen asleep.

You dug into your bag and grabbed the keys, handing them to the man without taking your face from his neck.

You kissed his cheek as he unlocked your door and opened it before setting you down.

"Do you wanna stay? It's late and I don't think you should drive anymore." You stared at him.

Rafe shoved his hands into the pockets. "Uh...yeah. Sure. Someone's gotta take care of you, right?"

You smiled as you grabbed his arm and dragged him inside, closing the door behind him. You lead him into your room and handed him a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants you never got around to returning to him before directing him to the bathroom.

You climbed into bed after getting dressed and Rafe came back into your bedroom, placing a bucket on your side of the bed.

"Just in case you have to throw up during the night." He told you, knowing you rarely ever made it to the bathroom.

You once threw up in an empty cooler once cause you couldn't make it to the trash can that was 5 feet away but that’s a different story.

You smiled and he turned to walk away but you grabbed his wrist. He turned to look at you and you opened your arms. "Come cuddle with me?"

Rafe smiled. "Are you sure?"

You pouted at him and patted the spot next to you. Rafe climbed into your bed, opening his arms and you rolled into his side, your head resting on his chest.

"I missed this a lot." You sighed, inhaling his scent.

"Me too, Y/N. Me too." Rafe kissed the top of your head.

You looked up at him before placing your lips on his softly. Rafe smiled as he kissed you back before pulling away after a couple of seconds.

"Go to sleep now. We'll talk in the morning." He whispered, his thumb rubbing circles on your side.

"Okay, but Rafe, you should know something else I lied about." Rafe looked down at you, waiting for what you were about to say. "I'm not that drunk." You shrugged, a small smile on your face.

Rafe stared at you. "I carried you up the stairs for no reason? Six fights of stairs when I could've taken the elevator or you could've walked them yourself?" Rafe shook his head. “Did you use the five years to work on your lying?”

You let out a small laugh at his words. "You should've known I'm not a lightweight. I mean, JJ is one of my best friends. We didn’t even have that many drinks tonight."

Rafe shook his head at you again with a tsk. "I know your mom didn't raise you as a liar. I'm going to have to call her and tell her her daughter has been lying to me."

"But it was to spend more time with you." You grinned as you took your finger and booped his nose.

He took an arm from your waist and grabbed your wrist gently, kissing your hand. "I mean, I guess I can forgive you if that’s your reason." He smiled.

"That is my reason." You giggled.

Rafe squeezed your side. "Then I guess you're forgiven then, sweetheart."

You threw your leg over his and closed your eyes, your arm resting across his abdomen. "That’s good to know. I can go to sleep now without worrying about you being mad at me." You hummed. "Goodnight, bubs."

