absolutely done trying to figure out his hair

I Thought You Were Different: Book 5 (Part 5/?) (Steve Rogers x reader)

Part 4

“Just draw in a new one.”

“Are you serious?”

“What other option is there?” Bucky asked, leaning over Sam’s shoulder and watching the reflection with a smirk that he couldn’t hold back.  It wasn’t that he didn’t try; it was just too hard to stop.  “Sam, you look ridiculous, and I refuse to commit my life to a guy with one eyebrow.”

“You had one arm, and I didn’t go anywhere,” Sam snapped back, his cold stare dropping the temperature in the room around them.

“Ooooh, ouch, baby,” Bucky gasped, clutching his chest.  “Proud of you, though.  You got me.”

Sam could only sigh with annoyance and frustration, staring at his reflection and feeling like an immense idiot for letting things get this far, and for now having to figure out how to cover this mistake up without making Grant feel bad like he was certain to. “I told Steve that this was a bad idea,” he groaned, leaning in closer to the mirror.  The realization finally hit that there was absolutely no hair left; not a single one.  “I told him to just tell the kids no and to put his foot down, but noooo, this is the thanks I get for trying.”

“You know that it’s not just the kids.”

“Then he should’ve told (Y/N) no.  It can be done.  I know it’s an urban legend, but I’ve seen it with my own eyes, Buck.”

“Pfft, yeah right.”

“No!” Sam suddenly yelped at his own revelation, clapping his hands with a hit so loud that Bucky jumped at the shock.  “Oh, shit, Bucky it can be done!  Oh my god, I can’t believe that I didn’t think of this sooner!”


Just down the hall from Sam and Bucky, Tony had cornered Anthony in his room, although it wasn’t hard to do given that the boy had been grounded for the next week for his outburst at his grandfather.  It was a mild punishment for such an outright disregard and insult, but Tony knew that he was a good kid and that something else had to be going on to drive it.  “Alright, so are we going to talk about this?” he asked Grant politely, trying his best to not appear imposing or angry, though he was still feeling the latter.


“Okay, so let’s go with we are going to talk about this.”

“Leave me alone, Grandpa. I said that I was sorry.”  Anthony had been sitting quietly on his bed in the silence of his room, having lost pretty much every privilege that he had and leaving him with only the thoughts in his head to entertain him.  It probably wasn’t the best idea, and all it did was help to build his own case against everyone else for being wrong when he was right.

“Can’t do that, kiddo,” Tony half-heartedly apologized.  “What the hell happened today?  Anthony, that wasn’t like you at all.”

“I just got angry.”

“Well then, you need to be careful.  Bruce might not appreciate you stepping into his territory like that.”  All that Tony wanted was maybe a little smile, or a twinkle in his grandson’s eyes that let him know that his namesake and not-outwardly-admitted favorite was still in there.  When he saw nothing recognizable, he only then truly started to worry, and took his chances in sitting down next to the young man.

“I don’t know, something just…snapped.  I got so pisse…angry, and I couldn’t hold back.  But…I really am sorry, Grandpa,” he exhaled heavily, finally turning to look at Tony, “I meant that.”

“I know, buddy.  Are you still mad now?”

“A little.”

“Is there anything that you want to get off your chest?  I’m offering a free pass here, I can take it.”

“Could I maybe hold onto that pass for my next screw-up instead?” the boy finally chuckled, and Tony’s nerves began to settle at the welcome sound.  “It’s probably not that far off.”


“So, has Tony finally fallen off his rocker?” Wade chuckled, tossing back his drink as quickly as Weasel could make them; as soon as he had his glass empty he was holding it up for his friend to bring a refill.  It didn’t take long for his beleaguered friend to simply set the entire bottle of whiskey in front of him with a defeated mumble under his breath before finally being able to serve other patrons at the bar.  “When the Black Wilson called me, I thought for sure we were gonna have to go on a hide-and-seek run for Crazy Daddy again.  Man, that was an awesome trip.  We had fun, right?”

“Were we on the same trip?” you snorted, nearly choking on your own drink.  “I was a mess and worried about Dad, and I had morning sickness, so no, there was no fun.”

“Clearly we have different opinions of a good time.”

“We always have, Wade.”

