The most important thing you will ever need to know: Luther loves youwith all of his damn heart. And he’s got a big heart. He has waited and wanted his whole life to be loved and you are the answer to his prayers.
He hasn’t had the easiest life. You’ll come to know that, Luther telling you about the traumas he has suffered and the pain he still feels (he’ll feel it for a long, long time but you have a way of making it better). But through it all, he has had this feeling of fluttering, whispering hope in his heart. It’s been there through it all, the little voice that whispers for him to keep going because one day, it will all get better.
One day he will be loved. One day things will be okay.
For a long time, he looked for love and happiness and even just “okay” in the wrong places, chasing down things he couldn’t have and shouldn’t want. But in time, he will learn to get go and when he does…he’ll discover that everything he’s wanted has found him.
Because one day, he met you.
Your first meeting is…awkward. Really awkward and terrifying. Luther steps in to stop a bank robbery and you’re caught in the middle of it all. Guns are firing off, bullets are flying, and Luther is knocking down knuckleheads one by one. He’s taking as much of the gunfire as he can, knowing that he can take it and the civilians can’t.
And then he sees you.
With the robbers distracted by the hulking, terrifying superhero in front of them, you’d had the presence of mind to start sneaking the other hostages through a shattered side door. And you were so focused on the frightened and trembling little kids that you didn’t realize you’d been spotted, a masked man pointing his gun at your back. Luther moved with surprising speed, pulling you into his protective embrace and hunching over you as bullets sprayed helplessly across his back. He expected you to be crying or screaming…but you weren’t.
“Stay down!”
Instead you were looking up at him with those pretty eyes and Luther felt like the world was fading away, gunfire and screaming silencing. There was only the beat of his heart and those beautiful, wonderous eyes…
And after that, he can’t stop thinking about you. For the longest time, he can’t figure it out..what is it about you? Why can’t he stop thinking about you? At first, he thinks that it might be just because of that brief moment he held you (the boy is touch starved beyond belief) or because you’re so pretty…but it’s not that.
It’s something else, isn’t it?
After saving you, Luther had made sure you’d gotten out of the building safely with the other hostages but he’d missed getting your name. In the aftermath, he had looked for you but had been unable to spot your face in the crowd of frightened and excited onlookers. And now he’s laying awake at night and thinking all about someone he doesn’t know a damn thing about. But, oh, he’d like too! From the first meeting, Luther felt certain that you were someone special.
Someone that he would really like to know…if only he could find you again.
One day he’d learn that somewhere in the city, you were awake too, thinking about the beautiful man who had saved your life.
And your heart was fluttering (just like his) and your mind was on fire (thinking a million thoughts and asking a million and more questions) and you were hoping against hope that you would see him again one day.
A/N: just a sweet little things for a few of the Umbrellas and their artistic lover!
Pairing:Luther Hargreeves x Reader; Diego Hargreeves x Reader; Viktor Hargreeves x Reader (gender neutral reader/no pronouns used).
Luther loved the paints staining your hands. Taking your hand in his own, you seem so tiny compared to him…and he can’t help but love that a little bit. Rough fingers run across your hands, his eyes catching the many colors.
Cerulean blue, goldenrod, midnight black.
Before him is a half-finished night sky painted across the bedroom wall. It’s beautiful, something out of Van Gogh’s dreams. Leaning into his embrace, a half-smile on your face, you ask Luther what he thinks of it so far.
“It’s beautiful.”
All around the home you share, little pieces of you are scattered about. Papers covered in concept sketches, glass jars full of brushes, too many tunes of painted to be counted.
Starlight silver, murky gray, ice blue.
Luther loves all of these little things, the half-filled sketchbooks and loose pencils and paint stains on denim jeans…but the bedroom wall is his favorite place, his favorite piece. He looks at it every night looking at it, smiling in wonder at the beauty of what you had made…but it’s not as lovely as you. Nothing could ever be as perfect as his lover. Pulling his eyes away from the mural, Luther will gaze at you as he falls asleep, so thankful that he was worthy of such a love.