Rafe grinned, kissing the top of your head once more before closing his own eyes. "Goodnight, baby."

~~~~~~~

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx

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innately-pretentious · 4 years

Text

Finally, I Found You. (Klaus Hargreeves x Reader)

Request: Hey! I looooved your Klaus headcanons and was wondering if you could write about when him and the reader are reunited in the 60s??? Totally fine if not, have a nice day!

A/N: Awh thank you so much, I hope this is alright dude! I am really tempted to turn this into a series tho... if you want that?? Even if this is really rough and kind of rushed. Kinda angsty? Kinda sad? Very fluffy. Enjoy!

Being spat out of a spinning vortex into a dingy alley was enough to stress anybody out, especially after a rather terrifying and life threatening encounter with your sister initiating the apocalypse. Navigating through the twenty first century was difficult enough, but being catapulted into a completely new decade with nothing but your bag and clothes you were wearing just about topped that.

Letting out a cry as you hit the ground and groaning as you rolled over and tried to get our bearings. Glancing around to see if you could locate any of your siblings whom you were with only a few minutes previously, you stood up and brushed yourself off, you began calling out their names. Sadly with no success, there was no response, you were alone.

You continued pacing along the pavement, trying to come up with a plan of action. Deciding you couldn’t improve your situation much from the alley, you emerged into a busy street and began wandering down the road. Progressing along the street, you could not help but take notice of the architecture and clothing surrounding you. Definitely not similar to the modern aesthetics you were used to. Flagging down an approachable looking woman and kid you asked what year it was, sharing peculiar look she confirmed your suspicions. It was July 24th 1962. Brilliant.

Trying hard not to think the worst of your situation, you mind wandered to Klaus. The two of you had hardly been apart for more than one night over the course of your year long relationship, your stomach dropped at the thought of him being isolated in a random time period, unable to contact anyone, nobody to help. A small part of you wished Ben was with him, but you were completely clueless as to how this whole time travel business worked. You attempted to brush that thought aside for the time being, first you had to find somewhere to stay. Sleeping rough with nothing but the clothes on your back did not sound appealing, luckily you had some spare cash in your bag for a room for a few days, giving you sometime to formulate a plan.

The first night was definitely the hardest. Deciding to find the cheapest hotel you could, you booked a room for the night, collecting the keys and collapsing on the mattress. As soon as you got into the uncomfortable bed you knew sleep would not come tonight, the double bed was not helping either. You spent the majority of the night on your side, laying there and glancing at the opposite side of the mattress, where he should be sleeping. It felt too empty without Klaus hogging the blanket. You couldn’t help the collection of memories the two of you shared popping into your mind. Lazy weekday nights, limbs draped absentmindedly over one another, Klaus’ hand tracing soft patterns into your shoulder as you talked about absolute nonsense for hours. Both dreading when the morning came as you would have to leave his arms. Growing up in Hargreeves’ mansion you would constantly sneak into his room, even before you were together. Your ability to turn invisible was a great help, coming to comfort him if your father pushed him too hard again was almost a nightly occurrence. You loved the way he would relax as soon as he felt you lift up the blanket and settle in next to him, knowing he wouldn’t have be alone.

You smiled at the thought of him, he always had to be close to you. Even in his sleep you caught him reaching for you sleepily or rolling his leg onto you in an attempt to pull you closer. You often wondered if he even knew he was doing it or if it was entirely subconscious. After everything he went through growing up it was no surprise he had clingy tendencies. You wouldn’t change him for anything, if he needed you close, you had no problem obliging him. If it made him feel safe you would do it.

It was at this point the tears started to fall. For someone who had been through so much to then be stuck somewhere, unable to reach you, made your heart ache. Tomorrow you would figure something out, however futile it may be, you were determined to at least try and make a life for yourself here.

3 Months Later:

The three months had not been easy, by any means. It had mainly consisted of you on the road, finding work pretty much wherever would take you. Getting the car you were currently driving was a feat in itself, stealing an automobile had never been on your bucket list. You never liked using your power to steal, however, it was your only mode of transport and occasional place to sleep. You always coaxed Klaus not to just take things, he would be shocked if he could see you now, the look on his face would be priceless! On the bright side, you could have picked a worse car, with five seats, a convertible roof and playable radio, you had risen in worse rides.

More memories surfaced in your mind, ones where you took Klaus out for a drive out of the city during the beginning of his sobriety. This started as an attempt to inject a new lust for life into him, show him there was more to the world than just powder in the back alleys. Soon your little road trip became a weekly occurrence, driving with Klaus and losing track of time, just each other for company. You loved him dearly but you both decided it would be more beneficial if you were the one behind the wheel, not that he cared, he was given full control of the music this way. He insisted on having the windows down and the music loud, staring at you with his pupils slightly dilated, feeling doped up on life rather than various pills. You loved how radiant he looked, you even let him get away with wailing along to the lyrics on the radio, at least for a while…

“Klaus, I love you, but I’m gonna need my eardrums in the future,”

“Yes, I’m aware. Why do you think I’m gracing them with my dulcet tones?”

You couldn’t help but jokingly glare at him. Once again he was never to far away from you, laughing and giving your thigh a squeeze as you watch the city disappear behind you, along with his worries.

Dragging yourself back to the present (well, 1962), you gripped the steering wheel, forcing yourself to focus on the road instead of the bittersweet memories you held. They were the only things you had left of him, and you hoped that wherever he was, he was safe.

You decided to return to the town where it all began, Dallas, Texas. You were in need of some new clothes and a quick bite to eat before you got back on the road, in search for another short-term job to earn some much needed cash. A second-hand shop would probably be the most budget friendly option for clothes, ringing the bell as you opened the door, you began to flick through the various fabrics and patterns of clothing. One of the things you loved about this decade was the flamboyant clothing, he would have thrived here. Gathering quite a large armful of clothes, you decided to go try a few on, just looking through your selection one last time before you committed to the changing room.

You were ripped from your thoughts by a loud thud on the window, resulting in you dropping the bundle of clothes you had accumulated during your browsing. Huffing and turning your attention to the window, ready for some kind of confrontation, although, nothing could be further from your assumption.

Your eyes met with the same hazel ones you had been gazing into for the last year, unmistakable hands with tattoos were firmly placed on the glass. His jaw was slack and his eyes were wide as he gawked through the glass. You began to shake as you drank in the sight of him, your chest tightened and you found it increasingly difficult to breathe. You wanted to run into his arms, but you weren’t sure if your legs would carry you. You couldn’t feel anything except the racing of you heart. Time seemed to still as you just stared at one another.

He was the first to break the gaze, tripping over himself in an attempt to reach the door. He forced the door open so forcefully that the bell nearly fell off, it didn’t stop him though. Running down the shopping aisle, pushing the racks aside as he continued towards you, knocking over a few clothing racks, not slowing down as he slammed into your open arms. The impact of the force sending the two of you tumbling to the ground, both of you gripping onto the other in fear they may disappear again. He could feel you shaking in his hold, overwhelmed with the entire situation, he kept his grip firm around you, letting you know that he is here and you are safe. He doesn’t plan on leaving you.

Finally managing to pull his face from the crook of your neck, you held his face in your hands, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. You weren’t aware you were crying until you felt his calloused hands brush away a stray tear from your cheek.

“It’s really you isn’t it?” You managed to choke out, you must have looked insane to the shopkeeper, both of you smiling and sobbing, curled up on his shop floor.

“Of course it’s me, nobody could recreate this amount of beauty and personality twice,” he joked and cracked a smile. That typical Klaus smile you missed so much. Even in a time like this, supposedly sentimental, he still had to get a wisecrack in.

“You’re such an idiot Klaus, only you could compliment yourself in a time like this,” you said, you weren’t sure if you were crying or laughing at this point, but you knew you were finally happy.

“I’ve had to do it myself for a while since you were absent,” he said, you couldn’t miss the subtle sadness that passed over his features.

“Come on then Y/N”, he groaned as he stood up, offering a hand to help you, “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

You glanced up at him before you accepted his hand, his hair was longer than before and he looked healthier, but he was undeniably still your Klaus. You placed you hand in his and let him drag you up, resting his arm around your waist, slightly tighter than he used to. You allowed your head to rest on his shoulder, re-familiarising yourself with his body. The two of you definitely had a long conversation ahead, you allowed him to drag you to the nearest diner, excited to unburden yourselves after finally finding each other.

#tua #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy x reader #tua imagine #tua x reader #tua fanfic #tua fanfiction #the umbrella academy fanfic #the umbrella academy fanfiction #klaus hargreeves fanfiction #klaus hargreeves imagine #klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves fanfic #klaus hargreeves headcanon #tua headcanon #the umbrella academy headcanon

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raitrolling · 3 years

Text

No more worlds like this, no more days like that

[Easy reading version on Toyhou.se]

Katrin woke from her ‘nap’ on the couch, one that she thinks was just meant to be a twenty minute thing that turned into sleeping through the entire day. She never intended to make the couch her typical sleeping location when she had a perfectly fine recuperacoon in her respiteblock, but she always just… Ended up staying here. It was her nightly routine by now; leave her hive for either a night working at Barsho’s boutique or wandering around the city with a vague aim to do some pickpocketing, try to sneak her way into a bar, get caught, then go home to finish off whatever drinks that still happened to be lying around. It was genuinely not a way to live, she knew that very well. But, she just felt… Stuck. Certainly getting through each night fine and meeting the minimum requirements for socialising before people started openly worrying about her, but not making any sort of progress. A monotonous loop of drunkenness and misery.

She wasn’t rostered on to work tonight, and she didn’t feel the motivation to leave the hive. The drive to write had been gone for a long time, the tales of Rirsan Katish had become too unbelievably over-the-top in her desperate attempts for escapism that the life of her self-insert character was no longer appealing. There wasn’t much left for her to do, aside from locate the remote and an unopened alcoholic beverage...

However, as she moved to sit up, Katrin caught a glimpse of something she had forgotten that she still owned: An old keyboard propped up against the wall.

It was a gift from her kismesis, although Katrin couldn’t recall exactly which 12th Perigees it was. Of course Klavir would buy her something related to his own hobbies, it was his way of sharing a part of himself with his quadrant. Katrin had given him some books she’d stolen in return, her way of telling him to get better hobbies than playing piano and being depressed. He retorted that it was better than her hobby of drinking and being depressed, to which she couldn’t argue with. He was right, as much as she hated to admit it.

She recalled a conversation she had with her neighbour one night. Soroll had invited her over to listen to the latest song he had been practicing on his drum set - which was a homemade mishmash of discarded rubbish bins and some actual drums he had scavenged from the local garbage dump. It sounded horrible, as expected, but whenever he hit the bass drum and crash cymbal (which accounted for half of the proper equipment he owned), she could recognise the alt-rock song he was trying to play. She had asked him why he likes to play, despite not being able to play properly and gain any sort of recognition or money from it. He shrugged.

“I dunno. Its jus fun.”

He was probably right about that too. Soroll and Klavir spoke of playing music as just something you do whenever you feel troubled. Klavir was never away from the piano for too long, it was equally his career and his down time, and he’d mentioned the therapeutic undercurrent behind each note and key change. The same could be said about Soroll; Katrin didn’t know much about his “job” in the gang as he didn’t like to talk about it, but late into the night after he’d gotten home from whatever he did, she could sometimes hear him practicing his drumming.