“Nuh uh,” he answered, leaning in close, and you knew that nothing good would come out of his mouth next, just by that telltale glimmer in his eyes, “remember when we broke into Fury’s house?”

You pushed your chair back and away from him when you felt immediately uncomfortable, thinking that he had forgotten, as you pretty much had.  It was the last thing that you expected him to say, when really, not much surprised you from him anymore.  “I’ve blocked that from my memory.”

“Why would you do that?! That was some of my best work!  I guarantee you that he had to buy new sheets after that.”

“Okay, we need to change the subject.  Why did you call me to meet up in the first place?”

“The less-hot Wilson is crying about his lost eyebrow.”

“I told him to just draw a new one in.”

“Ugh,” he shuddered, pausing to take a long drink from the bottle in his hand as his imagination ran. He had nearly finished it, making it very clear that he and Steve suffered from the same affliction.  Super sobriety.  “That right there why he’s the less-hot one.  Okay, fine, we can talk business.  What the hell is up with your dad?  Did his brain get zapped again?”

“No, of course not. He seems genuinely concerned, though. I don’t think he really even knows what he’s worried about, but he’s running on a feeling.  It’s scary how often he’s right, you know?”

“I was wondering if this was some excuse to show off fancy new armor or some miracle invention to save the world yet again.”

“He does that without an excuse.”

“Right,” Wade nodded, now eyeing your drink that you had barely touched.  “Hey, speaking of armor, did you ever get your own suit done?”

“Nope, and I don’t want one.”

“Well, shit, (Y/N), if you don’t want one, can I have it?  I have no problem with sloppy seconds.”

“He’s not going to build you a suit, Wade.”

“Fine.  Could he maybe just Stark-erize up the one that I have? Could I have a FRIDAY or a Karen too? That would be fuckin’ awesome. Parker treats his like a goddamn girlfriend, and if I spend one more lonely night dry humping my mattress I’m going to chafe my dick off.”

“Jesus, Wade, we’re in public.”

“Astute observation. So, seriously, where are we with the imaginary girlfriend?”

“Hey, Wade’s wet dream, here,” Weasel interrupted, handing you a full glass of some fruity concoction that looked like a Florida vacation brochure had thrown up in it.  “That limp napkin over there thinks that buying you a drink is gonna get him laid.  Shoot him down so I can watch.  Extra points if you can throw Captain America into it somehow just for a good dick-shaming.”


Back at home, the other two boys in your life were relaxing outside on the compound’s lawn, sprawled out and lying on their backs, staring up at a clear and starry sky.  Grant had asked to come out here, partly because the two of them hadn’t done this since he was a tiny boy, and also because he was worried that Tony and Anthony were likely arguing and he wanted nothing to do with it.  They had been out there for a couple of hours before either of them spoke, almost as if words that needed to be said would shatter it all; as if the sky would go dark and turn them away for their lack of regard for the beauty it offered.  

“I’ll go first,” Steve finally broke the silence, his voice unsure.  “I’m sorry that I was so hard on you today.  You have to understand that I don’t want any of this.  It’s tough for me to see you as teammates and not as my kids who had no business there.  I’m supposed to protect you, not fight at your side.”

“Wow, close one, Dad. You almost had an apology before you went off the rails again.”

“Hey, I’m trying, okay? I’m just not succeeding,” Steve scoffed with a nudge of his elbow.  “But listen, I was talking to Fury for a while after we got home, trying to see if he had someone better suited to train you than I am-“

“Wait, are you backing out?”

“I have to, Grant. For you to get what you need, this can’t be me, at least not with you.  You have skills that I barely understand.  I can teach you how to fight, but the powers you have…I can’t even begin to know how to help you.  I was hoping that Stephen could have given you a better start, but he admitted that what he knows is limited too.  What you have is special, but it’s also harder to control, and I know that you can do so much more.”

Your son remained quiet, thinking about what his dad had just said, and he felt proud of the man for being so honest with him, and for talking to him like he could handle the news. Despite being against it all, Steve wasn’t giving up on him, and could see beyond his own fears that Grant needed more.  “Alright, then who did you have in mind?”

Steve rolled onto his side to face the building, raising his hand in a small wave to get the attention of their visitor, who had been waiting beyond patiently to be introduced. The two of them stood as he approached, and as he got closer, Grant began to feel his nerves build and his palms grow clammy.  With a quick swipe of his hands over his jeans, he collected himself enough to extend his hand to his new trainer.  