Diego was the only one allowed to go through your sketchbooks. It brings him a sense of pride, being the only one given such an honor…others in life had cruelly criticized your art, leaving you insecure and protective of it.
Piles of used sketchbooks lay in stacks around the apartment, black covers speckled with color.
If he asked, you would allow him to flip through the ink drawings. A weeping moon, a burning sun, strange flowers and fairies and beautiful girls.
But it was moments like this he loved the most.
Diego had stolen a brief moment of piece with you. A clouded sky hung over the city, dark and cold. Clouds trembled with a coming storm, rain gently falling from the sky. Some old action flick is playing onscreen but that’s not what Diego is really paying attention to. His eyes are fixed on you, watching you create something wonderful.
Hands flying over the page, you lightly erase the messy pencil sketch and slowly replace it with a starry sky. He recognizes the constellations on page, Andromeda and Perseus and Libra carefully carefully decorated in shining silver. You love the stars, he recalls, knowing the constellations and the stories told about them…and whenever you cannot see them through a clouded sky, you make your own.
Taking your ink stained hand in his, Diego kissed your fingers softly.
Rough facial tickled your skin, Diego pulling you closer and into a soft, sweet kiss. You smelled of ink and paper and something of mint, fresh and cold and clean. As the rainfall became heavy, he held you tight and didn’t let go…he had no clue what dangers tomorrow might bring at least for tonight, he had this.
He had you.
Viktor’s soul is so much like your own. It was your shared love for the arts that had brought you together to begin with.
You always had to have music when you were sculpting and you just so happened to live right next door to a violinist. It was his music that had brought you into Viktor’s life, every little note making your heart swell. He just so happened to be walking down the stairs as you talked to friend about the beautiful boy who made magic with a violin and, well, that was that.
Viktor fell in love and took you with him, plummeting into a messy, wonderful world unlike anything else.
Moving into a small home together, Viktor found everything he’d ever dreamed of.
Music filled the house constantly, the tow of you dancing whenever you could. His books lined the shelves and overflowed in piles, your sketches covered the walls. In the garage was your studio, sculptures slowly coming to life. Viktor came in as you were working to Danse Macabre, the music swelling as you worked to bring stone to life. Bearing gifts (two cups of coffee and a kiss), he joins you for a moment.
Carved of white stone stands a man with perfect features, a crooked half-smile and kind eyes. In his hands was a violin and a bow, carved to such perfect that Viktor could almost see him coming to life and playing in the night.
“A conservatory commissioned me to create a piece for them…and I already found my inspiration.”
Viktor felt his heart beat wildly in his chest, a smile blooming over his face. Setting his coffee aside, he pulled you into his embrace and kissed you softly. A single kiss was enough to make you forget yourself, wrapping your arms around him so tight, as though you feared letting go. Hands played with his dark hair, a soft whisper muffled against his lips.
Summary: I’m a rocket-man, burning out his fuse up here alone.
Day 62
There was nothing you loved more than stars and the way they stood out against the black void of the universe or the misty colors of the planet you left behind.
But even beauty held sadness. Or perhaps it was the other way around? After sixty-two days of wandering in space you still hadn’t found the answer.
You knew there was a madness to your job. An obsession, a drive, a passion. A few rare people are crazy enough to abandon the comforts of their homes and routine lives, their families, all to explore an ever expanding universe alone. Not many things triumphed over the contentment of home but the unignorable call of curiosity did.
And boy was it calling to you now.
It had been smooth sailing for the past hour, the buzz of the radio Walkie-Talkie dulling your senses. Stars twinkled and you had already sent your daily report to your boss back at the launch site so the only real thing left to conquer was isolation and boredom.
Which is when curiosity tickled your insides.