Perhaps there is something about hitting things in a non-destructive way that can be beneficial. It’d be healthier than opening another bottle of cheap wine, and safer than breaking into someone’s hive, at the very least. Katrin lazily rolled off the couch, getting to her feet and then wandering over to the keyboard.

Eichio had gifted her a couple books for learning the keyboard after he noticed it when he came over one time: A few simple sheet music collections for beginners that allows one to play classic tunes with just one octave, and one slightly more advanced one to play some famous pop songs. If she put her mind to it, she could probably play the latter ones with ease. Klavir had given her countless lessons, but over time had given up trying to teach her when she either became too discouraged from not being able to keep up with him, or their lessons would devolve into some sort of black-fuelled flirting session. Needless to say, whenever Katrin attempted to recall the times she did play decently, her mind would wander to the way she would slip under Klavir’s arms while he was performing to sit on his lap in an attempt to distract him from his music, only to get flustered herself when he would grab her wrists and guide her to play for him. He was much too good at turning the tables on her.

… Right, the books. Katrin picked up the keyboard and one of the simple sheet music collections, using the weight of the instrument to push numerous empty cans and clutter off the coffee table for it to rest on top. She never bothered to buy a proper stand for it, nor a chair to sit on. Pulling the couch cushions off onto the floor and stacking them on top of one another will have to suffice. It’s not like there’s any foot pedals to worry about. Without any room under the coffee table for her legs, Katrin opted to kneel on the cushions as she flicks through the pages of the piano book.

She settles on one short song: My Favourite Things. The sheet music only covers two pages and three verses of the song, and the keys don’t go beyond the centre of the keyboard. The book is propped up on the music stand attached to the keyboard. Katrin rests her hands on the keys, right thumb on middle C as she remembers Klavir teaching her, and plays.

E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E

Rain - drops on | rose - es and | whis - kers on | kit - tens

E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E

Bright cop - per | ket - tles and | warm woo - len | mit - tens

E - B - A | E - F - D | D - A - G | C

Brown pa - per | pack - a - ges | tied up with | strings

B - C - D | E - F - G | A - B - A | D#

These are a | few of my | fav - our - ite | things

She plays slow the first time, trying to get a feel for the keys again. There’s no metronome to keep time, but she’s heard the original song enough for her to recall how it should sound. This melody is simple, there’s only one sharp for her to keep track of and only one note is played at a time. There’s a small sense of accomplishment when she completes the first verse without any mistakes, such a thing doesn’t happen often to her. If she hadn’t sat through those lessons with Klavir and was trying solely on her own, she probably would have given up immediately when things didn’t go perfectly. But she at least knows something, and not some fantastic idea straight from her imagination that she could immediately discover that she’s a prodigy who will make millions performing for others. She should probably give her kismesis credit, if it wasn’t for him she wouldn’t be here right now. She begins the second verse.

E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E

Cream co - loured | pon - ies and | crisp ap - ple | stru - dels

E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E

Door - bells and | sleigh - bells and | schitz - el with | noo - dles

E - B - A | E - F - D | D - A - G | C

Wild geese that | fly with the | moon on their | wings

B - C - D | E - F - G | A - B - A | D#

These are a | few of my | fav - our - ite | things

The pace picks up, and rather than singing the lyrics listed in the book, Katrin finds it easier to repeat the name of the note as she plays it. Nothing any of her friends could teach her - Soroll and Eichio don’t know how to read sheet music, and Klavir is such a natural he struggled to dumb anything down to her level. It was her own way of playing, and a way that felt right to her.

E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E

Girls in white | dress - es with | sat - in white | sa - shes

E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E

Snow - flakes that | stay on my | nose and eye - | las - shes

E - B - A | E - F - D | D - A - G | C

Sil - ver white | win - ters that | melt in - to | spring

B - C - D | E - F - G | A - B - A | D#

These are a | few of my | fav - our - ite | things

If the book of sheet music continued to the next verse, Katrin would have kept playing. It felt good to play, to make the instrument make sounds that were pleasing to the ear, even if they were much simpler to the music other people would make. It even felt a little fun, for reasons she nor her neighbour could elaborate when she first posed that question to him all that time ago. She thinks she understands it now, and plays the song over from the beginning. Her pace continues to quicken, until finally reaching the tempo of which the song is meant to be played. When she vocalises the notes, it stops being a mnemonic tool and turns into an accompanying harmony. E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E. E - B - B | G - E - E | B - E - E | F - E. E - B - A | E - F - D | D - A - G | C. B - C - D | E - F - G | A - B - A | D.

Again and again she plays, until if anyone could hear the song from outside of her hive they would undoubtedly be sick of it. She could flip the page and try a different song, but something about this one just feels right. There’s a calming rhythm to the repetition of the notes, and a sense of progress as she scales the keys in the final line of each verse. Progression. Another thing that doesn’t happen often to her, but here it feels doable. Maybe tomorrow she’ll try another song in the book, and maybe she’ll keep going until she feels ready to try the more difficult piano book later on. For now, she’s content - perhaps another emotion that feels foreign to her - to play whatever she feels like because to feel something at all is an improvement to her current lifestyle. And unlike everything else, she has no reason to play, there’s no monetary gain from playing alone in her lounge room, no reason to impress anyone, no skills that can be carried on into any career or useful activity. It’s just fun.

#drabble #katrin rissah #also mentioning #soroll delfim #eichio maccau #sharp knives #inspired by the song ive taken the title from and the piano scene from eva 3.33 LMAO #also i nabbed the sheet music off this rly shit copy i found on google images that the website required u to make an account #to get a high-quality scan and I Aint Doing That #i did try it out on an online keyboard cuz i cbf getting my old one out and idk if its just me but that D sharp sounds rancid as hell #but idk enough about music to know what the note should be so rip

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

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Different (part one)

A/N: Unrequited love! Unrequited love!! UNREQUITED LOVE!!! AHHH!!!

Okay here is the unrequited love that you’ve all been patiently waiting for!! Thanks for that! So I combined two requests together for an overarching theme and will circle back to those a few times during this mini-series!! As always, let me know what you guys thought of it!! I love hearing every detail of your thoughts!!

THANKS A MILLION for all of your support! Reblogs are never expected, but always appreciated!! 🤗💞🌻

REQUEST/PROMPT: People talking a room away & Fighting the urge to cry

Let’s Chat!! | MASTERLIST

Warnings: Few swear words, some self-doubt, and ANGST!!!

Word Count: 4.3K

You’ve found yourself in this position before: lounging on Shawn’s patio couch on a warm summer’s night, the lights of the CN Tower illuminating the bustling city streets below, nestled into Shawn with your head resting on his chest, arm lazily draped around your shoulder.

The fire pit in front of you was giving off heat, but it was nothing like the warmth you felt in Shawn’s arms. His arms, always tightly wound around you, felt like they were protecting you from anything on the outside. And at times, you even felt as if they protected you from your own dismissive thoughts.

Brian was telling a story, one that you had heard before, but since it was one of Shawn’s first night’s back from touring, he was telling it as if no one had heard it. But you didn’t mind tuning out his voice, it gave you an excuse to give all of your attention to Shawn.

He was gone for so long. Seeing his face through your iPhone wasn’t enough to ease the ache of your heart. Whenever he laughed on screen you yearned to hear his laugh in person, and now you were granted with the pleasure of hearing it and feeling it rumble through his chest.

Shawn’s fingertips lazily grazed your shoulder blades, sending electric jolts all the way down to the tip of your toes.

“So, Shawn,” Brian let out a little laugh, taking a sip of his beer, as he gave Shawn a pointed look, “Any girls on tour?”

Shawn’s fingertips paused their languid movements and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Got my girl right here,” he squeezed your shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. The familiar tickling sensation inside your stomach caused the corners of your lips to lift up in a small smile.

Brian let out another laugh, “Dude, c’mon, I’m not talking about your best friend––It’s just us,” he waved his hand around to gesture at the three of you sitting around the fire, “Secrets are safe here.”

The longer Shawn stayed silent, the further you felt your heart drop in your stomach. Was there another girl? If there was, he made no mention of it to you on your every other nightly FaceTime calls. The rational side of your brain was having a lethal fight with the irrational part.

He tells you everything, the rational part of your brain concluded, you would know if there was a girl.

But, the irrational section of your mind weighed in, he’s a young, single and very good looking guy there’s no way he went on tour and didn’t meet an equally beautiful girl.

A girl more beautiful than you.

It was times like this where your insecurities were too much to handle. Your own thoughts maliciously attacking you. It was times like these where Shawn’s tight hold on you was all you needed to feel safe from yourself.

“Swear on it man,” Shawn raised both of his hands up in surrender, briefly losing contact with your shoulder. He leaned his body toward the table, and since your head was still resting on his chest, he took you with him, as he grabbed his glass of alcohol and took a sip, “No one for me.”

Brian didn’t look convinced, but you were more than happy when he dropped the topic and changed the conversation. But with the way Brian kept glancing at the both of you cuddled up on the couch, you wondered if there was something you should be aware of.

•••

The next night you were over at Shawn’s it was just the two of you. It was a tradition to get together within the first five days of him returning from tour and having a night reserved for just spending time together; it was always a movie night with tacos.

You brought all the ingredients over; spices, tortillas, condiments, and meat. While Shawn provided the cooking equipment and his company. You were never too fond of tacos, but when Shawn had returned home from touring his Handwritten album and crashed at your house, all he wanted to eat were tacos. You remembered how excited he was to make the tacos, catch up with you––his best friend––after months of being away, and picking out the perfect movie to watch.

His idea of a perfect movie was 10 Things I Hate About You and he fell asleep halfway through it.

So, within five days of returning from a tour, without fail, you and Shawn always ate tacos and watched 10 Things I Hate About You.

That’s exactly where you found yourself now.

Shawn had a fairly large kitchen, definitely bigger than the one in your apartment, and you cooked with a smile on your face with all the space you had to move around. You chopped up the lettuce while Shawn took out a frying pan.

“Did you mix the spices together?” You called out over your shoulder.

You heard your answer when Shawn let out a deep sigh, “No,” Turning your head around you saw him holding the frying pan limply in his hands as he looked at you with hopeful eyes, “Can you mix them?”

Placing the knife down on the cutting board, you walked over to him with a smile, “It’s not that hard.”

Another sigh, “But you have to measure them and there’s a million fucking little spices––“

“Hey,” you placed a hand on his bicep and gave it a slight squeeze, “Don’t worry, I got it.”

When your hand touched his arm, all you felt was warmth. Shawn was an abnormally warm person, but this kind of warmth was felt deeper within. The warmth you felt whenever your skin touched his reminded you of home. His presence was so caring and thoughtful that his whole body seemed to radiate that warmth. And you would do anything in the world to savor that feeling for the rest of our life.

His eyes flickered down to where you held your hand as a shy smile lit up on his face, “I love you.”

I love you.

It wasn’t an uncommon phrase said in your friendship. You both had said it countless times to each other before disconnecting your long distance phone calls, sent voice notes of the phrases to each other, and said it a million more times face to face when you were finally reunited.

But he didn’t mean those three words in the way you wanted to hear them.

You mixed the spices and Shawn took over your role of cutting up the vegetable toppings as your teasing drowned out the music in the background. Cooking was something that was enjoyable and relaxing, but with Shawn, it brought a whole new layer of excitement. You would smack his hand away from eating the cheese, scold him for touching the hot pan, and he would always give your hips a light squeeze whenever he walked behind you.