“Grant James Rogers. I had no idea that you were the new flame thrower in town that I’ve been hearing so much about.  How freaking cool is this?  It’s good to meet ya,” he stopped, extending his hand to take Grant’s, “I’m Johnny Storm.”


Even with the congeniality building just outside, and with the apologies happening upstairs, there was still one of your children who hadn’t come to terms with the day that was nearly to a close.  Brooklyn could feel the energy around her changing, not only from her brothers, but within herself, and it made her blood run cold with fear.  She sat alone, in the darkened lounge and in silence, staring at the shine of Tony’s liquor collection under the lights of the bar at the far side of the room.  One bottle in particular had caught her eye, the crystal catching the light in prisms that reflected beautiful colors; six very specific colors that she had read about during her lessons with Vision and Wanda not all that long ago.

And it made her angry.

She sat immobile, despite her building rage, the only movement she made was a subtle and quick turn of her hand; her stare was absent, as if she were lost within her own mind, or maybe even someone else’s.  The crystal bottle suddenly exploded, shattering into a million bright pieces and covering the floor in front of her, though she didn’t so much as blink.  She moved on to the next bottle, and the next, and the next, each one bursting easier than the one before, with barely any effort needed to saturate the floor with the burning stench of alcohol.  

“Oops,” she mumbled, cocking her head slightly as she took in the sight.  She stood, barefoot and slicing her skin on a few shards of glass, though she didn’t flinch.  She slowly walked to her room, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind as her hand gave one final motion, shattering the lights to leave the room in complete darkness.

Part 6

Quiet Dreams (Part 2)

Summary: After Barry changes the timeline and saves his mother, he discovers a huge aspect of his life has changed, maybe for the better. (Set after the finale of Season 2) 

Universe: The Flash

Pairing: Barry Allen x Reader

Part 1

A/N: Ah thank you guys so much for the love again!!! It motivated me to write the next chapter (and I will always try to update as soon as possible anyway!) I’m sure all of you saw the Season 3 trailer last night, so I do now have a more solid basis on what to do, although some things are different because I already established them before I saw the trailer (like how Barry lost his speed in the fic.) And yes, I totally stole Iris’ Season 2 Finale lines. Anyway, enjoy!!


“Some people are just meant to be in our lives.” Barry Allen, The Flash Season 3 Trailer.


Barry ran his fingers through your hair, heavily concerned with what he had done. It was a Saturday night, rain pouring down. You and Barry had decided to snuggle up and watch movies during the storm, as long as the power didn’t go out.

So there you two were on the reclined couch, you lying between his legs, upper half pressed into his chest, with your eyes focused on the screen. Barry continued to gently stroke your soft hair as his attention was drawn away from the screen and into his thoughts.

It had been 5 weeks. A bit over one month. He had done quite a good job of playing off his mistakes and trying to figure out things. And some things he did discover, like how Cisco was a billionaire, Iris barely recognized him from high school, Joe hated him, Wally was Kid Flash, and Eobard was locked in a cage.

He didn’t know what to do, really. He thought that his life would be absolutely perfect if he had saved his mother, and for the most part, things were great. There was nothing like seeing his parents laugh and enjoy their lives together, the way they always deserved. There was nothing like coming home to you, the girl he had easily come to adore.

He didn’t know yet if he loved you, but he knew he would eventually. You were so gentle and supportive and kind. You would wake him up with soft kisses and you’d make food together, flipping pancakes and accidentally letting him burn the bacon when you went to get orange juice from the fridge. Barry didn’t understand much about this timeline, but one thing he understood was that when he looked at you, he felt happier than he had in a long while.

Some might find it crazy in his circumstances, living and being engaged to someone he’d only met five weeks ago. Falling into easiness and adoration with someone he barely knew. Barry couldn’t exactly explain it, though. It just felt right, and after his experiences through the past 26 years, he learned to stop questioning things that made him feel sane.

Despite how positive his life had become from his previous one because of you, so much was missing. Too much. His best friends, the people he once knew, the right relationships and friendships. It was so confusing. He never thought that saving one life could have possibly impacted so many. One might ask, how does saving his own mother cause Cisco to become a billionaire? Well, no one really knows. It’s the small differences along the years that lead to huge changes. And despite the fact that Cisco had been positively impacted, more of this world faced negative consequences.