A smirk came over your face as you rolled over onto your side, slowly turning the knob on your radio. In came the static, a peaceful hum but one that did not satisfy you. You sighed, continuing to turn the knob for a minute or two until you blinked, clear and concise classical music being heard through the buzz. Vivaldi?
“Hello?” you asked, brows furrowed in confusion. “Hello?”
The music stopped, the gruff voice of a man coming through the radio. “Hello? Who is this?”
You smiled, staring out into the open void of space at where the source could be coming from. A stupid idea, you knew, seeing as the radio could reach for miles and miles and all you could see was the grey speck of the moon and the small clusters of stars. “This is Y/N L/N. I’m with NASA.”
“NASA?”the man questioned. He didn’t sound all that enthused. “How’d you tune into this frequency? This is a private communication line.”
This man was already ticking you off. He had a rude but slightly curious tone to his voice as though he were trying to cover up his curiosity with an authoritative humph. “I’m an astronaut.” you replied. “I was just searching through the frequencies.”
“Well, this is a private communication line.”
“So you’ve said.”
The man huffed. “So don’t tune in again!”
“Hey, wait!” you called, not sure if the man was still listening. “Look. I’m sorry.” you picked at the cuticles on your fingers. “I’m sorry. I’m alone. I’ve been alone for sixty-two days now up here. I just… got bored.”
It took a minute for a reply to come through as though the man were contemplating on whether or not he should reply. You were about to turn off your line when the voice returned. “I’ve been up here for three years now.”
Your eyes widened, heart plummeting for the man. “Shit- three years?”
“Yeah,”he said sadly. “Like I said, private mission.”
At his words, your eyes wandered around your own spacecraft, it’s clean but empty appearance. You couldn’t imagine being stuck here for years. “Are you on a craft?”
“No, the moon.” he let out a breath of air, something between a laugh and a scoff.
“I haven’t heard of any moon missions that long.” you search your brain as you think. “Are you with Britain? China? Russia?”
“What? No!” he laughed, your questioning tone being the only source of emotion he’d heard in years. It was odd how much emotion it had drawn from him. Such a simple question. It was the longest conversation he had had in a while. “I’m American.” There was another pause. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this to be honest.”
“Maybe you want to.” you offer, blankly and quite literally staring into the view of space out the window. “After all, you’ve been here for three years.”
He chuckles. “Right.”
Surprisingly, you smile. “As much as I’d love to pester you about why you’re up here, I don’t want to tire you out.” Silence. “Can I at least know your name?”
The man sighs. “Luther. Luther Hargreeves.”
What a pleasant name (or perhaps the only new name you’d heard in a while). “Well, goodbye, Luther.”
“Goodbye, Y/N.”
And all that was left was static, stars, and some sense of hope.
Day 63
Despite its hardships, you still loved your job. You did your duties well, the open universe just a glance out the window. You moved slowly each day, collecting photographs, evidence, observations. Fragments of space to bring home and analyze but it had never been about the science, only your desire to touch the mysteries of the galaxy.
But you found yourself in the same position as before, isolated and alone. Thoughts of your family and friends
At the same time the previous night you found yourself searching the radio channel, listening in for that sweet sound of Vivaldi’s four seasons. It greeted you like a wave of reassurance as you waited for the song to end before tapping in.
“You have such refined taste in music, Hargreeves.”
There was a grumble on the other end although he didn’t sound as angered this time around. “I thought I told you not to tap in here anymore.”
“I do recall that but then again, I’m terrible at listening to directions.”
“I can tell,” he scolded. “Does your boss know you tap in here? I have a good feeling he doesn’t.”
You chuckle at that, knowing Luther wouldn’t be able to reach your boss back on earth. Your eyes settle on the planet, mist clouding the African plates. “It’ll be our secret, Hargreeves. Bet you haven’t kept one of those in a while.”
He gave an airy chuckle. “Never been good with secrets.” An uncomfortable chuckle followed. “Strict father.”
You blinked, forgetting that despite not seeing him, Luther Hargreeves was as much a person as anyone else. Three years wasted without another soul to swap stories with, confide in, trustin.