Once Shawn had cooked the meat and you set up everything in a buffet style, you two had taken to sitting on the barstools instead of at the kitchen table. He was typing something on his phone with a smile on his face when you sat down next to him and asked what it was about. He quickly locked his phone and placed it face down on the counter, looking at you with the same smile he had while looking at his phone. Don’t need to worry about it now, he said, I’m with you.

It was silent as you both started eating the meal you prepared together.

“I–ve––Ote––A––Ong,” Shawn spoke with his mouthful as he went to go in for another bite of his taco. You tilted your head and raised your eyebrows, telling him you understood nothing of what he had just said.

He held up a finger as he finished chewing, and after he swallowed his food he said, “I wrote a song.”

You rolled your eyes, “That’s what you get paid for, no?”

Shawn took another bite of his taco and slightly pushed your shoulder. And with the skin to skin contact, you tried to bottle up that warmth that made your stomach do summersaults.

“I mean like,” he was thinking; eyebrows tightly pulled together as he bit the inside of his cheek trying to find the right words to say, “A song song,” your eyebrows continued to stay raised, having no idea what he was alluding to, “Let me just,” he fumbled with his phone that was sitting on the kitchen counter top, “Play it for you.”

The music he was playing from his iPhone throughout the speakers in his apartment cut off as a melody of guitar strings plucking together filled the room. Shawn’s eyes were trained on the stings of his hoodie, avoiding your curious stare.

Twenty-five seconds in, the voice of the boy sitting across from you––the voice that you loved hearing ramble on about nothing in particular––started to sing.

You could be in Toronto, and I can be in L.A.

Your mind flooded with memories of Shawn always jetting off to L.A., while you were stuck in Toronto always patiently awaiting his return. He’s been on more flights to Los Angeles than you had been on flights in your entire life. And it never got easier driving him to the airport and squeezing him extra tight praying he would change his mind and stay in Toronto.

And if twenty years went by without you, I’d know our feelings wouldn’t change.

Your heart leaped in your chest, feeling as airy and happy as the guitar melody sounded when the chorus of the song came around. You’ve always wanted to bottle up the warmth Shawn held, but this feeling was better. This feeling of pure bliss––like everything in the universe was aligning just for you––made your toes tingle and the hair on your skin stick up.

You barely registered the lyrics in the second verse as you stared at Shawn with eyes wide in astonishment. His way with words blew you away. From the kid who was so nervous to pick up the pen on his first album to now not being able to put the pen down…He absolutely amazed you.

We’ve got that we don’t have to talk to know this love will never stop.

There weren’t many dry spells of conversation with your friendship with Shawn. You could count on one hand when the two of you were too busy to talk to each other, but whenever the two of you would pick up your conversations, it was like no time had passed.

Oh, we’ve got it.

He looked up, staring into your eyes. You thought you were seeing the same different kind of love in his eyes that you’ve been holding in yours for too long now.

Oh, we’ve got that different kind of love.

•••

It wasn’t unusual for Shawn’s lavish Toronto apartment to be the place for parties. Even when he was away on tour, Brian still managed to either sneak in with a few friends or have a full on party. And where you found yourself now––politely saying excuse me while trying to slide behind two people to get to the kitchen––it was one of those full blown parties thrown by Brian for Shawn.

It took a bit of convincing, but Brian wanted to really celebrate his best friend’s return after a successful leg of his tour. His apartment wasn’t packed, per se, but everyone seemed to be congregating in his living room area.

The music could barely be heard over the hoots and hollers of the guests, there were a few sticky spots on the ground where your shoes stuck (you made a mental note to clean it up in the morning), and nobody seemed to understand the concept of personal space.

You finally escaped into the kitchen where people only came in for a second to make another drink and then went back out to join the party. You broke the status quo by leaving the party in the living room for the tameness of the kitchen. The air felt cooler around you, not being pressed up against so many bodies, and you took a deep breath.

“There you are,” your ears perked up at the familiar voice, “Was looking for you.”

You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who was talking. All you had to do was listen to the increased beat of your heart in your chest. His arm curled around your stomach as he pulled your back into his chest. The warmth you felt was in overload.

Shawn pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head, “You weren’t gonna leave, were you?”

You shook your head, grateful that he wasn’t able to see the blush on your cheeks, “Leave a Shawn Mendes party early?” You let out a small laugh that you hoped covered up your nervousness, “Never.”

Shawn let out a boisterous laugh as he spun you around, out of his grasp. Your back was now pressed against the cool kitchen countertop you had made tacos on a few days prior. The hand he had gently placed on your hips was getting all of your attention.

“Good,” he whispered, “Don’t know what I would do if you left.” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, “Brian doesn’t know how to handle his alcohol.”

You wanted to let out a loud laugh, but he was so close, if you moved your head just an inch forward your noses would brush up against each other, and you didn’t want to scare him away.

“Lucky me,” you contained your laugh into a wide smile, “To play the responsible adult.”

Shawn moved his face the inch closer to yours. You didn’t know what to do as the tip of his nose slightly brushed against yours. There had been a few drunk kisses shared between the two of you, but you were sober and so was Shawn. At least he seemed sober in your eyes when he whispered the next words with a bit of edge to them.

“Lucky me.”

Your eyes stayed wide open as his fluttered shut for only a second before someone yelled out his name. And that someone was Brian.

You stayed pressed up against the counter, eyes wide open as you stared over Shawn’s shoulder to see Brian looking at you with the exact same facial expression; confused, but not all that surprised at how you found yourself pressed between Shawn and the counter. While you were starting to feel unease from the situation, Shawn stayed firm in his place, his hand was now rubbing soft circles into your side.

“Hey, Uh––“ It was the first time you had heard Brian speechless, “Cleaning supplies? Tyler just–––“

Shawn let his head drop to your shoulders, “Fuck,” he whispered only loud enough for you to hear, already knowing what Brian’s sentence was leading to. His breath was hot against your neck, causing your own breath to just stop. And just like how fast his eyes closed in front of you, Shawn let go of your waist and walked out of the kitchen with Brian trailing behind him.

You stayed in that position for five minutes staring blankly at the wall across the way, still not believing what you thought was about to happen.

“Y/n?” Snapping back into reality, you saw your friend Olivia mixing herself a drink with a look of concern on her face, “Good?

Your mouth went dry as you tried to string together your thoughts, “I––Yeah there’s––Why wouldn’t I––“

“I saw you with Shawn.”

Her blunt words cut you off. You didn’t think anyone, save for Brian, had caught you in that compromising position with Shawn. But it wasn’t like you and Shawn were an item. You weren’t anything but friends. Best friends.

You tried to wave her off as you joined her to make your own mixed drink, telling a little white lie, “He’s an affectionate drunk,” the coldness of the glass wrapped inside of your hand served as a wake up call.

Olivia gave you a pointed look as she took a sip of her drink, “Y/n, you should tell him.”

You pretended like you didn’t hear her as you continued taking sips of your drink. Olivia was a good friend of yours, and it was on your second bottle of shared wine after a much too stressful exam season, that you let it slip that you were in love with your best friend.

You set your near empty glass on the counter, “I can’t–––He doesn’t feel the same way.”

Olivia raised her eyebrows, she didn’t believe you, and neither did you for a minute. In that moment Shawn had you pressed against the counter, you believed that maybe he did feel the same way about you. But he was so quick to remove himself from you that it diminished any hope you had.

“He was all over you,” she smirked, “Got some heads to turn into the kitchen.”

You blushed at the thought of anymore people intruding on your little moment with Shawn, “He has been acting a little differently since he’s gotten back,” you tried to rationalize with yourself, “Maybe he…does?”

There was skepticism in your voice, mixed with a little bit of hope, like the vodka coke you had in your hand.

“Go,” Olivia offered you a reassuring smile as she nodded her head in the direction Brian and Shawn walked off to, “Tell him.”

With a single nod, you downed the rest of your drink, but kept the glass in your hands. You needed something to keep your hands steady and in place or you would be more of a nervous wreck than you already were.

Confessing to your best friend that you love him? The irrational part of your brain spoke up, you know he doesn’t feel the same so save yourself the heartbreak–––

But, the rational part of your mind interrupted, he is your best friend, you should be able to trust him with anything, and if for some reason he doesn’t love you back it shouldn’t change your friendship.

You fought to silence both parts of your brain, neither of them helping your confidence right now, as you walked down the hall to where you knew Shawn and Brian were. He always kept his cleaning supplies in the linen closet in the hall bathroom. Each step you took felt like twenty, but before anymore anxiety ridden thoughts could swarm your mind, you found yourself outside of the bathroom door.

The light that illuminated from under the door told you that they are still in there. The door was cracked up a smidge, and you were able to see a sliver Shawn’s side profile. With a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock on the door, but stopped mid-way when you caught wind of their conversation.

“So,” it was Brian who started talking first, “What was that back there?”

“What was what?” He was playing dumb, just like you had done with Olivia.

Brian let out a scoff, “Y/n? Dude, c’mon, you know what I’m talking about.” His words were slightly slurred together, letting you in on that Brian was tipsy.

There was a pause on the other side of the door and you could see Shawn slightly shrugging his shoulders, eyes avoiding Brian’s questioning gaze.

But then he spoke up, changing the conversation completely onto someone else, “Miranda keeps texting me.”

You had never heard that name before.

“Miranda?” Brian asked, “Is she the one from L.A.?”

Brian spoke as if there were other girls he kept around the world for whenever he traveled. And he spoke her name as if he was familiar with it.

“Yeah,” Shawn said as you heard a cabinet door shut, “She came to the shows out there.”

“And?”

You were pressed up close to the door, torn between wanting to hear about the girl who Shawn was smitten with and wanting to run out to the kitchen to continue living in your head, convinced that Shawn loved you back.

“I like her,” but what made your heartbreak even more was how you could hear the smile on his face, “I like her a lot.”

You held your breath. The vodka coke that had coated your throat in confidence was now as dry as a desert. You swallowed the lump in your throat, but it came right back.

Brian sounded just as shocked as you felt, “But––A few minutes ago––What about Y/n?”

There was a pause. You pressed your lips tightly together in hopes for it to stop the trembling you felt coarse throughout your body. Hands balled in fists at your sides, you screwed your eyes shut and started to count to ten, wishing you could wake up from this nightmare.

One…Two…Three…Four…

“She’s different.”

Different. You were different in every way possible than this new girl who had captured his attention. You were different in that he didn’t have feelings for you like he did for this new girl. He didn’t love you like you loved him.

The tightness in your throat was beginning to be too much, your throat scratchier every time you swallowed your tears back. The piercing sting behind your eyes started to hurt. You had never been pricked with tiny needles on your skin, but you imagined it felt something similar to the pain behind our eyes.

“Besides,” Shawn cleared his throat, “She’s just a friend.”

He didn’t even call you his best friend.

And when you thought that the boy you loved so fiercely couldn’t say anything more to ruin your confidence, he decided to speak once more, “I’ve never––I don’t love her.”

It was with that last sentence, the one sentence Shawn spoke with an unnerving amount of confidence, that hit your heart like a hammer. Throughout this whole conversation, you slowly felt your heart being picked away at with an ice pick. Each part of your heart that broke off held a memory full of love that was now forgotten in the pit of your stomach.

“Who said anything about loving her?” As tipsy as Brian was, he was quick with his question.

Shawn avoided his question all together, “We’ve got some cleaning to do.”

The hall bathroom wasn’t large, so you knew they would be out in a matter of seconds. And if you didn’t move fast enough, it would be revealed that you had heard their whole conversation.