Barry knew that this wasn’t right. This wasn’t his world. This wasn’t his life, and he needed a way back.

With a soft sigh, he pulled you into him a bit tighter. He didn’t feel like worrying about how screwed up this timeline was right now. He just wanted to breathe.

You smile softly and take his hand, keeping your eyes on the screen. You kiss his fingertips, and then lace his fingers with your own.

“You know Barr,” you begin, watching the characters on the television, “I know you. And I know this is your favorite movie, and you’ve barely looked at the screen.” You feel his grip on you loosen. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” You look up at him and he frowns at you. “You haven’t been acting like yourself these days.” You crawl out of his lap and beside him instead, keeping your hand in his.

“I’m sorry baby.” He smiles weakly. “I just haven’t really been able to focus.” You kiss his cheek softly and place your head in the crook of his neck.

“Barry, it’s okay. It will be okay, and you can talk to me about anything. You know that. I love you, always.”

Barry felt his emotions spin through a whirlwind. “I love you too, Y/N.” He tugged you back into his lap and sighed into your skin. He felt like his brain was going to explode. He wanted his old life back but he also wanted you, too much. Enough to be willing to stay, stay in this crazed world. Stay in Flashpoint.

You pull back and look him in the eyes, the green ones that were filled with so much stress. You knew him like the back of your hand. You’d met when you were children, he asked you out in high school, and proposed on your anniversary last year, promising that the wedding would be scheduled on your next anniversary because you liked consistency. You knew him. You knew when he was happy or sad or plagued by something. You understood him the way nobody else did, no matter how horrible or crazy the situation was. And you knew that right now, this was more than work or family or friends or anything. Something was eating him alive.

“I know there’s something important you’re not telling me Barry. And that’s okay,” you whisper, looking at his green eyes water. Barry felt like he was going to choke. There was so much that had changed, so much that was wrong and too much chaos. He knew that he had to change it all, that he was the only one who knew what was different and the origin point of what caused all this. It was so selfish to let this world go on in disaster to keep himself happy. But even he knew he wasn’t truly content, not with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Because this time, these were his burdens to carry. It was his fault, no one else’s. He took a shaky breath as you stroked his face. “Barry, honey. You don’t have to tell me anything. You don’t have to explain yourself or make me understand. You just have to take care of it. You do what you have to do, and don’t let anything stop you, okay?” He nods into your head, tears falling, “And when you’re done,” you whisper, “come home to me.”

Barry breaks as he pulls you into him, holding you tighter than he ever has. He had wanted to pretend like this was his world, but it wasn’t. He was The Flash, and he always would be. He would always run towards danger, save people and make change. He couldn’t let things fall apart any further. It may have been normal for everyone else, but it tore him up inside because he knew how wrong everything was, not just in his life, but in lives across cities. The people he should’ve met and the lives he had once changed, those actions had been erased, and now everything was wrong. Everything except you. As his breathing settles and his tears fade, he knows inside him that you were who he was always supposed to be with. You were the one he was meant to love, not Linda, not Patty, not even Iris. It was always you.

In this past month, he had discovered that you were everything to whoever he was supposed to once be. And in the back of his mind, he hoped you could still be everything once he got home.

He pulls back and smiles softly, kissing you. And you both stay that way for a while, not necessarily kissing, but just lips touching, breathing each other in. He kept his hands firm on your hips, and you kept yours on his shoulders. You open your eyes and he lets out a soft laugh at how your eyelashes tickle his skin.

Against his lips, you murmur sweetly, “It’s going to be alright.” You finally lean back from his lips and instead curl into his side.

And that’s how you two fall asleep that night. Lights still on, the soft echo of rain, TV playing in the background, the smell of coffee in the air.

I'm A Walking Travesty (Larry Stylinson Angst)

Harry just loves Louis so much

Louis is so stupidly clueless

And everything goes wrong

(OR; the one where Harry’s in love with his best friend and band mate Louis, and Harry deals with the rejection in the wrong way)

Warning/trigger; self harm, anorexia, bullimia, cutting, happy ending


The boys just got off stage and Harry is glowing. Sweat on his forehead and soaked through his shirt. He takes his shirt off and throws it on a couch, walking off to his dressing room. These actions are the perfect description of this young boys personality. He’s sweet, carefree, energy filled, and lives life without a worry in the world. He’s also in love with his best friend.