“I’d suppose that meant you’d have more secrets.” you confess. “Was your mother any nicer?”
Radio silence. “I didn’t really have one. I mean, sort of?” he gave a huff. “It’s all very confusing and a long story.”
You have a soft smile, something he couldn’t see but you hoped he could feel. “I’m all ears.”
And surprisingly, he told you everything. You stared into the dark void, the white lights of your spacecraft being the only source of sight as you listened to Luther’s story like a child listened to a fairytale. The movie of his life enfolded in the black folds of the universe from superpowers to bank robberies. The death of his brother, the tenuous but deep love for his remaining siblings. Ape transformations, nights sneaking out.
You heard it all.
And you were a fantastic listener. You commented on all the right moments, empathized when you thought he had no one (you didn’t realize how true it was), laughed at the jokes that were funny and laughed at the ones that weren’t. Lord, how great it felt to have someone to share the universe with.
It made the stars feel a little warmer.
Luther offered the same courtesy to you. You talked of your mother and your father and of your sister back at home. You explained the dreams of the unknown that you’d had since you were a little kid.
“I’ve always wanted to be here, you know? It’s been my dream since I can remember.”
“I can tell,” he confessed warmly. “Just the tone of your voice gives it away.”
You blinked. “Really?”
“Really.”he chuckled. “Your voice speeds up and you sound like you’re getting carried away somewhere far off.”
“Oh.” you mumble, a warm smile overtaking your features. No one had ever described something so simple in such detail. “What was your dream?”
He sighed, your fingers drummed on the cold surface. “I don’t know. I just wanted someone to be proud of me.”
Radio silence.
You weren’t quite sure what to say.
“I’m proud of you, Luther.”
…
“Thanks, Y/N.”
You smiled and gave a small hum. “It’s getting late, Hargreeves. I’ve got to clock out.”
“Me too.” he was quiet. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
You were somewhat unable to contain your smile. “Goodnight, Rocket-Man.”
“Rocket-?”you turned off your radio with a chuckle, leaving him to wonder for a while.
Day 66
Your daily tasks had increased in small intervals each day leaving no room to talk to Luther out of pure exhaustion. It left a hollow feeling in your stomach. You knew he was out there somewhere but untouchable due to something as human as sleep.
But luckily, on day sixty-six things began to slow. You completed your tasks with quite a bit of effort but still managed to finish in time to tap into the radio line and be welcomed by a jokingly frustrated Luther.
“What did you mean by rocket-man?” he inquired with a huff.
You laughed as you pictured what his face probably looked like. Scrunched, pout, a dab of frustration. “Relax, Hargreeves. No hello? No, how are you?”
He huffed. “I don’t like being left out of things.”
The frustration in his voice made you smile. “Haven’t you listened to Elton John before?”
“Elton John?”
You gasped. “Luther Hargreeves you haven’t listened to Elton John? I know your father was strict but that’s simply a crime.”
Luther sighed. “If I put this song on it won’t be some joke, will it? It’s not going to tell me I’m a stupid astronaut monkey?”
Once again, your laugh was sent out to the empty void of stars and through the staticky waves of the radio. “Who would write a song about that?”
You guessed he was rolling his eyes for a mocking of your statement followed before a bit of silence and then some piano.
And music spoke more depth than either of you could muster with your lonely hearts and troubled pasts. And in that moment you hoped that the words and the keys would speak to him the way they once spoke to you and that he’d find meaning in them the way you had found it.
“It’s beautiful.”
The corners of your lips rose and you wished more than anything that he could see it. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“It almost feels too special.”
Although he couldn’t see you and even if he was here you doubted the artificial light of the ship would illuminate your face enough to depict your slow shake of your head. You glanced at the stars and the small wisps of colors that were dancing in the blanket of nothingness. “You’re special, Luther. Remember that, okay?”
The static communicated his grin as best it could.