You ran down the hallway, feeling your heart being destroyed even more with every step back into the kitchen. The conversation played in your head, having a hard time believing what you had just heard.

Told you so, the irrational part of your brain mocked you.

The rational part of your mind stayed silent.

You angrily wiped away a stray tear that had leaked past your eye, cursing at yourself for being so stupid.

With the scattered state your mind was in, as it uselessly tried to mend your heart, Brian and Shawn’s footsteps caught you by surprise. The glass in your hand fell from your grasp as it shattered into little shards on the floor.

The broken glass looked a lot like how your heart felt.

Quickly, you dropped to the ground, collecting the little pieces of glass in your hand. You pricked yourself a few times, but you were numb to everything around you that it didn’t matter.

“Y/n––Hey, stop-–Let me get it––Y/n.”

You stopped picking up the shards of glass when you felt his hand circle around your wrist. You didn’t look up at him until he said your name again. There had never been a time where you didn’t want him to touch you. That’s all you yearned for when he was away; his touch. Whether it was an accidental brush of your fingers, a slight squeeze to your hip when you were cooking, or his head on your shoulder when he fell asleep during 10 Things I Hate About You…His touch was all that mattered to you at one point.

But even after unknowingly breaking your heart, his touch was still warm.

“Are you okay?” He still kept a hand locked around your wrist, “What happened?”

But now you wanted nothing more than to rip yourself of his hold. You felt uncomfortable under his gaze, nauseous as he looked into your eyes with such concern, but the worst part was, you still loved him.

“Yeah, I…” you broke eye contact with him, knowing that the sting behind your eyes was begging for another reason to overflow. And staring into his eyes would cause the floodgates to open, “Just clumsy.”

You let out a small laugh as he slowly released his grip in your hand, “Leave it, I’ll clean it up after I take care of Tyler’s mess.”

And just like he did earlier in the night, he left without a second thought.

Knowing Shawn like the back of your hand was a skill you were proud to have. You could always tell by the tone of his voice if something was off and wouldn’t back down until he told you. Every eyebrow raise, nose twitch, certain looks he would get in his eyes that let you into how he was feeling…You were able to pinpoint his emotions in a matter of seconds.

Maybe, you thought to yourself, just maybe he doesn’t know you as well as you thought.

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lovemesomesurveys · 3 years

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1. What is your favorite shade of blue? Pastel blue, teal, Tiffany blue, baby blue, powder blue, sky blue, turquoise. 2. When's the last time you bought something just because? I bought some room sprays and hand sanitizers from this place that makes Disneyland/World scented things because I was missing Disney and wanted to bring some of it to my house. 3. What Ozzy lyric describes you best? I only know Crazy Train and I mean, I do feel like I’m on a crazy train. 4. When was the last time you went for a walk without a specific destination in mind? I don’t do that. 5. Do you daydream? Yeah. My mind wanders and I zone out a lot.

6. What was your last daydream about? Random stuff. 7. Ever won the lottery? No, I wish. 8. How much did you get for your high school graduation? I think around $300 and my parents my threw me a nice graduation party. 9. What was the most important decision you made that screwed up your life the most? Not taking care of/putting off some things and neglecting myself. 10. Do you know what your Chinese horoscope is? Nope. 11. What is love really about? Encouragement, support, growth. 12. What's the most you ever made in a year? I’ve never had a job. 13. Do you have an online diary? You’re lookin’ at it. 14. What's the biggest pot you've won in poker? I’ve never played poker. 15. What's your most prized possession? I love all my things. 16. What Metallica lyric most describes your life? I don’t listen to Metallica. 17. Ever been to Ozzfest? No. I take it you’re an Ozzy fan. 18. How many concerts have you been to? I think I’ve been to 7. 19. Which one was your favorite? All of them were fun, but the Jonas Brothers concerts and the Green Day concert were my favorites. 20. What shade of purple most describes your feelings right now? I don’t know. 21. Pick a shade of a color. Now describe it to me and name it. Nah. 22. Sun tea or brewed tea? My mom used to make sun tea during the summers growing up, which I liked. I haven’t had that since then. Nowadays I just throw a tea bag in a cup of hot water and let it steep for a few minutes. 23. What's the most illegal thing you've done? I haven’t done anything serious. 24. Ever get busted by the cops? What for? No. 25. What's under your bed? Nothing. 26. Vacuum or dustbuster? Vacuum. 27. How many people are on your buddy list? Aw, the days of AIM. 28. How many pairs of rollerblades do/did you own? I’ve never owned a pair of rollerblades. 29. Ever wear out a CD? What was it? No. 30. What's your favorite card game? I like card games like Uno, Apples to Apples, and Cards Against Humanity. 31. Who was the most annoying person you've talked to on the phone? I’m not a fan of talking on the phone in general. 32. What's your favorite fast food meal? Wingstop’s boneless garlic parm and lemon pepper wings with their ranch and a a side of lemon pepper sauce. 33. Where is the best restaurant you've ever eaten in at? This Mongolian BBQ place was my favorite back when I could eat spicy food. 34. Lamb chops or pork chops? Neither. 35. How many roses have you received/given? I’ve never received or given roses. 36. When's the last time you mowed the lawn? Never. 37. Washed your car? I’ve never had a car since I don’t drive. I have participated in several car wash fundraising events for Girl Scouts and the psych club I was in in community college, though. 38. Ever have a tornado in your town? No, thankfully we don’t get tornadoes. --- 40. What state is your wardrobe in? Uh, it’s fine? 41. What's the last article of clothing you bought? A cute Valentine’s Day themed Baby Yoda shirt from Boxlunch. 42. How many trash cans can you see right now? One. 43. If you HAD to pick ONE song to listen to for the rest of your life, and that would be the only song you ever heard, what would it be? Ah, I don’t know. 44. Ever heard of Shinedown? Yeah. 45. They rock, don't they? I only know one of their songs and I don’t really care for it much. 46. What size is your bed? It’s a full. 47. When's the last time you had pigs in a blanket? I have no idea. It’s been several years. I don’t particularly care for those. 48. Have you ever painted the ceilings in your home? No. We haven’t painted anywhere in this house. 49. What does your lawn furniture consist of? We just have a bench in the backyard. 50. Ever live off of canned soup and ramen noodles for weeks at a time? I do have my nightly bowl of ramen, but it’s not the only thing I eat. 51. What flavor of jelly are you? *shrug* 52. Ever take any of those online personality quizzes? I’ve taken several. 53. What musical group/artist do you love, but hide from other people? I don’t hide any of the musical artists or bands that I’m into. 54. What's on the floor in your bedroom? Nothing. 55. What is the first meal you remember eating? Pfft, I have no idea. 56. Ever been to a drive in? Yeah, a few times. I wish those would make a big comeback. 57. What was the first movie you ever saw? I don’t remember. 56. What's in your keepsake box/scrapbook? I don’t have like a designated box and I don’t have a scrapbook, but I’ve kept a lot of things throughout my life and a ton of photos all stored away in various places. 57. Describe your first date. It was dinner and a movie. 58. Would you recognize most of your classmates 5 years after graduation? Not from my college graduations. 59. What percentile of your class were you in? I have no idea. 60. When was the last time it rained while the sun was shining? I don’t recall. 61. What did you score on your SATs? I never took the SATs. 62. When was the last time you saw a rainbow? It’s been several years. 63. Name your favorite artist/song from before 1990. I have many favorites. 64. Do you think there should be new genres of music to encompass some of the newer rock performers out now? I don’t know, man. 65. What colors is your lava lamp? I don’t have a lava lamp. I did have one as a kid, though. I think it was blue. 66. What's the strangest thing you've ever hung on the wall? I haven’t hung up anything strange. 67. When's the last time you did laundry? My laundry was done a few days ago. 68. How many hammers do you own? I don’t personally have any hammers, but my dad does. I could use one of his if I needed to. 69. Can you name every place you've ever had sex? Yeah, nowhere. 70. How many speakers are in your bedroom? My laptop, TV, iPhone, and my Nintendo Switch. 71. DVD or VHS? I just watch movies through a streaming service. 72. What's the most important thing you ever lost and never found again? Myself? Lost her a few years ago...still haven’t found her. 73. What forms of birth control have you used? Abstinence (I’m a virgin). 74. How many webpages have you created, and can you still find them all? I’ve made a few back in the day, but no I don’t remember any of them. 75. You have .30 in two coins. One of them is not a nickel. What are they? One of them is not a nickel, but the other one is. 76. What's your pet peeve when cleaning the house? I don’t enjoy cleaning in general. 77. Do you use sponges or dishcloths when doing the dishes? We use a dish washing brush. 78. How many people are in your family portrait? Four. 79. How many times have you moved? A few, but only once that I’m old enough to remember. 80. Handcuffs or rope :D? Neither. 81. What season best describes your temperament? Whatever one best goes along with irritability and moodiness. 82. What's the last thing you had to drink? Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink. 83. Ever been so drunk you blacked out? No, but parts of my memory from one night when I got too drunk are spotty. 84. What's your favorite song on the top twenty right now? I don’t even know what the top 20 is right now. I haven’t been listening to music. 85. What do your light fixtures look like? I have a ceiling lamp and a floor lamp. 86. How many jobs have you held for more than a month? I haven’t had a job. 87. Ever punched a wall? No. 88. When's the last time you really lost your temper? It’s been a long time. 89. How do you cope? Good question. 90. What's your antidrug? My go-to distractions ASMR, watching YouTube videos, scrolling through Tumblr, checking my social medias, doing surveys, reading, watching TV, coloring, sleeping... 91. Ever grown any plants before? What were they? Nope. 92. Ever own a director chair? No. 93. When was the last time you camped out? Never. I have no interest in camping. 94. Went swimming? It’s been like 7 years now since I last went swimming. 95. Went fishing? I’ve only done it once and very briefly. 96. Oust or Glade and why? Glade. 97. Ever thought you (or a girlfriend) were pregnant, but it was a false alarm? Nope. 98. If 97 is yes, were you glad or sad? -- 99. Do you have a red-eye mouse or one with a ball? I don’t have a mouse, I use the trackpad on my laptop. 100. What do your doorstops look like? Uhh those springy ones. I don’t know how else to describe it. The ones that make a lot of noise if you accidentally bump into it. 101. What was the last conversation you had with someone before they died? I was by my grandpa’s side when he died and I was just telling him how much I loved him, thanked him for everything, and comforted him; letting him know it was okay to go. 102. What do your drinking glasses look like? We have various glasses and mugs. 103. How many bottles/containers are in your medicine cabinet? We don’t have a medicine cabinet, but we have a medicine drawer full of various medications. 104. How many funerals have you been to? Three. 105. How many states have you been to? Five, including my own.