“Good show mate,” Louis smiled.

Louis was sitting in Harry’s chair in his dressing room. The two boys knew no boundaries.

“Thanks, same to you,” Harry smiled, pulling his tight pants off and tugging on some sweats.

“Hot as hell on that stage,” Harry laughed, grabbing a towel and wiping his face and chest off.

“I know. You were sweating ridiculously. Probably cause you jump around so much. Stupid kangaroo,” Louis giggled, biting into an apple.

“Hey! I was pumped! I’m happy to be back in our home town,” Harry shrugged, smiling, pulling a loose band tee shirt on. Arctic Monkeys. One of his favorite bands.

“Whatever. You’re staying with me right?” Louis smiled.

“Of course. I’ve basically moved in with you by now,” Harry smiled nonchalantly, grabbing a bandanna and sitting in Louis’ lap so he could see his mirror, tying the headband around his head to hold his untamed curls back.

“Why don’t you then? Just move in I mean,” Louis suggested, trying to sound casual.

“I..sure. That’d be fantastic,” Harry smiled, “me and my best friend.” Harry pressed a sloppy wet kiss to Louis’ cheek and Louis squealed and pushed Harry off the chair. Harry landed on the floor on his bum, chuckling.

“Never mind. You’re not allowed to move in anymore. Too affectionate,” Louis teased.

“You love it,” Harry smiled from the floor, beaming at Louis.

He wanted to muster up the courage and tell Louis how beautiful he really was. How utterly breathtaking Louis looked. When he smiled, crinkles by his eyes, smile lines by his lips, red cheeks, fringe down. It was stunning. Harry loves everything about Louis. And Louis knew that. Everyone knew it.

But everyone ignored it, especially Louis.

“I do. Now come on love,” Louis stood up and helped Harry to his feet. “Let’s go home.”

And Harry agreed.

Because home for Harry was wherever Louis is.


Two weeks later, Louis brought home a girl, long blonde hair and tall heels that go click clack as she stumbles up the steps. Harry lays in his room, on his bed, arms over his eyes and blankets off. He listens to her giggles, and Louis’ moans, and the head board bumping against the wall. This is the third girl Louis has brought home in the past two weeks.

Ever since they got back to London, Louis has become a sudden womanizer. Every night when he goes out, he comes home with company.

“I love you,” Harry whispers into his elbows, covering his face with his lanky arms.

But of course, Louis wasn’t there to hear that.


“Hey Louis?” Harry asks the next day as Louis is on his way out of the flat.

“What?” Louis snaps.

“Do you maybe want to stay in tonight? We haven’t had a movie night in quite a while.”

“No. I’m going out.”

“Could I come with then maybe?” Harry pleads, standing up from the couch.

“Harry I like doing things alone.”

“Yeah except you’re never really alone.”

“What does that mean?”

“Girls Lou. Tons of them. You bring them home like every other night, and when you don’t bring them home, you don’t come home, so I’m assuming you go to their places.”

“Fuck off. That’s none of your business.”

“It is when I’m kept up at night to the sounds of high pitches voices screaming your stupid bloody name!”

“You listen? You’re such a creep!”

“I do NOT LISTEN! I just can’t sleep! And you’re so fucking loud that I don’t have a choice.”

“This is my flat Harry. I can do whatever I want.”

“You asked me to move in.”

“Well now I’m asking you to move out.”


Harry packs his stuff that night and leaves, going back to his old house. It’s cold and dark. The heating and electricity had been shut off because there was no need for it now that he was living with Louis. Harry sighed at his empty house. He had called the electricity people from the car so hopefully his heating, lights, and water would be on soon. He was craving a hot shower and a movie marathon. He set his bags down on his bed and took his clothes off so he was in just boxers. He wrapped himself in his blanket and walked down to his empty fridge. He was craving a sandwich.

A sandwich and a buddy.

He texted Niall and the Irish lad came soon enough, with jimmy johns six inch roast beef sandwiches. They sat on the couch and, while Wizard Of Oz played on the TV (the electricity and water was back on, sadly no heating), they talked about Louis. Harry told him he was worried, and how Louis kicked him out.

Harry had tears on his cheeks as he spoke about Louis’ harsh words to him. Niall hugged him tightly and promised Louis was just stressed and needed time.

“Stress. Always stress huh? Why can’t any of us come up with a better excuse. We’re always stressed. That’s not an excuse!” Harry yelled.

“Harry, it’s cause we ARE stressed.”

“I’m sick of it.”

“Come here.”

Niall held Harry tightly. Because Harry may be big and tall but he was still the baby. Always confused and high spirited and hopeful of a better outcome. Like a toddler who keeps touching the oven, expecting it to not burn him this time.

It always burns though.


A week later they’re in the office for Modest! Management. Harry is in pajamas. It was just a meeting after all, what was the point of getting dressed for a bunch of businessmen who were going to yell at him?

“We need to discuss this larry stylinson issue,” Mark, their PR team leader stated.

“Why?” Louis snapped defensively.

“Well two of the members of this band being gay for each other is bad for the image,” Marc explained.

“I’m not fucking gay for Harry. That’s revolting,” Louis furrowed his eyebrow.

“We aren’t together,” is all Harry chokes out. Because his words hurt him, because of how much he wants to be together. And Louis’ words sting the worst. Why is that thought so disgusting?

“The fans think you are. And homophobic parents and teens aren’t going to support you if these Larry stylinson quote unquote shippers continue to believe you two are on a relationship,” Marc continues.

“Well then just kick Harry out of the band,” Louis smirks, his voice only laced with a half kidding mockery. Leaving the other half for pure seriousness.

“Louis!” Liam reprimands.

“Louis shut the fuck up,” Niall says.

“What’s been your problem lately?” Harry sighs, defeated, no energy to make a witty comeback or angry remark.

“Nothing’s my problem,” Louis rolled his eyes.

“We are obviously not kicking Harry out of the band,” mark groans, scratching his head, “now lets discuss actual options.”

They come up with a few. Less contact, no hanging out outside of work, no sitting together, no touching, no flirting. The part that hurts the worst is that all of those were Louis’ ideas..


“You’re fucking revolting,” Harry says to the mirror that night, hand running down his face. “So gross. And ugly. Why would you ever think Louis could want you? He hates you now. You fucked it all up!”

And the worst part really has to be that he has no idea what he did. He was normal Louis less then four weeks ago. Cuddly and sweet and witty and touchy feely. Now he was reserved and annoyed with everything Harry did. he didn’t want Harry touching him or looking at him. Harry has been driving himself absolutely mad with trying to figure out what he’s done.

Harry has tears on his face while he stands in his bathroom, muttering insults to himself. He can’t stop a variety of twitchy motions that continue to run through his body. Touching his hair, rubbing his face, shaking his hands, hitting the counter, pulling his curls. He has so many bad thoughts and he just feels confused and alone without the boy who always meant the world to him.

He hit himself.

It was weird, like a sudden snap in his brain. He just slapped himself across the face. As if he was craving someone to punish him. And then he slapped himself again and again. He felt disgusted with himself as he sobbed and punched his cheeks and eyes, continuing until he broke the skin and felt blood coming down from by his eye.

Harry breathed heavily for a few moments and punched the wall, before washing his face and breaking down on the bathroom floor, falling asleep on the bathroom tiles.


“Jesus Harry what the hell happened to you?” Niall asks the next day. Niall has been trying to help Harry through this friendship break from Louis. Niall comes bearing video games and fried chicken when Harry opens the door. He looks tired and his face is bright red, not to mention the bruise on his jaw and the black eye.

“Tripped down the stairs, I’m such a klutz,” Harry shrugged.

“Alright mate,” Niall sighed, finding no reason to not believe him.

“You brought video games?” Harry was quick to change the subject.

“Yeah I did,” Niall smiles, “And fried chicken!”

“I’m not that hungry actually.”

“Well then I call eating your piece,” Niall laughed.

Niall had no idea what was really going on.


That night it upgraded. Harry punched himself everywhere, inflicting bruises and red hand prints all down his chest and thighs. The whole time he yelled at himself. Reminding himself how ugly he was, how stupid, how clingy, how annoying. How disgusting he was for being gay and in love with his best friend. Someone who would never love him back.