106. What was the last bug you killed and what did you use? A gnat. I just swatted it. 107. What does your country need right now? Unity. 108. Are you creative? I wish I was. I don’t have any creativity, artistic abilities, or good ideas. 109. How so? -- 110. How many computers in your household? Two. 111. Ever help to solve a crime? No. 112. Who is in the picture frame on your bedside table? I don’t have any photos on my bedside table. 113. How many CDs does your player hold? I don’t have a CD player. I haven’t had one in many years. 114. What is one thing you'd like to do before you die? Get my shit together and do something with my life. 115. Do the good die young or do they die before they have a chance to be bad? That seems to imply that everyone ends up bad. 116. What's your favorite totally cliche' saying? Blah. 117. Ever go out of your way to exact revenge on someone? No. I’m not a vengeful person. 118. Was it worth it? I don’t think it would ever be worth it. 119. Ever get pulled over by the cops and get away without a ticket? I don’t even drive, so no. 120. What's the weather like right now? It’s currently 50F. 121. What was your first legal alcoholic drink? Tequila shots. 122. Do you have a door/doorknob to your room? Yes. 123. Name one thing you regret? I have a few regrets. :/ 124. Ever get published by one of those poetry groups? No. I don’t even write poetry. 125. What's the furthest distance you've moved? Across town. 126. How many friends from high school/college do you still talk to? None anymore... 127. Where is your home/heart right now? Right here. 128. What's the most expensive things your parents ever bought you? Many things throughout my life and even still. 129. What's the most expensive thing you've bought? My first MacBook back in 2009. 130. How many hangers are in your closet? Uh, a lot. I’m not counting. 131. If you died right now, would you feel cheated or happy? I haven’t accomplished anything. :/ 132. How many times did you intentionally start to commit suicide? Zero. 133. Ever spent the night in the "loony bin?" Don’t call it that, first of all, and no. 134. What's wrong with society? Ignorance, close-mindedness, greed, hate, violence... 135. How many crazy ice cream trucks are in your area? Uh, I’ve never considered any of them to be crazy. Anyway, lately there’s been an ice cream truck coming through my neighborhood, which is is the first in many years. What a random time, though. 136. What is your favorite cover song? I love the cover of George Michael’s, Fast Love, that Adele performed at an award show after he died in honor of him. I always describe it as hauntingly beautiful. It was just so good. I wish she would have released a studio version of it. 137. Does the weather ever seem to reflect your mood eerily? I’m always moody, so when it’s rainy and gloomy it does. 138. Are you more psychic than most people? I don’t believe in psychic abilities. 139. What's your inspiration? I don’t know. :/ 140. What's the longest relationship you've been in? Whatever it was Joseph and I had lasted 3 years, which is longer than technically the only relationship I had that lasted just a few months. What I had with Joseph felt more like one as well in a lot of ways. 141. Did you ever drop out of school? No. 142. Ever raise a child that wasn't your own for more than 3 months? No. 143. What is your favorite piece of jewelry? Probably the stuff I have with birthstone. 144. Ever help someone cheat on someone else? Absolutely not. 145. Are you a cheater too? No. 146. What was the last dessert type food you've eaten? I had some mini funfetti muffins yesterday. 147. Fill in the blank: I'm a ________aholic. Coffeeholic. 148. When's the last time you went to a hairdresser/salon? Last February. I’ve over a year due now. 149. Strangest medical procedure ever performed on you? I had to wear this thing called a halo, which is a weird thing that gets drilled into the front of your head (I have two tiny circular scars above each eyebrow from that) and on the back are some weights attached to it that hang down. It was put on after my spinal fusion surgery and is meant to keep your back straight and things in place. It was awful. And heavy. When it was removed I had to wear a neck brace for a bit because my neck was weak. 150. Do you own any appliances? Yeah, we have several appliances. 151. Do you have an "egg crate" on your bed? Yes. 153. Last time you went to the laundromat? I remember tagging along as a kid with my grandma before. 154. How many hinges are on your front door? I’m not sure. 155. Can I be done yet? Yeah, I think you’re good.

#personal #text #survey #surveys #long survey

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drlissahawthorne · 3 years

Text

and now I’m bleeding

Who: Clarissa Hawthorne ft. Jill Montgomery

When: Night, Friday, December 4, 2020

Where: Clarissa’s apartment

What: After returning home from her evening spent with Elias, Clarissa has to refocus herself and ends up doing something she’s never done before.

Warnings: past abuse, a lot of talk of metaphorical wounds bleeding out, also part of this reads very disjointed and kind of like a panic attack

Word Count: 2658

Notes: Part 2 of 3. Part 1. Part 3.

There was something about getting home after what was, essentially, a night out that always left Clarissa feeling odd, but for once, it wasn’t her eyes. Well, at least not only her eyes. Given that she hadn’t really been anywhere that would bother her eyes, the fact they weren’t what had her feeling the way she did made sense. However, it didn’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things.

Normally, when she felt off like this, she’d take a long relaxing shower and then go about her usual nightly routine, play video games for a little while, or if she had the time, bake something. But as she was sitting there, trying to focus her attention on her television after her shower, she just couldn’t. Her eyes were fine, but it was like her brain couldn’t switch into gaming mode. Everything about how she felt was just wrong.

With a frustrated sigh, Clarissa turned off her Playstation and her TV, and grabbed her guitar from where it sat in the corner of the room. Music was the sort of thing her brain could do, essentially, on autopilot. At first she just played whatever song came into her head. She knew a number of songs, having spent perhaps too much time just learning to cover songs while she was learning to play.

However, the more she played, the less she could focus. Her mind was elsewhere, thinking about other things. Her relationship with Elias. The trips they’d taken. That time she’d spent the holidays with him and his family. The different ways she’d gotten to know him, and in turn, the way he’d learned about her.

Eventually, she found herself sitting at her piano, just playing different notes trying to figure out what sounded right in her head. It was a melody, something so distinct. Like if you tried to put melancholy into music without actually using words. Because that’s what she felt. She felt melancholy. She never imagined she’d get the kind of closure she received and yet, sitting there, she didn’t feel better for it. There was a sense of longing attached. Part of her was mourning the loss of that relationship all over again.

As she sat there, trying and trying to get the melody right, other things were coming to her. Words, lyrics, ideas. The imagery of the ways he’d picked her up off the ground, dusted her off. Framed the parts of herself she’d grown to hate in ways that made them shine. Those same ways that made her ache now for other reasons. Made her feel loved and wanted. The way she’d been willing to accept the lies he’d told her after a fight. The way she brushed off everything that everyone else told her about him.

The more she sat there trying to get a single melody correct, the more she started realising that it wasn’t just one, it was many. A jumbled mess of lyrics and melodies all trying to be created at one time. The same way her memories of him often came back to her. The good and the bad all mixed together. Only ever coming when she’d gotten to a point where she was okay with not thinking about him. With existing in the world without the marks he’d left her with. The mental scars that came from the kind of treatment she’d never deserved, even on her worst days.

The worst part was, she wasn’t sure how to organise all of it. There were just so many chunks and pieces that she really didn’t know which way to go about it, so she just started writing them all down in her phone. Some of them were big chunks, others just short phrases. None of it really made sense, but it was a start. The kind of start she needed to actually be able to make something of everything that she was feeling.

In all honesty, until she’d run into him, Clarissa hadn’t really thought too heavily on her relationship with Elias for a decent amount of time. It’d been like nine years since they’d broken up, since that fateful day in his kitchen where they’d had one of the worst screaming matches she’d ever had with anyone. It was also the only time he’d ever laid his hands on her in such a way that seemed malicious in nature. He’d grabbed her by the arm when she’d gone to leave. She could still remember the feeling of his fingers gripping her bicep. Nails just barely starting to dig in.

It was like having run into him had opened the floodgates on every reason why she’d stayed and every reason why she’d left. The old feelings that she’d never gotten closure on. That had left a gaping wound in her chest that she’d chosen to fill with cats and friends and her work. Now it was ripped back open and aching in a way she’d never felt it ache before. As much as she knew this hadn’t been his intentions, that he’d just taken a chance occurrence to tell her the truth, some part of it felt entirely too cruel. Cruel in a way that fit Elias more than Clarissa really wanted to admit to. He’d never been purposefully cruel, or well, she hadn’t even thought he had been. But that evening, as he’d sat there talking about what all he thought she deserved, about how great she was, all she could think about was how it was too much. The kind of thing someone much closer to her would say, but he wasn’t close to her, not anymore. Yet he could still read her like an open book. Tell her the things she wanted to hear. Make the parts of her she loathed shine like something else. It’s what he’d always been exceptionally good at. It’s what had made her easy to have power over. Easy to control, in a sense. Because he knew what to say, how to say it, because he could read it all over her.

The more she wrote things down, the more things started clumping together and she found herself moving over to her laptop instead, needing the aid of her keyboard to keep up with the speed at which ideas were flowing in and out of her head. There one moment, gone the next, just to come back around or change.

Part of her wondered, for the briefest moments, if this is why people kept journals, so that things like this didn’t happen. So that they didn’t have years and years of memories and information trying to escape them in one go. She also wondered why in the world she’d never actually bothered to deal with any of it. Sure, she’d been heartbroken and had slowly come to terms with the fact that what he’d done had been abusive in nature, but she’d never actually done more than just have someone else, usually Jill, tell her such things. Even then, even after she’d agreed that yes, what he’d done had been toxic and not good, her use of the word abuse had been… limited if used at all.

For Clarissa, she’d never wanted to outright admit that it was that, because some part of her didn’t want to see the scars. She didn’t want to see herself as the kind of person who got into an abusive relationship. She didn't want to be the kind of person who was a victim of abuse. Because abuse came with lasting damage. Damage that Clarissa didn’t think she had. No, she wasn’t that kind of person.

And yet she was.

Elias had said it himself. He’d been abusive. What he had done, had had that kind of damage. He’d been the person who made Clarissa swear off relationships. Decide that dating and love and having people see her in her most intimate moments was something she didn’t want. Something she didn’t deserve. The lasting damage was there, spread across multiple notes. Aching in her chest. Bleeding out of her fingers as if she’d split at the seams.

The more she wrote, the more she remembered and the more overwhelming the ache in her chest became. She felt like she was twenty-one again. Like she was back in Pittsburgh and she’d just gotten home from his place. The phantom feelings of his hand on her arm. The fresh sting of tears in her eyes as she tried to explain what was wrong. As she tried to find the words to describe the kind of hurt she was feeling. The betrayal. The heartbreak. The wounds beneath wounds that were all aching and bleeding out. The reminder that no one actually wanted to deal with her as she was. That she wasn’t the kind of person worth putting up with.

With shaking hands, Clarissa called Jill. She needed to talk to her.. She couldn’t just be alone right now.

“Lissa? Honey, it’s late, what’s wrong?” The voice of her former roommate came through the line and Clarissa’s breath caught in her throat.

“He- I saw him again,” she choked out.

“Who? What’s going on? What happened?” The concern in Jill’s voice did nothing to keep the tears threatening to fall at bay. If anything, it just spurred them on.

“Elias.” She could barely say the name, knowing that Jill wouldn’t react well. She’d never liked him, and with good reason. Elias had tried to drive them apart. Jill had been the first person to warn her about him.

“What?! Oh honey, I’m so sorry.”

“So is he,” she whispered, words nearly lost to the sob that caught in her throat. “He- he said he was sorry for what he did to me. What he- Why does it still hurt?”

“I don’t know, honey. Maybe because you never dealt with it. Maybe because even when things heal they still hurt.”

For a while all that could be heard on either end of the line was the sound of Clarissa crying. And cry she did. She cried for every moment she should have left him but didn’t. For every fight. For the fact she still held feelings for him. Could still see that perfect smile that disarmed her. For the fact he could still read her like a book. And she cried because it was over. Cried that she’d never have to see him again if she didn’t want to. That he’d given her his number with the knowledge that she didn’t have to use it. He’d told her she could delete it and never text him to meet up again and that he’d understand. That he understood she didn’t owe him anything, but that he was thankful he’d given him her evening all the same.

Once she’d cried herself out, all three of her cats having come over to lay on or near her, gave her fingers something to do than pick at the stitches of her couch, she sighed.

“You wanna talk about how all this happened?” Jill’s voice was gentle, an offer to talk, with the knowledge it could be denied.

“We just walked into each other on the street. Had he not said my name I doubt I’d have even known he was there. And then we went for dinner and we sort of talked about it. About what he’d done. About what happened with him after we broke up. How he got help. Was made to realise what he’d done to me. It was everything I wanted to hear but didn’t know I wanted to hear. Didn’t think I’d ever even remotely get to hear. And then, we just talked and ate, and it felt like things had never changed. But he’d been vulnerable and he’d offered me the way out. Told me I’d never have to see him again if I didn’t want to. That if he didn’t hear from me before the new year that he’d delete my number and consider that the answer to whether I needed more answers. It was more than excuses, it was giving me the reins. Letting me decide for him. Giving me the control and the power over the situation in a way he never had before.”

Jill just listened quietly as Clarissa spoke. She’d never actually heard Clarissa talk so openly about Elias before. Even after the breakup, Clarissa had always kept things like that to herself. The way he’d made her feel. The things he’d done. It was often just Jill talking with Clarissa agreeing or disagreeing about certain things. It was how things had always gone. So, to hear the other talk about how he was so openly was odd, but felt like progress nine years in the making.