The night after that, it happens. Harry picks up a pair of scissors and cuts right by his elbow. He sobs while he does it, because it does hurt. It doesn’t feel good at all. His body is broken and black and blue spots are checkered about like a dead dalmatian. He puts the scissors down and washes his arm. He tells himself how weak he is that he can’t even go through with cutting himself. How pathetic it is that he’s such a girl he can’t take the pain. Why would Louis ever want to be with such a sorry excuse for a human as he is?

Two nights later, the boys still haven’t come over. He’s dodging all texts and calls from Zayn, Niall, and Liam. They have a few days left of a break before a few local interviews at radio shows or morning talk shows will happen. Harry feels so alone. He shuts the heat off in his house. Wants to feel the chilly air. Wants to freeze and get himself sick. He sleeps in his boxers without a blanket that night, desperate to feel something, even if that something was nothing but ice in his lungs.

Harry tries cutting again the night after he cuts his heating. He goes through with it this time. He’s in the bathroom and he swears the razor is taunting him. Calling for him to slide it slowly across his pale skin. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or lack of food, or the fact he’s sick from the cold. Or maybe it’s the fact he’s like an addict whose been cut cold turkey from his drug, and life without Louis is nothing to him. But he’s going insane. He picks up the razor and does it quickly but cleanly, cutting down his thighs, which hurt less than when he had cut his arm. It hurts none the less though, and it makes Harry feel better about himself. He falls asleep in the bathtub. When he wakes up in a tub filled with watery blood, he’s not sure if hes happy or disappointed that he didn’t drown in his sleep.

His wrists are next in his path of destruction, he slices them after dinner. He feels disgusted with himself for allowing such weakness. He had a bowl of soup and now he can’t stop staring at his stomach. He throws it up until he’s doing nothing but dry heaving over and over, until he feels as though he may pass out. He sits back against the wall and shivers, reaching over to grab his razor and lays it down on his arm. He cuts and cuts, screaming and crying as he does though. It’s nothing like the way media romanticizes it. It hurts, and he can’t help but feel like the fact that it hurts just makes him feel worse about himself. He wishes he was stronger. Harry cuts until his arm drops in exhaustion, and the razor falls from his wrist. He lets out a blood curdling scream before slapping himself. Harry then forces himself to crawl to the tub and wash off the cuts, sobbing as he washes the water run from clear to crimson. 

The next few days Harry loses his mind. He cuts himself and laughs as he does so. Laughing at how pitiful he his. Harry has learned how good the stinging feels after his cuts have closed. When they are scars, and he rubs against them, it hurts, and he loves it. He doesn’t even know where his phone is anymore, and he missed the interview today. It seems as if all time is lost. He lays in bed that night. Bruises cover his body, scars go down his legs and arms, his ribs are gently beginning to poke out after two weeks with no food, his fingertips are blue from the cold and his face is red from sickness. He believes he will die soon, and he just can’t wait.



“God Harry please. Are you okay?”

“Open up the fucking door.”

“Harold I swear I’ll break it down.”

Harry is sitting in bed, in nothing but boxers, laughing at the voice at his front door. His eyes are tired and bloodshot, bags very prominent underneath them. His once shiny, innocent, green eyes are now broken and empty, filled with sadness and loss of hope.

Harry is curled up against his headboard, pinching his thighs, begging the fat to disappear. He hears his window break and then there is someone walking up the stairs, no, running. 

“Harry..Jesus Harry it’s freezing in here.." 

Harry looks up to see Louis standing in his door way. He feels like a child who just found his mother after being lost in the mall. He doesn’t know what to do so he just lets his head drop and hang, ashamed. 

"Harry what have you done?” Louis breathes out, approaching Harry and climbing onto the bed. 

“Louis I did this all for you,” Harry starts crying.

“Why? Why would you do this?”

“Because you hate me. And I wanted you to like me again.”

“Harry I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Make it better,” Harry’s voice broke.

“I’m going to,” Louis promised. 

Louis picked Harry up and unfolded him from his little ball. Harry whined as Louis laid him down on the bed and spread him out, eyes going over Harry’s mutilated body. Louis silently ran his fingertips over the bruises on Harry’s stomach, the caved in, empty stomach, and the pattern of his ribs. Louis traced the bruises and pressed featherlight, gentle kisses up his wrists and down his thighs. Harry was shaking and sobbing during all of this. “So beautiful. Always Harry. Always perfect,” Louis mumbled, running a hand through Harry’s flat curls and kissing his forehead. 

Louis went to the closet and grabbed a sweater for Harry, then turned the heating back up. He dressed Harry quietly and then pulled Harry into his arms, wrapping him in a blanket. Louis was crying now, because he wanted his sunshine back. 

“I broke you,” Louis sobbed, holding Harry as close as he could, “Harry I knew. I knew you loved me and I knew I loved you. It scared me so much to think about being gay and I broke down. I started fucking girls just to remind myself to be straight. I kicked you out and I was mean to you when you had been nothing but so pleasant and perfect to me all the time. I was a shit friend and I wish you had never fallen in love with me. I can’t believe this is happening. I pushed you away and you fell farther then I thought you would.”

“Louis,” Harry cried, almost incoherent, voice rough, “Louis I still love you. I always loved you. I love you so much. I’m so embarrassed. I wish you would have called first. I would have dressed up or cleaned the house. There’s blood everywhere!” Harry was shaking and it hurt Louis’ heart that that was what Harry was concerned about. That even after all this, Harry just cared about impressing Louis.

“No love. No. You’re more important right now than anything.”

“Never more important than you.”

“Yes Louis. I’m dumb. I’m a dumb gay boy.”

“No. Shush. You’re brilliant Harry. I love you. I love you and your kind heart and warm smile and pretty eyes. I never want you to hurt yourself like this ever again.”

Harry keened and rubbed his nose against Louis’ shoulder, his face was still cold. Louis laid them down on the bed and tucked Harry against his side, rubbing his back.

“Sleep now. When you wake up we’ll talk.”

“Can’t sleep.”

“Shhh, please try,” Louis willed him.

Harry closed his eyes and clutched Louis’ shirt in his hands tightly, worried Louis would slip away if he didn’t hold on. Worried he would wake up and discover this was a dream.

Louis sang ‘Guardian angel’ by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus in his ear softly, pressing kisses to his temple and rubbing his side, frowning when Harry flinched as Louis’ fingers brushed his bruises.

Louis waited until Harry was fast asleep before he broke down himself, cursing and crying to himself for hurting Harry like this. For breaking his precious angel like something made from common glass.

Louis inspected Harry’s bashed body more closely, then called the ambulance, knowing Harry needed medical attention. More than he could give him himself.


Harry woke up to beeping machines, bright lights, and a fuzzy head.

“No..” he mumbled, opening his eyes all the way. Someone squeezed his hand and he looked to the side, seeing Louis. Louis was in pajamas, his hands clasped over Harry’s, his eyes were red and tired.

“Shh love it’s okay,” Louis promised.

“What happened?”

“I took you to a hospital.”

“Why? I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine Harry.”

Harry felt tears collect in his eyes and Louis shushd him again, standing up and leaning over him, thumbing his tears away. Louis explained in a calm voice that Harry was diagnosed with a panic disorder, and that he needed to start going to therapy. Harry sobbed at that news, because his worst fear had come true. Something really was WRONG with him. Louis crawled into the hospital bed beside Harry and pulled Harry’s small body on top of his chest.

“Harry. I need you to know I love you. I love you and I’m sorry I hurt you. I’ll never forgive myself for what happened.”

“I did it to myself.”

“I know. And I’m never going to let you hate yourself that much ever again,” Louis promised, eyes serious and voice determined.

Harry nodded against Louis’ shoulder and let his hands travel to Louis’ sides, holding his hips tightly. “Please don’t leave me,” Harry cried.

“Never again,” Louis agreed, lifting Harry’s chin up with his fingers and kissing Harry softly. It wasn’t the ideal first kiss, but the love and passion that was shown through it was more magical than any romance movie kiss in the rain.

“I love you now. I loved you then. And I’m gonna love you through this. Always,” Louis declared.

Harry nodded and tucked his head into Louis’ shoulder, while Louis kissed his fingertips and hummed 'little things’ softly in his ear. Harry finally felt his heart open up to the idea that maybe things would get better as long as he had Louis to get him through it.


(Feedback is appreciated<3

Send me prompts?

Title is from the song Therapy by All Time Low)