“Okay. Well, are you going to?”

“What?”

“Are you going to talk to him again?”

“I don’t know. I- it all hurts, Jill Everything about it hurts. Having him acknowledge what happened like that… It’s overwhelming.”

“I imagine it is. Well, you have time, Lissa. Think it over, okay? If you need more from him, get it, but don’t do so at the damage of yourself, okay? Like he said, it’s your choice. You don’t owe him anything, you already gave him your evening, and if it hurts too much, then you don’t have to put yourself through more.”

“I know, I know. I just-”

“You remembered why you fell for him in the first place?”

“Yeah, that.”

“And that’s okay. He was always charming and sweet, and in some ways I’m glad that was genuine, but you also have to remember the damage he did. I know you hate thinking about that, I know, but you need to consider it. Just because he has changed, or appears to have changed, doesn’t mean you have to give him anymore of your time,”

Clarissa sighed, staring at her computer screen. There were so many open notes. All with varying lengths of things. “I think I wrote songs.”

“Oh?” It was a change of subject, but Jill was used to that with Clarissa. The other really hated getting too deep into her own feelings, at least where her exes were involved and it was always best to just let it go.

“Yeah. I don’t know. I can’t read any of it.”

“Is it on paper or?”

“No, no. It’s on my laptop, and my phone, and I just can’t read any of it. God, my eyes hurt so fucking much. Why does crying always make it hurt more?” Clarissa groaned.

“Well, if you ever turn that into something, I get dibs on first listen. As for why crying hurts more, because that’s just how crying works for everyone, you’re just unfortunate enough to already have bad eyes. Also, do you realize what time it is?”

“Of course, well, actually, Andrea probably will have first listen, but the first person who gets sent the recording will be you.” She sighed. “No? What time is it?”

“I will hold you to that. As for the time, nearly midnight.”

Clarissa groaned, head falling into her hands. “Fuck. I told Andrea I’d come hang out with them and Charlie this weekend. They’re gonna be here early and I’m nowhere near ready to consider sleeping.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand if you’re tired, honey. And I’ll stay up with you, as long as you need me to. You know that.”

“I know, but I still don’t like it.” She sighed. “Thank you, Jill. I don’t think I tell you often enough, how thankful I am for everything you’ve done for me over the years.”

“It’s what friends are for, Lissa. Just keep sending me baked goods and we’ll be good, okay?” They both laughed.

“I can definitely do that.”

Over the next hour or so, Clarissa and Jill talked while Clarissa got herself ready for bed, and for her weekend with her sibling.

“Night, love you.”

“Night, Lissa, love you too.”

#abuse tw #p: s003 #p: self #p: all #about: every tears a diamond on my cheek #[yes I know I said this would only have 2 parts but I'm not in control]#about: you drew stars around my scars and now im bleeding

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clippedwingsmusic · 4 years

Text

Ashton’s Top Releases of 2019

Chris Farren - Born Hot

One of my favorite things in the world is the juxtaposition between Chris Farren's online presence/stage persona and his lyrical content/actual personality. 'Born Hot' is the perfect example of everything I love about Farren starting with the music and going all the way down to the oven mitts and hot sauce that were released as part of his merchandise line. All jokes and bits aside, this record reminds you that it's ok to feel everything on the entire spectrum of emotions and that it's relation to you and the ones you love does not define your life- just that tiny moment in time.

The Band Camino - tryhard

Since I already touched on this EP earlier in the year, I'll just leave everyone with this: It is absolutely ridiculous how much I listened to this release this year (so much that The Band Camino topped my top artists on Spotify). These boys found exactly where they were meant to be this whole time while writing this EP and that alone has made these songs shine brighter than every star in the sky. It's been months and these perfect pop songs are still floating around my head on a constant basis.

Briston Maroney - Indiana

Last year's 'Carnival' (and a couple live shows) introduced me to Briston Maroney as 2018 came to a close, and as this decade is now wrapping up, I'm back again at his doorstep. Not often do I find a release that has me enthralled from top to bottom, but this release is the 2nd one in a row from Maroney that has done so. Many of the tracks on this project carry a slower tempo and a nostalgic tone, allowing you to fall deeply into the intricacies of guitar-driven melodies and heart-wrenching storytelling. I can't imagine my year, or my life, without these songs.

The Greeting Committee - I’m Afraid, I’m Not Angry

An absolute kick in the chest is the only way that I can think to describe this EP. A full range of sound and sanity is held within the tracks of this project, and every little detail leaves traces of who you were at the time and who you feel like you're becoming in your memory. I feel as though it's crucial to listen to this EP front to back every single time I'm reminded of it because the flow and production between each track and transition is impeccably executed and cannot be missed. The Greeting Committee has become one of my favorite bands for many a reason, and this EP is a huge one.

Renny Conti - The Horse

With 5 of his songs gracing my top listens of the year, it's safe to say that Renny Conti is one of my favorite songwriters that I've had the pleasure of finding in the past few years. 2018's 'People Floating' and this year's 'The Horse' offer a full spectrum of lovely, lonesome, and lively tunes, this time around being hosted by a full band arrangement. The varied tempos and complete lack of genre are the unlikely strings linking each track on this release; the variety simply adding to how genuine every tiny detail feels with each listen.

Nightly - Twenty Something

I don't have much to say about this track because my appreciation of it is simply overwhelming. If you've kept up with this site at all since it's creation 4 years ago, you've seen Nightly's name quite a few times, and that is obviously not going to end anytime soon (sorry not sorry). With a hypnotizing instrumental and lyrics that read like the transcript of a late night phonecall, this ambient-inspired track is one of Nightly's best efforts thus far. My personal biases aside, this is one damn good pop song.

Liily - I Can Fool Anyone In This Town

Liily is by far my favorite band that I have seen perform this year. End of story. This EP was their first collective release and was written during the band’s teen years, but now into their 20s, they’ve hunkered down and honed in on all of their successes and amplified them by 10 fold. It’s nearly impossible to throw this release on and not let it replay for days due to the consistent flow of energy between every track from start to finish. Although most of the songs from this release have already been phased out of the band’s live set, that doesn’t mean that they should be overlooked from this list.

Dayglow - Fuzzybrain

At this point in time, I don't think that any record has ever brought me as much joy just from it's integral sound than 'Fuzzybrain' has. The whimsy of this record is right in the surface from the start but is just one of the thousands of little things to love. The perspective of each track's lyrics is one not found in a lot of music- one of acceptance, calling out your own bullshit, getting a little sad from time to time, but knowing that's ok. Each song walks you through a feeling you know you've had in the past but maybe didn't know how to handle, and now you can take it in stride (or in dance due to how groovy this record is) and look towards brighter days.

Valley - MAYBE

One of the things I always look forward to when diving into a new record is the variety of tracks included, and 'MAYBE' gave me one of my favorite grab-bags of the year. Each and every track sounds like none other than Valley, but just as you can feel like a new person in a new outfit, they transform into a new band with each concept. With this record also including acoustic and orchestral versions of a few tracks, Valley really left no musical stone unturned with this record but still somehow stayed the course with their sound. This record (as well as 'Fuzzybrain') won my vote for "Most Fun Had While Listening".

SWMRS - Berkeley’s On Fire

Overall, I'd say that 2019 was a pretty angry year for the majority of people my age, and all that was summed up better than any of us could've done it with this record. SWMRS are always on top of social and political issues, but that doesn't mean my jaw will avoid falling to the floor every time they release a rock record for the gods using those themes. On top of the importance of the content of most of the songs, each one is crafted perfectly as to never leave your head or your car stereo. This record was one of my sleeper favorites of the year because I would go a period without listening to it, be reminded of one of the songs, then suddenly be swept back into the midst of the record for the next 3 weeks as if it had never gone away. SWMRS is one of the most powerful bands of our generation- this record and this year proved that.

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dangerously-human · 11 months

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🎶✨when you get this, list 5 songs you like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your followers (positivity is cool)🎶

I am so far behind on asks and tag games, my bad! I know @the-mushroom-faerie, @cakeyouareoh, and @lllinens (possibly others! I am sorry, things keep mouldering away in my drafts!) have recently tagged me to share five songs I've been into lately as well.

I've had my main Lockwood & Co playlist (Ghostbustin' with the Buds) on pretty much constantly lately, so most of my on repeat list comes from that. I tried to mostly pick things that aren't on that for a change, though.

LION (Elevation Worship ft. Chris Brown & Brandon Lake): Hands-down favorite worship song recently. It does a great job getting me to reflect on God's glory and infinite might, and the way the Old Testament prophets laid out the story God was telling through Christ's redemption and his coming return as King.

Told You So (The Band Camino): Dang, I cannot WAIT to see this one live! I've said this before, but I really like the direction this band is taking their sound, and if this song isn't my top played for 2023, I'm gonna KNOW Spotify messes with their metrics.

Twenty Something (Nightly): Okay, okay, this one is on the L&C playlist, mainly for fic writing purposes, but I was playing it obsessively even before then. Also got a bit of Fringe fic (for a WIP that may or may not ever see the light of day) out of it a little while back. It just hits the spot emotionally in a way I can't find words for, except that clearly I am finding many words, given how much writing this has been inspiring.

Cathedrals (Tenth Avenue North): LYRICS LYRICS LYRICS!!! "Let joy take temptation's place," dang, okay, they're coming for me specifically with this one.

Vampires (The Midnight): My favorite song from The Midnight rotates pretty regularly, and it somewhat recently switched to this one. Impeccable vibes, truly.

#personal

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h-styles-babes · 5 years

Text

EIGHT

The rest of the week passed much in the same fashion. The crew all woke up in the morning and went about their business. Sia took to waking up around seven and heading out onto the lush yard to do some yoga. She had been in a class while she was in LA, and she found she quite liked it, and she didn’t want to let it get away from her just because she was away from her instructor. She used a YouTube video as a guide and spent a good hour every morning stretching and doing poses that helped to clear her mind.

She’d been trying her best to avoid Harry aside from when they were in the studio or their nightly hangouts with the crew. They’d been making incredible progress when it came to the production, even though they were only a few days in, and Sia didn’t want to fuck that up by getting too intense with Harry. He looked like he was ready to say something to her every time they were around each other, but he never let it come out of his mouth, of which she was grateful. She still didn’t know how take Mitch’s comment from the few nights before, and she didn’t want to put any of her effort into trying to understand it. She’d established with herself long ago that Harry Styles wasn’t part of her life anymore. She’d keep it professional, but she had no plans of being his friend again. He’d hurt her too much.

It was approaching the weekend, and the crew had all agreed to leave their weekends open in order to cool off and relax from their intense weekly schedule. Sia wanted to go into town some more and maybe get together with Nadia to go to a bar or something. She hadn’t been into town since she’d gotten those smoothies for herself and Alex, and she was itching to go on an adventure and discover the island more. She was hoping she could also perhaps talk Mitch into accompanying her, since she particularly liked his company.

Over the last few days, Mitch and her had formed a relationship that she liked. They talked to each other about seemingly meaningless things, but it was really the foundations of who they were. She learned that Mitch, for all his time working at a pizza place, didn’t actually really like pizza—which she found crazy, because it was pizza, for Christ’s sake, but she didn’t begrudge him for it. And she had told Mitch that when she was five, she fallen off her bike and broken her brand new adult tooth in half, and she’d gone years fighting to get a crown put on it, which she had only just achieved when she was twenty. He’d laughed at her dramatic retelling, and she’d scowled playfully at him. They’d also enjoyed spans of silence together, just lounging side by side, on their phones or watching a film on Netflix, and just enjoying each other’s company. They really had formed the perfect companionship, and she was really proud of it.

So, on Friday during their recording session, where Harry was taking a slight break to readjust some lyrics to better fit the music they’d come up with the day before, Sia asked the crew if they wanted to go to a bar that night to celebrate the end of their first week. Everyone readily agreed, even Harry, who seemed pretty absorbed in is notebook, fixing the flow of some of the lyrics. Sia was in too good of a mood to be upset by his acceptance, and resolved within herself to enjoy herself despite his presence.

On the island, it was still pretty warm after the sun went down, so Sia settled on a lacy crop top paired with jeans and a pair of her favorite cream platform heels. She felt sexy while also pretty casual, since they were planning to just hit up a local bar. She assumed there’d be a healthy amount of tourists in the bar, since it was in a main part of the island, but she hoped it was mainly locals so they could have a fun night without Harry getting stopped and asked for pictures every few minutes. However much she wasn’t particularly fond of him, she still felt bad when he couldn’t have a normal existence because of what his name meant to much of the world. Being a celebrity was never easy, and she definitely sympathised with that.

Harry and Sia stepped out of their rooms at the same time, pausing when they realised how close they were to each other in the hall. Harry’s breath caught in his chest when he saw what she was wearing, caught off guard by her beauty. Not that he didn’t always think Sia was beautiful, but he hadn’t seen her dressed like this in a long time. She’d dress like this when they went to clubs together in the past, or attended get togethers at Grimmy’s place. He was mesmerised for a moment by the jewelry that still dangled from her bellybutton and the little tattoo of the music notes from her favourite Beatles song—that he’d been with her when she got—etched along the curve of her ribs under the lace of her top. He could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra, and he quickly flicked his eyes away, not wanting her to think that he was staring. He knew he wasn’t anywhere close to being in her good graces, and he didn’t want to upset her anymore by making her think he was checking her out. Which, admittedly, he was, but she didn’t need to know that.

“You look nice,” he went with, feeling like the compliment was a good way to keep her from getting upset with him. Girls liked innocent compliments, right?

Sia got a startled look on her face before looking down at her self. She tucked her red-painted, plump bottom lip between her teeth, making Harry have to stifle a groan, before looking back up at him, seemingly a bit bashful. “Thanks. You do, too.” And she was telling the truth. He was wearing a sheer button up shirt, the first few buttons undone to expose the tattoos across his chest and the top of his butterfly. She’d always liked when he’d wear his shirts like that, because she liked the look of all his tan skin. Now she was a little bitter that he still looked so good, but she couldn’t begrudge him the fact that he looked good. She’d be lying through her teeth if she told him otherwise.

“Thanks,” he said, offering a soft smile. “Figured I’d upgrade from the hole-y t-shirts and dad shirts I’ve been wearin’ around the house.”

“Well, yeh’ve done that,” she nodded, suddenly realising how strange this little interaction was. The only words she’d exchanged with him since their breakup had been full of malice, and now they were actually being civil out of the watchful eye of all their crew. It was a tad odd, so she cleared her throat and hugged her bag close to her chest, hiding her skin that she suddenly noticed was very exposed to him. “Shall we?”

Harry waved a hand to her. “After you.”

Everyone else in the house was already ready when Harry and Sia joined them in the living room.

“Ready?” Ben asked, smiling at them both.

“Let’s go,” Sia agreed. She stood by Mitch and waited for him to stand and join her. “I need a few drinks and some dancing.”

“I don’t dance,” Mitch told her, already refusing to be her partner for the night.

She pouted at him. “But yeh drink, right?”

“That I do.”

She smiled. “Good, that’s all I need yeh for. I’ll dance with some bloke I find at the bar once I’m too drunk to be picky about what he looks like.”

Ben snorted. “Sound idea, Anastasia.”

“What?” she balked. “Men do it all the time. Why can’t I?”

“Never said yeh couldn’t,” Ben shrugged, smirking at her. His eyes flicked to Harry, who’s nostrils were flaring ever so slightly as he pretended to be too distracted by his phone to pay attention to the conversation around him. Ben knew better, though, and he could see the bit of rage that was brewing with the talk of Sia finding some random to spend her night with. Ben realised the hypocrisy, but he also sympathised with Harry. It was a bit complicated being stuck in the middle of his two good friends.

“Wouldn’t sleep with anyone anyway,” Sia shrugged, banishing the mens’ concerns. “Just wanna have a bit of fun while we’re out. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Mitch snickered at the word ‘knickers’ because it was so absurdly British, but otherwise, no one made a comment.

“Shall we?” Harry finally suggested, pocketing his phone, and clapping his hands to gather everyone.

They had a car to drive them into town, fitting them all into the car instead of taking a few of the separate smaller cars. Harry and Ben situated themselves into the back, allowing Mitch, one of the other sound techs, and Sia in the middle row, and Alex in the passenger seat up front with the hired driver. The car drive was relatively short, and Sia talked with Mitch the whole time, asking him about his go-to drink when he went out. She wasn’t surprised to learn that he typically stuck to beer, but was willing to have a mixed drink when he felt like mixing it up, or even shots if he was really feeling it. However, she couldn’t really see a situation where Mitch would ever really be ‘feeling it.’ She didn’t comment, though.

The bar was exactly as Sia had hoped it would be. There were some tourists that were lingering about, but for the most part it was locals who looked like this was their typical Friday night hang out. There were some people hanging out at the bar, talking with the bartenders, and the music was loud enough to dance to and enjoy, but not too loud that it hindered conversation. Sia couldn’t help but smile at the perfect atmosphere and let out the tiniest content sigh.

“I see a table,” Alex alerted, making a beeline for the empty booth that looked like it would fit all of them if they added a seat to the end of the table.

“I’ve got the first round,” Ben announced. “Shots first, then beer.” There was no suggestion or question if everyone was okay with it—it was just how the night was going to go, and no one seemed to be averse to it. Even Mitch offered a shrug to it, and Sia realised this was most likely Mitch when he was ‘feeling it.’

Somehow, upon all the sliding into the booth, Sia ended up next to Mitch—which was how she wanted it—but directly across from Harry, which wasn’t the most ideal situation. She was going to make the most of it, though, and completely enjoy herself. She was there to have a good time, after all.

Ben showed back up with the drinks before she could settle into a sour mood, which she was thankful for. The whole table downed the shots of tequila as a group after a quick cheers. While some of the others around her grimaced at the flavour of the drink and desperately sucked on their limes to mask it, Sia genuinely loved tequila. She wasn’t quite sure where the love came from, but she figured it was Harry’s influence over her formative years, because it was definitely his drink of choice when he was wanting something stronger than beer.

Sure enough, Harry took the shot like a champ, and he even shot Sia a little grin when he realised they were the only ones at the table that didn’t have a problem getting it down. Sia couldn’t help but let out a little giggle, thanking him for the years of practice in her own way. They’d been drinking way before it was legal for them to do so in the UK, and somehow tequila was always on hand. They’d started with the cheap stuff, but their tastes had been refined over the years when Harry started to be able to afford more high quality brands.

Everything went well as the crew sipped at their beers and chatted, trying to stay away from the topic of the production when they were trying to enjoy their time off. Mitch and Sia laughed together over Ben’s horrible jokes and puns, Harry snickering silently to himself as well. He knew he’d gotten his awful jokes from somewhere.

At some point, Ben received a call from his wife, that he stepped aside to take, and Alex and Johnny, the additional sound tech, went up to the bar to hang out with the bar tenders and talk to some of the locals. That left Sia, Harry, and Mitch together at the table. Harry and Mitch were chatting, sounding like they’d already forged a solid friendship. Sia had seen them interact in the studio, and they had this sort of effortless connection that she was slightly jealous of, but she realised her friendship with Mitch was just as amazing. She set aside her irrational jealousy and spotted that a pool table opened up just as she looked over.

“Up for a game of pool?” Sia asked to no one in particular, but she was secretly hoping Mitch would take her up on it before Harry did. However, she had no such luck.

“I’m awful at pool,” Mitch admitted, shaking his head in embarrassment. “I think I’ve made a ball into a pocket all of once in my life.”

Sia decided to leave that innuendo alone, and instead huffed.

“I’ll play with you,” Harry offered, already scooting himself out of the booth. Mitch slid out in order to let Sia out, and he followed them to the table, sitting himself on the bar stool beside it.

Harry took the time to set up the balls in the rack, and Sia was polite enough to chalk the ends of both cues, handing one to Harry when he was ready.

“Ladies first,” Harry offered, kindly.

Sia broke, and she landed a striped ball into the corner pocket. She sunk two more before Harry was able to get a turn.

“You’re really good,” Mitch commented as they both watched Harry decide where to aim. The solids were not really in convenient places, so he was having a bit of trouble deciding on just one.

“Harry and I used to play a lot when the lads were on tour.”

Mitch raised his brows as Sia realised the mistake she had made. While she’d alluded to Mitch before that she and Harry knew each other, she’d never made it so obvious that they were actually close.

“She used to be shit, and then she somehow got better than me,” Harry grumbled just before he took his shot, not even bothered about sharing personal information about one another. Sia wondered briefly whether he had told Mitch about their relationship, but the way Mitch seemed confused by everything that came out of their mouths told her that they hadn’t talked about it at all.

“A girl can only listen to the same setlist so many nights in a row before gettin’ bored,” Sia reasoned. “Some nights I’d go to pubs to pass the time and just drink beer and play pool. Made a lot of money.”

“So yeh hustled people while I performed every night?” Harry snickered, pumping his fist when one of his balls sunk into a pocket. He set himself up for another shot.

“Not every night,” Sia disagreed. “But it was a fun pastime, yes.”

“I’m so confused,” Mitch huffed under his breath, shaking his head in amusement. This was such a strange switch from the way Harry and Sia behaved normally. They’d usually be civil with each other, but maintain a distance, only speaking when absolutely necessary. Most of the time he could feel the tension between the two of them, but everyone seemed to ignore it in order to keep the peace. Tonight, though, there was a weird sort of camaraderie between them that was more at ease and seemed more natural for them.

“Welcome to the last year of my life, mate,” Sia huffed, taking a sip of her beer.

Harry scratched as he took his next shot, put off by her comment that was very obviously about him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means my life got turned on itself for absolutely no reason, and I’ve been trying to make heads and tails of it for the last year.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry told her with a pointed glare. She had to know he never wanted to hurt her. She was the most important thing in his life then; he’d never do something so malicious.

“Isn’t it, though? I’m not sayin’ anything that isn’t true.”

Mitch was sensing an increased hostility, and it was making him uncomfortable. He didn’t know whether to walk away and leave them to bicker, or to stick around to make sure they didn’t hurt each other.

“We both agreed. We both knew it was a good idea.”

“No, you thought it was a good idea, and I went along with it because I cared about yeh. My mistake.”

With that, Sia dropped her cue stick on the table and walked away, grabbing her purse from their booth before storming out.

~*~*~*~

There was a knock on Sia’s door the next morning. She’d been awake for a few hours, having made herself a cup of coffee and found something to eat for breakfast before retreating back to her room. There was no recording slated for that day, so she had no plans of facing anybody after her little storm off the night before. She’d set herself up on her laptop and was halfway through an episode of Extreme Couponing, so she didn’t really want to have an interruption, but she figured it was rude if she didn’t see what they wanted.

“Come in,” she called, pausing her show.

“Hey.” Mitch peeked his head in, offering her a timid smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” she responded with a bit of a whine. She knew she owed Mitch an explanation, she was just hoping it could’ve waited.

“How are you feeling?”

“Bit like a brat, if I’m honest. Think I owe yeh an apology.”

Mitch shook his head. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Come in here, Mitchell. Lemme tell yeh a story.”

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #the long road home #tlrh

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